This has been said to me a lot. Did I really get better before? If so, how could the darkness overcome me so hard and fast again? Why doesn’t the darkness slowly recede, but continue to get darker and darker. Maybe I never did get better.
I was forced into therapy and meds about 10 years ago. Well, forced is too strong a word. I guess I could say I was pressured into it. I was just following orders. People know I’m weak and fold easily, will do what they say. Whatever, I’m deviating from the main point of this rant.
So was I better after that? I don’t think so anymore. I think the therapy and meds allowed me to continue to exist, but not to live. It created a wall between myself and the darkness. I existed in this little pocket of light in my mind. It allowed me to continue to exist and function like a “normal†person. As long as I existed, the people around me were content.
10 years of functionally existing. So what happened? I made a choice to try to live, to love. To do that I had to let the walls down. With the walls down both the will to live and the desire to love bloomed! But the darkness was still there, large and menacing as it has always been. The exact same darkness from 10 years ago. No wonder the depression was taking hold even before she left.
The reason I let the walls down left soon after. Nothing I can do about it. This depression has nothing to do with that. The core of this depression is the same as at was 10 years ago. The same it has always been. A deep rooted hate of myself. The inability to find one good quality in myself. I accept my flaws, but in the end all I see are flaws.
So no, I didn’t get better before, so I can’t assume that I will get better this time. I am not denying that I can get better, but I am denying that it is a sure thing.
1 comment
After reading this I can gather that your depression did improve over the course of those ten years. I’m not saying it disappeared, but it had to improve for you to function and to do the things you did. I think the fact that it always rears it’s ugly head again is a pattern that makes life seem pointless. Accepting that it’ll never be gone completely and the depths of it are an endless pit, is what I find the hardest part to get over. Up to this point, no efforts have proven successful. Instead, each attempt has a shelf life, and a bitter ending. Hope is present, but the harsh reality of not being able to escape this makes any method or treatment fade.
Arriving at the point of despair is inevitable.