I can’t tell people how I feel because of a misguided sense of how they perceive me and because the words that I have, as extensive as my vocabulary is, aren’t up to the task of adequately conveying the feelings I have or the impact they have on me. I am depressed, a condition which has sat in the background of my mind for a great many years and pervades the darkest corners of my conscious and subconscious thought. Why that is and where it comes from is a matter for discussion by people that have given themselves more education into the workings of the mind than I have and, honestly, I don’t know if their categorizations necessarily fit me in any case.
Friendships have been a relatively new phenomenon to me. I’m at a point in my life that I never thought I’d ever be; I have more friends than I’ve ever had throughout the years that preceded this. My friendships have impacted me as much as I have them and they’re more open than I had ever expected. Some of that I can take credit for, but a lot of it has been pure luck on my part. That’s not to say I haven’t been burned before- I have a few times- but by and large my friends have been positive influences on me and I them. That’s what makes me want to continue to be but is also the greatest source of pain for me.
I’m going to openly admit what I often avoid telling people because of how they feel about me- I don’t think I deserve to live. Although I’m writing this for myself, I’d be a fool to think that it won’t be read by others so I have to say that what you think I mean by making that statement is not necessarily the case, but I can’t think of a way to clarify it so you’d actually understand what I mean, so I’ll just urge you to take the statement prima facie and try not to read any endorsement into it. I have tried to end my life several times and while it’s not my intention to do so at the moment, I view my life as irrelevant to me. I don’t say this to diminish the value that others hold to my existence, but I don’t see myself in those same terms. Perhaps I’ve set the bar too high or I’ve lost the capacity to take joy in my accomplishments, but I mourn my continued existence and, strangely enough, regret that my past attempts weren’t successful.
Where I go from here isn’t all that appealing, either. I am relying on medications to keep my mood stable, but those same medications have an increased risk of making my mood even more unstable. Even if I were to keep on the regimen- a pattern which seems vulnerable to disruption by my penchant for disorganization- I’m likely to be dependent on these and other medications for much of the remainder of my life, a prospect I neither look forward to nor particularly support. I have a long way to go and a lot of pain to overcome before I can even think of what life would be like without feeling that dark pit in the back of my psyche. Nobody seems to understand that it’s been so long since I’ve felt different that, on some level, I actually use the pain to define who I am. I’m scared to release it; I’m scared to face the person everybody feels I should be, probably because I’ve been afraid to face myself for so long. Part of that fear is unfounded, but a part of it stems from the potential I have demonstrated to cause others physical or emotional pain– I find it difficult enough to live with my own pain, but I know that I’d probably be willing to kill myself first before allowing myself to hurt someone else. And yet, there’s my conundrum- how to actually leave the world without negatively impacting others or how to continue my existence on those same terms- because I don’t know how to reconcile those opposing ethical considerations and be willing to live with the consequences. I am going through the motions of everyday life and treatment without any clear idea of what it is I am doing it for.
I want to have a reason to live of my own. Everybody keeps telling me how lucky I am and using comparitive argumentation. I suppose that, for most, that would seem like a valid argument. I’m sure that statistics and anecdotal stories work well to prove a point to someone with something to prove or that actually cares about their place in the world, but it doesn’t do a damned bit of good for me when I could probably care less about what is true for other people when it’s not true for me. At a time when people are trying to help, I feel alone and trapped in a world that I’d just as soon leave were it not for the anchors of other people. But it’s not enough.
2 comments
I agree with you on those feelings. I sometimes wish my attempts had succeed but you’re right the people in our lives are the reason we’re still here because we’re afraid of the pain we’ll cause them. I don’t have an answer to what your purpose or mine is but I hear we figure it out in time, but how long it takes no one will ever know.
Depression is the worst kind of killer. It corners you at night or when you’re all alone and tears away any shred of happiness it can find until there’s nothing else except sadness and pain. Sometimes you are holding on to your sense of worth by a thread, but that thread can save your life. Other times, the thread snaps, and you fall into the pit of seemingly unendless depression. But you can rebuild yourself. It may take a long time, but it is not impossible. You just have to believe in yourself.
I don’t know the exact right words to say, but I don’t think anyone does. It seems like you don’t want to commit suicide, but you wouldn’t necessarily care if you died either. I know the feeling. It’s a numbness that you can’t push away. But you can’t give up on yourself. Please hold on, you’ll be okay<3