Let's Talk Depression 2
A few months ago, I posted a blog called Let's Talk Depression and I was open about a lot of aspects about my experience with depression, but I really didn't go into much detail in that blog. There are so many aspects to depression, especially bipolar depression, so today, I'd like to take some time to try and get these thoughts and feelings out.
When I was younger I thought depression or how I felt was kind of normal, that everyone had doubts and felt shitty about themselves, they just didn't talk about it. As I grew older, I realised that it wasn't normal. That how I felt, other's felt but it was something that we didn't talk about, especially in my family or if you weren't attractive or popular. I felt more isolated as I got older, but I held onto the idea that I'd build good relationships and that people would help me. I'd find a place where I fit, that I would be wanted and I wouldn't feel the loneliness as deep. I thought that I would basically grow out of it. I didn't. I held onto the idea that if I tried hard enough, that if I gave enough or if I was nice enough people would want me around, they would do the same for me. They didn't. I sat wondering for the longest time, what I did wrong, then wondering if the things that I had gone through had really happened at all; I thought I'd wake up and I'd still be 18 and bright-eyed, waiting to take on the world, but when I opened my eyes staring back at me was a sadder, paler and cynical 27 year old. Sometimes I can't wrap my head around the fact that a decade has gone by since I turned 18. It really doesn't feel like that much time has passed, I feel like I've not done enough. Those around me will tell me that I've done many things, the travel, the tours, the books, my art, but it doesn't feel enough. It feels like it's all just been a distraction, a giant waste of time...that I'm a giant waste of time. I find that these days I'm starting more and more projects, but lack to focus and drive to finish them. I can't concentrate anymore. I've struggled with that as the depression has gotten worse, don't even get me started on my manic scatterbrainedness.
I think one of the most difficult struggles is feeling like there are several different lives inside of me. All of them are pulling, trying to fight to the surface to have some experiences of their own or attention of mine. Flashes of my younger years haunt me. It's like a giant fuck you at what I lost and what I will never get back. The times of simplicity that I crave are long gone and I've been thrown into a world of chaotic and often unbearable change. I think it's because I don't know how to handle them. I'm overwhelmed. I never learned how to handle certain types of emotional situations and I'm kind of afraid to try now. A part of me feels that I'm too old to try and learn new skills; I know that's stupid, but I'm afraid to try and fail. I don't want to be pushed out of my comfort zone, but little by little I am trying. It's more difficult than I thought. In so many ways I feel like I'm either not trying hard enough or trying too much or I loose the little bit of sense that I have.
Even when I'm not trying to explore new means of coping with emotional situations or ones that upset me/test my abilities (social mainly) I really lack a sense of self. I feel perpetually empty. There are things that I do, that I love and always love, I can tell people about them, but I still feel like there's so much missing. People can ask me about things I like, but they're not really me, are they? They're not the sum total of me or even really give anyone an idea of who I am. Who am I? I've wondered this since the time I was little and I'm nearly 30 and I still don't have an answer. I know that we grow and change in rapid and slow periods over the course of our lives, but in so many ways I feel like I'm stuck. Am I afraid to take the steps that I need to or that I want to? I'm not really sure. Have I taken the steps and I just don't realise it?
I think in many ways myself hatred and negative thought patterns have limited the growth that I really needed in my younger years. I learned some of the worst possible coping skills very young, I internalised far too much and the ways that I chose to process and do what I thought was overcoming these things weren't the best. I could have tried new methods I guess. Looking back at the relationships that I had I see that I really did try, I was trying with the wrong people. I was seeking out the wrong kind of attention; Actually, I don't think I knew what kind of attention I was seeking. Al I knew was that I didn't want to be forgotten. I was screaming to be seen, but for all the wrong reasons. Maybe I made things harder on myself, but not acknowledging not only my feeling but important parts of myself. I let fear get in the way. I know that some of that fear was well deserved. I was too afraid to really explore my sexuality, my gender identity. It wasn't safe. Even now, I hold so many secrets and reserves out of fear of further abuses. I'm not asking to be accepted by everyone, but be given the same room to explore and be myself. I don't want to be the person on the outside anymore. I've wanted to fit in for so long and I still struggle with it. I wonder what I'm doing wrong. No one ever really tells me. The only person who ever really gave me any sort of feedback was the one who told me my mental illness gets in the way of a lot of things. I guess I knew that I just didn't want to be defined by it.
I was too blinded by the fog of depression and too stripped of the mental and physical energy needed to reach certain milestones. I'm reaching them now, but I'm not really happy with the progress. In the past 3 months or so I've made tremendous leaps and bounds in the ways of mental health, but I still have horrible periods. I always will, it's always going to be a part of bipolar disorder. Treatments are always getting better, but there are some things that treatment and therapy can't cure. I'm working on exploring myself with someone I can trust, someone who I know has no malicious intentions. He's been the greatest addition to my life. He pushes me to not only try new things, but he wants me to be me, to be someone that I'm comfortable in. He's helped me to crawl out of my shell, be a little more outspoken and less afraid to try new things. I'm happy that I can push him to try new things too. I've never had this kind of loving support before; it's alien to me, but in an amazing way. I still have so much more to work through.
