From the depths

I know I am not alone. I have plenty of people telling me that, plenty of people who have faced down this demon before and survived. "Depression lies," I keep telling myself. "It will get better," I keep telling myself, but days like this, weeks like this, months like this, it's hard to believe.

There are three things that keep me from going down the road of suicidal ideation. The first is my own spiritual belief that if I kill myself, I will have an equally miserable afterlife. There will be no relief from pain. My spirit would continue to suffer. Even if I am wrong, and there is no afterlife, nothingness doesn't suit me much either. It's a waste. Feeling nothing, doing nothing, being nothing is not acceptable. In fact, that is exactly what depression seeks.

The second thing keeping me alive is the idea that I want to feel better. I want to find peace. I want to find me again. I can't do that if I'm dead. I am terrified enough of the narrowing of possibilities that aging comes with. Therefore, it makes no logical sense to end my life early.

The third thing preventing my suicide are the people I love. I know that if I hurt myself or take my own life that they will hurt, too, and that thought is more than I can bear. Not to sound conceited, but I know I would leave a bigger hole than I think I would when I am depressed.

All of that being said, I am struggling to remember a time when I felt this bad for this long. Maybe after my divorce, when I was forced to leave England and move back in with my mother when I was 25, or maybe when I suffered serotonin syndrome after cold-turkeying off Paxil when I was 22. At any rate, these events are not within recent memory, and knowing I survived them does surprisingly little to help.

At least I know what I want. I want to feel good again. I want to look forward to events instead of dreading them. I want a neat, organized room and a rejuvenated altar. I want the energy to give all of these things to myself. I want the strength to repay those who have helped me through this time. All seem out of reach right now.

Today, I am afraid. I fear that because I was on those gods-forsaken painkillers for so long, my brain chemistry will never recover. I am afraid that I will never feel good again. I am afraid that I will continue to be an emotional strain on Matt and the others who care about me.

What is today? Nothing looks or feels right. My body feels strange, and I don't feel present in the moment. The sadness is viscous like tar wrapping up my thoughts. For just a minute, I think I want to die, but then I go through all of my reasons not to again. It doesn't make me feel happy, but it keeps me breathing.

I did go to the convention, for one day. I did manage to suppress the despair long enough to have a little fun. There were several people there who "got it" well enough that I didn't break down. The next day, my friend Mandy came to visit, and she kept me talking long enough that I almost forgot I was sick- but, like a nightmarish jack-in-the-box, the crippling anxiety and anguish sprung back with even more force the next day.

I've been crying and sleeping most of the time, only remembering to eat when Matt brings me something. And, of course, I am in physical pain. Just taking a shower and getting dressed costs an enormous amount of energy.

I want to look back at this entry later and say, "See? You got through it!" I want that "later" to be tomorrow or next week. It might not be, and that is scary, too. How much longer will this last? When will I feel happiness again? When will I get to stop settling for brief moments of "maybe it's not so bad" and actually be able to be joyful?

Something else that sucks: Taking care of me is a full-time job for both me and Matt. Doctor after doctor, test after test, expensive medications, physical therapy, mental therapy, and all for what? I don't feel any better than I did a year ago. I feel worse. So not only is this a full-time job, it's one that costs more than it pays.

Okay, I'm done now. I think that's about it. All this whining that I share with the world. I share it in hopes of gaining support, but also in hopes that someone who is deep in the same shithole might read it and know they aren't alone.