Depression is a state of mind, despair, an opinion. I have never understood my depression and do not understand the despair; I know however that depression becomes a habit, despair, it’s conclusion and suicide, or, at least the thought of it, a relief.
There are moments, too many and now too frequent, when I allow myself to fantasise about the releif of death, a few moments of pain and then sweet, comforting oblivion. It’s so attractive, to think that one no longer has to go through the same pain, day in and day out, not to wake to terror, not to live with my punitive brain.
Every morning I feel the sickness, every evening, with the prospect of sleep, I recover, a little but enough to give me peace. I struggle to stay awake, trying to postpone the morning, mornings are the worst, then I sleep, rarely more than a few hours, waking in the small hours, in the darkness, how I love the night. I hold onto that pleasant feeling of being awake and at peace, and then the brain kicks in.
I look about me, I look at my friends, I have many, though few see me in my hell, I hide from them, selecting exposure carefully and ensuring that I am, at least to appearance happy and powerful. I am, of douse neither, as every lover has found to their cost. The outer person, the inner so different, though I now notice that the inner comes out more often, the game has become more difficult.
I would so like to be like others but truth be told I do not understand them; I am in my private fish bowl stakeout out, wanting to belong but unable to break through the glass.
When, of course they do find out, and some do, they run, they do not u understand or think that they do and judge me harshly for not having the strength to pull my socks up. I judge myself harshly but depression breeds a painful form of apathy. I can look after others but I can not look after myself. I don’t really care about myself. The depression wants me to suffer, to neglect myself, and ultimately to kill myself.
It is a terrible thing when one considers the high point of life to be death but I envy the dead, I wish to join them, I only hold on in order to avoid the suffering of others. I am not sure however how long I can hold on for, when every day I wish death, every night prey that I don’t ewake up. One day.
But depression is only a state of mind but then the state of mind is everything, the arbiter of life, the ou twice, the editor. I am told that my brain chemicals are somehow diffident, great but it keno comfort, so many medications, so much therapy but in the end I just return to my dark space. I tell the therapist that things are getting better, I tell them because I think that is what they want to hear, but the truth is, though I enjoy therapy, it does not help.
I am stuck with me and I don’t like me. I want to change but no longer know who I am or what I want. Yes, to help others, to love and be loved but as to who I am, I dont know. I suspect that I have become frightened of happiness and wheeze others see suffering ad part of life, sandwiched between better times, I see better times ad mere moments sandwiched between the bouts of depression.
Who could ever choose to live like this – apparently I do. The chemicals perhaps but all of this is just meaningless explanation. When it hurts, it hurts, the explanations seem only excuses. Just change my brain …. Please …. If not, just take my life from me. No one should live like this.