If you want to know what my anxiety is to me, it is being unable to make a new psychologists appointment after my old one left. Letting my pills run out rather than make a phone call. It’s avoiding a therapist for reasons I’m not even sure. It is a pain in my gut every time the phone rings. It’s finding excuses to push people away. Being unable to sleep in fear of anything that breaks my routine, anything new. It’s having high blood pressure because my heart races every time someone gets close enough to take it.
My depression is a call to the void. It is staring at train tracks and wondering what if. I hide in a hole building a wall of trash around me like a castle wall. I think of the past and never the future. I feel a call that leads me deeper into the dark. I find sad story’s and music and weep to myself. But sometimes I find someone who is worse off than me. I use what experience I have and try to help them, not for unselfish reasons but because it makes me feel better as well.
Hiding and pushing everyone away would be so easy. Even doing things I enjoy bring on painful feelings. I’ve done it before, I dropped out of school, grow fat and suicidal. I wrote on my skin with a knife. As painful as it all it, it is easy. I slip down a similar hole all the time. But I still slowly crawl out.
Have you ever laid flat against the ground and feel as if gravity was holding you down? Sometimes I forget how much I distract myself from myself. Just a few moments alone with my thoughts is enough to send warm tears down the sides of my head. I feel somber. My mind is so very clear, but the tears don’t stop.
I recently had to visit a new psychiatrist. My old one had moved away leaving me to deal with a new one. Sitting in a chair answering questions that I had long forgotten the answer too. I can’t remember old doctors names or the years when I started a certain medicine. Suddenly being asked the days date, and counting backward from 100 by 7 was embarrassing. It seemed my last doctor added agoraphobia to my chart without telling me. The lack of control over the situation made me feel so small.
What hurt more than any of my anxiety, however, was my father. Before I left for the appointment I happened to talk to him and told him where I was going. His response was surprising that I still seek help for my mental Illness. I have been seeing a psychologist almost longer in my life then I have not. Nearly more than half my life. How could he possibly not know? The nights I spent crying myself to sleep, the times I hurt myself, the very close fact that I was going to kill myself. How blind has he been to the pain in my life? When I was young I suffered alone. As I grow up I decided never again, for my sake I would be open and honest about it. It hurts to know that someone close did not hear me.
An old story that I have told many times now. I stay up late, it is my birthday, and am lost in my head. I’ve said this before, but I think it is important to say, again and again, I did not expect to live this long. I am almost thirty, I truely believed without a doubt in my mind that I would be dead by now. In that respect, every moment I still exist exceeds my childhood expectations for me.
I grow older, but in many ways, I am still a child. I suppose I am not unique in this. We are all still learning, and growing and changing as people. The change is so much more subtle than I thought as a child. Depressed, happy, thoughtful it is all still me. As a teenager, you strive to be unique and even I often wondered who I would be without my depression. While my depression may never go away completely, I have learned to manage it better and better. I understand now that am still me, no matter how I change.
The holidays never seem easy. Nights grow longer and colder and so does my heart. I want to sleep…I never want to wake up from my dreams. As I lay in bed, loneliness and depression fall over me like a blanket. I’ve wasted nights like this.
Still, I must wake up eventually. No matter how much time I waste I still get up because am still breathing. Am still alive so I will continue to wake up. I will seek out the small moments that keep me alive. An interesting boo, a night in an empty movie theater, a cold dark drive on empty roads, or a hug from my sister who I haven’t seen in a while. Such moments are what keep me still breathing.
Days blur together for me. I can go a long time without really doing anything. Spending each day like a robot. Then all at once it hits me. Loneliness suffocates me. I wonder why I let things get this way, I blame myself. I lack self-confidence and lack the self-confidence to build more confidence. If I am to drown in a sea of my flaws I will keep doing my best to keep my head above the water.
I have not written anything here for a little while. I’ve been unsure what to write. I write to make myself feel better but part of me also writes for a bit of validation. Not that I seek attention, but rather I just want people to know. I don’t even need people to understand, just a nod of their head telling me they at least heard or read what I have to say. Perhaps that part of me comes from being alone for so long that I never had people to even tell even my most benign thoughts too.
People have died in my world recently. Not anyone close, but not so far away as I would not notice. Death makes my problems seem petty and insignificant. In truth they are, it does not make them go away or change how I feel but I know they are. I fear for the future of my father because I can tell he does not believe he has one. He is stuck in a job he is too old to be doing, and all his friends are dead. I once said that I live in a manner that is just me committing suicide the long way around. My father is doing a much better job of it than me. All he has left are alcohol and a woman he dates simply so he won’t be alone. This alcoholic who broke my heart a thousand times slowly dying ahead of me.
What about me? I grasp for moments of happiness. I do things for the first time other have taken for granted. I can actually be happy for short periods of time. It’s the moments before and after that trouble me. A night with friends fills me with anxiety. I have trouble making phone calls and am worried something will always go wrong. Then after, I feel regret. Not at a good time, I just had but rather that I never had such experiences before. I think of the past and fall deeper down a spiral of depression. Am lucky if the only thing I feel is just empty. The funny thing about time is that it won’t stop. Life does not stop for me, my problems, my father’s problems or anyone else. Even death does not stop the march of time, at least not for everyone else. So am alive, and I will keep watching the time slip forward for as long as I am alive. Just doing my best.