Depression
Mar. 7th, 2008 09:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormMost of us have been there. Do you remember how it feels? A very dear friend of mine is going through this right now, and it reminded me of my bad years when Kynnin was supporting me and I couldn't dig myself out of it. Watching this friend is like a little snapshot in my head. I'm not there now; I've learned coping mechanisms so it never gets all that bad. Still, I was...
It seems so much like an actual, malign entity. It's smart, because it uses my own brain. I'm never quite sure what it wants. There's no way to pacify it, there's no 'right thing' that makes it feel better. Hiding helps a little, short term, but it sucks you down so badly long term.
Some days it feels like the air is solid and my body weighs more than any leaden statue. Limbs won't bend. When the sun shines in I literally can't see it; colours are dark. Vision is a tool to move through space rather than a pleasure. Everything sounds melodramatic to say it, and of course no decent human being would feel this way. Everything in my mind is slippery and avoidant. Subjects dance away almost without my noticing-- I should really go to work but something about the dishes need doing and if I don't get the paperwork for citizenship done and then I haven't had breakfast yet what was that?
Things seem to be coming from very far away, but I'm locked in here far too close to myself. I wish I could describe the feeling of loathing better: there is such violent self-repulsion, everything inside is such a seething pit of slime. No one should be made to see such things. No one could ever see such things; there's something so wrong with me and if only I could try a little harder I could do it, but I'm such an utterly fucking miserable failure of a human being that I can't even do any easy little thing that anyone could do in their sleep with no effort. This isn't a matter of someone understanding, this is a matter of my not being good enough: subhuman.
I can't believe how nice everyone is being to me. That'll change as soon as they catch on to what I'm really like.
Making breakfast is the hardest thing in the world; hardly even worth it. I can change the sheets tomorrow. I can do everything tomorrow, I'm just going to curl up in this little space under my blanket and close my eyes, everything is so heavy. Sleep, at least, is peace.
Leaving the house is walking through a solid wall. I can't meet anyone's eyes, god, don't let me meet anyone's eyes. There's a pressure behind my temples. My leg hurts. My body offers up any excuse to turn back.
Who knew that your mind could have a mind of its own? This is the bus to work and I promised myself, I promised, that I would go today. Still somehow that was the right bus stop and I'm still sitting here with a big blank where my -me- is supposed to be. I wonder what will happen at the end of the ride? I only pray that something will happen, the bus will crash, the world blow up, anything will happen before I need to explain why I'm not there, why this happened. Before I need to figure out what to do next.
If I keep my eyes straight ahead and I don't move, I'll be invisible. No one will see this thing I've become. If no one thinks about me I can maybe not exist, just for a moment, and everything will be alright again.
I want it to go away. I want everything to go away. I can't do this anymore. I can't do anything, anymore.
It seems so much like an actual, malign entity. It's smart, because it uses my own brain. I'm never quite sure what it wants. There's no way to pacify it, there's no 'right thing' that makes it feel better. Hiding helps a little, short term, but it sucks you down so badly long term.
Some days it feels like the air is solid and my body weighs more than any leaden statue. Limbs won't bend. When the sun shines in I literally can't see it; colours are dark. Vision is a tool to move through space rather than a pleasure. Everything sounds melodramatic to say it, and of course no decent human being would feel this way. Everything in my mind is slippery and avoidant. Subjects dance away almost without my noticing-- I should really go to work but something about the dishes need doing and if I don't get the paperwork for citizenship done and then I haven't had breakfast yet what was that?
Things seem to be coming from very far away, but I'm locked in here far too close to myself. I wish I could describe the feeling of loathing better: there is such violent self-repulsion, everything inside is such a seething pit of slime. No one should be made to see such things. No one could ever see such things; there's something so wrong with me and if only I could try a little harder I could do it, but I'm such an utterly fucking miserable failure of a human being that I can't even do any easy little thing that anyone could do in their sleep with no effort. This isn't a matter of someone understanding, this is a matter of my not being good enough: subhuman.
I can't believe how nice everyone is being to me. That'll change as soon as they catch on to what I'm really like.
Making breakfast is the hardest thing in the world; hardly even worth it. I can change the sheets tomorrow. I can do everything tomorrow, I'm just going to curl up in this little space under my blanket and close my eyes, everything is so heavy. Sleep, at least, is peace.
Leaving the house is walking through a solid wall. I can't meet anyone's eyes, god, don't let me meet anyone's eyes. There's a pressure behind my temples. My leg hurts. My body offers up any excuse to turn back.
Who knew that your mind could have a mind of its own? This is the bus to work and I promised myself, I promised, that I would go today. Still somehow that was the right bus stop and I'm still sitting here with a big blank where my -me- is supposed to be. I wonder what will happen at the end of the ride? I only pray that something will happen, the bus will crash, the world blow up, anything will happen before I need to explain why I'm not there, why this happened. Before I need to figure out what to do next.
If I keep my eyes straight ahead and I don't move, I'll be invisible. No one will see this thing I've become. If no one thinks about me I can maybe not exist, just for a moment, and everything will be alright again.
I want it to go away. I want everything to go away. I can't do this anymore. I can't do anything, anymore.