Blogs are being delayed and seem one-sided and they really are because I'm stuck in a deep depressive funk. I don't really feel creative or like I matter at all. My low moods are resulting in self-harm in the form of cutting. It takes time away from thinking about new topics, trying new recipes or even getting my ideas out there. I'm supposed to be working on new projects as well. I've made like no headway on any of that. It makes me feel even more useless and miserable. It takes ages for me to wake up in the morning because most days I don't want to. Being awake hurts. There's no other way to put it. Cutting myself is a small distraction from that pain, but as soon as the endorphins stop flowing the consuming thoughts that I'm unloved, a waste and a complete failure wash back into my mind. They really stop me from any kind of productivity. I can't even get up and do dishes. I don't want to leave my thick jimjams. I don't want to eat. I'm content just laying there. I'm forced to get up and cook. I just see no point in it. I was just really starting to get into the groove with the vegan series that I've been working on and then zap. The voices of no one cares, you're just a loser are casting shades of doubt. The last week I've really had to push myself to finish the blogs that I've done, even to get up and shower. I wish I could just unplug my head, but I think that might just make things worse. If the content seems a bit spacy or becomes scarce, it's because I'm trying to focus on other projects or work on my mental health. I want to try and work on the two things at the same time; I've always been a multitasker. I need distractions. I thrive on things like that.
Even when I'm not trying to explore new means of coping with emotional situations or ones that upset me/test my abilities (social mainly) I really lack a sense of self. I feel perpetually empty. There are things that I do, that I love and always love, I can tell people about them, but I still feel like there's so much missing. People can ask me about things I like, but they're not really me, are they? They're not the sum total of me or even really give anyone an idea of who I am. Who am I? I've wondered this since the time I was little and I'm nearly 30 and I still don't have an answer. I know that we grow and change in rapid and slow periods over the course of our lives, but in so many ways I feel like I'm stuck. Am I afraid to take the steps that I need to or that I want to? I'm not really sure. Have I taken the steps and I just don't realise it?
I think in many ways myself hatred and negative thought patterns have limited the growth that I really needed in my younger years. I learned some of the worst possible coping skills very young, I internalised far too much and the ways that I chose to process and do what I thought was overcoming these things weren't the best. I could have tried new methods I guess. Looking back at the relationships that I had I see that I really did try, I was trying with the wrong people. I was seeking out the wrong kind of attention; Actually, I don't think I knew what kind of attention I was seeking. Al I knew was that I didn't want to be forgotten. I was screaming to be seen, but for all the wrong reasons. Maybe I made things harder on myself, but not acknowledging not only my feeling but important parts of myself. I let fear get in the way. I know that some of that fear was well deserved. I was too afraid to really explore my sexuality, my gender identity. It wasn't safe. Even now, I hold so many secrets and reserves out of fear of further abuses. I'm not asking to be accepted by everyone, but be given the same room to explore and be myself. I don't want to be the person on the outside anymore. I've wanted to fit in for so long and I still struggle with it. I wonder what I'm doing wrong. No one ever really tells me. The only person who ever really gave me any sort of feedback was the one who told me my mental illness gets in the way of a lot of things. I guess I knew that I just didn't want to be defined by it.
I was too blinded by the fog of depression and too stripped of the mental and physical energy needed to reach certain milestones. I'm reaching them now, but I'm not really happy with the progress. In the past 3 months or so I've made tremendous leaps and bounds in the ways of mental health, but I still have horrible periods. I always will, it's always going to be a part of bipolar disorder. Treatments are always getting better, but there are some things that treatment and therapy can't cure. I'm working on exploring myself with someone I can trust, someone who I know has no malicious intentions. He's been the greatest addition to my life. He pushes me to not only try new things, but he wants me to be me, to be someone that I'm comfortable in. He's helped me to crawl out of my shell, be a little more outspoken and less afraid to try new things. I'm happy that I can push him to try new things too. I've never had this kind of loving support before; it's alien to me, but in an amazing way. I still have so much more to work through.
Blogs are being delayed and seem one-sided and they really are because I'm stuck in a deep depressive funk. I don't really feel creative or like I matter at all. My low moods are resulting in self-harm in the form of cutting. It takes time away from thinking about new topics, trying new recipes or even getting my ideas out there. I'm supposed to be working on new projects as well. I've made like no headway on any of that. It makes me feel even more useless and miserable. It takes ages for me to wake up in the morning because most days I don't want to. Being awake hurts. There's no other way to put it. Cutting myself is a small distraction from that pain, but as soon as the endorphins stop flowing the consuming thoughts that I'm unloved, a waste and a complete failure wash back into my mind. They really stop me from any kind of productivity. I can't even get up and do dishes. I don't want to leave my thick jimjams. I don't want to eat. I'm content just laying there. I'm forced to get up and cook. I just see no point in it. I was just really starting to get into the groove with the vegan series that I've been working on and then zap. The voices of no one cares, you're just a loser are casting shades of doubt. The last week I've really had to push myself to finish the blogs that I've done, even to get up and shower. I wish I could just unplug my head, but I think that might just make things worse. If the content seems a bit spacy or becomes scarce, it's because I'm trying to focus on other projects or work on my mental health. I want to try and work on the two things at the same time; I've always been a multitasker. I need distractions. I thrive on things like that.
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