7 months ago, I began to feel symptoms of major depressive disorder. All of the symptoms, actually. I am only 20 years old, I have had some bad trauma throughout my life growing up (my father went missing 9 years ago, I had a near death experience drowning about 8 years ago) but for the most part, I have been an extremely happy person. I was patient, stoic, and tolerant of many things that people were more easily bothered by. I had (and still do, sometimes) many passions for music, literature, my friends and relationships and other things as well. Then in September 2012, out of seemingly nowhere, I became severely and clinically depressed.
It was really bad. Almost every day I desired to kill myself and could not stop the suicidal visualizations from happening within my mind: drowning myself, throwing myself off of 15 stories, jumping in front of a bus, shooting myself, etc.. I know in my moments of clarity (because I often shift between feeling horrible and feeling normal/great) that killing myself is probably not what is best. I have 4 younger brothers whose lives would be too horribly affected, and my life is “objectively†good, too. I have a lenient family, many great friends, I get better than average grades, I’m not fat or ugly or anti social…no offense to the poor people who do consider themselves that. I’m just trying to say that I have none of the traits that people often ruminate on when low on self esteem.
I went to a hospital in November in order to receive a proper diagnosis and further help. I also told many of my friends that same night what was going wrong in my life, tired after keeping it a secret for 2 months. I started seeing an amazing therapist the following month, and still see her to this day weekly. My depression has opened me up to so many great things. I feel in certain ways stronger and more intelligent about the world we live in, I discovered yoga and meditation, I started eating healthier and exercising more again. Still, despite all this work, my depression has recently gotten bad again. In December and January I felt very noticeable improvement, but after a major breakdown in late January, things are bad once again. The urge to self mutilate is high, even though I haven’t cut myself since November. I beat myself and cry painfully almost every day again. I have no patience for anything or anyone. People bother me with their mundaneness, which is why I can’t talk to people or go on facebook anymore. I hate seeing people so easily amused by music or stupid fucking pictures of “cute†animals, while I am so incompetent to live properly, I no longer know how to enjoy simple things anymore.
I don’t know what to do. I’ve spoken to a fair amount of doctors and psychiatrists since november and I no longer feel optimistic about my future. I took St John’s wort for a week until I developed a horrible side effect, becoming extremely sensitive to sunlight, I couldn’t go outside without my eyes being in extreme pain. It was like all outdoors were covered in flashbang grenades. So painful. So I stopped taking those pills. My therapist and local psychiatrist want me to read cognitive behavioural therapeutic books but I have so little energy nowadays for anything, going to school, homework, social gatherings, reading, meditating, etc. I feel so week and hopeless and I hate myself for being so lazy.
The worst thing is…I sometimes like being depressed, as if it somehow forges me into a stronger and smarter person. They keep on saying great individuals like Gandhi and Lincoln were severely depressed or bipolar, that maybe there is some connection with great individuals and depression.
Well, I am not a special person at all. I am a university student majoring in English and Philosophy. I love my studies, I love literature. But, what job will this shitty, materialistic capitalist world offer me? I feel doomed to a shitty job and a shitty future, all because I feel my talents and passions lie within writing. My favorite author right now is Virginia Woolf, she was an absolute master of the English language. And she drowned herself when she was 59 years old. Had a lifelong condition of psychosis and major depression. Why are so many great writers, poets and artists so miserable? I keep seeing myself as one of these poor pitiable fools, who will write stories or articles for little money and eventually kill myself the same way Virginia Woolf or Hemingway or Deleuze did, because they dedicated themselves to writing.
I must say in conclusion that I love this website. There are so many amazing people on here I very easily sympathize and relate too. Depressive suicidal people are stronger that most because they go on living in a world or in a life that is borderline unbearable, they still manage to find happiness even when it is so hard to achieve. I’m sorry for all of you who currently suffer, much in the same way I still do, after currently being in my 8th month of suicidal terminal depression. You all amaze and astound me with being able to withstand this insufferable pain. The people who don’t understand us, who call us cowards who cop out via death, may never know what kind of endurance we are capable of.
Why are we like this? Because of a dysfunctional brain? Because of inferior genetics? Impressionable trauma? I don’t know. Maybe this knowledge doesn’t matter too much.
I’m pretty sure the only things keeping me alive are my brothers (because I feel sometimes that I can’t kill myself if it means ruining their lives) and my therapy, so for those looking for hope, please go talk to a professional whom you can trust and cherish, someone who will give you lots of sympathy and the ability to feel this way for yourself. And find someone to live for, if the pain is not too bad. Think of whom you love most and how sad they will be if you died. I do this everyday just to keep myself from chugging sleeping pills as I drift across the nearby lake.
“The stronger the winds, the stronger the trees.â€
1 comment
:'(