I’ve always sorta prided myself over being a ‘different’ depressive. At the beginning when I learned that the cloud of sadness I walked around with wasn’t meant to be a part of me and that it was a shadowy black ghost by the name depression, I felt a part of a similar community. A community of depressives who struggled understanding why everything seemed to mean nothing to them. That was three years ago. Now, I lost myself in the midst of that crowd and became an alien even among those I’d considered my ‘flock’.
Everything has a stereotype, this inclusive of depressives. What would be considered as stereotypical characteristics of any kind of depressive is; the inability to get out of bed, the overwhelming turbulence of sadness, the need to cry everytime, the overwhelming urge to be alone, being so caught up in one’s mind, in every sense possible and the list is endless… I’d be arrogant enough to believe that my readers can tick off what among those characteristics I fall under from what they’ve read from my writing in previous post over the years but I can’t truly afford to feel arrogant right now. In the year 2018, when I first projected my pain to the world through writing, I did experience the wrenching difficulty of getting out of bed. It’s not a nice feeling if I may say so myself. It’s exhausting but what’s more toll taking is trying to get out of the bed exhaustion. It’s a lot like a tag of war, between will & exhaustion. Not only does your body loose any sense of need to leave your bed in the day but your mind doesn’t conjure any reason valid enough besides maybe to use the toilet. In my case now, I’ve escalated on the ladder of a depressive and being stuck in bed just doesn’t happen as less willingly as before. I do spend most of my time in bed but not out of complete mental drain but more as the only secure, secluded & silent place I have.
Despite my progress in pain, the sadness has to be the most permanent aspect of feeling anything depressive. It never leaves. I can’t express that any further than with the fact that its always there, in the good times, in the quiet times but especially in the bad times, it escalates. It clouds everything & tints every little ray of light that could be trying to penetrate through to you. When it comes to crying, from a stereotypical point of view, it seems normal for a depressed person to cry but it’s never been for me at least. I’ve never been one to cry, and I still don’t cry now… only maybe to Michael Bolton on the occasion of my vulnerability. And finally, I’ve withdrawn & still withdraw now more than ever before. At the start, I was naive to think that being vocal about what I was feeling was going to be my saving grace but it turned out that most people don’t truly care. At least not until their so called ‘advice’ seems not to work for you and you are still immensely unhappy. You just end up looking more of annoying to those who aren’t in your shoes. They often times can’t wrap their minds over why anyone would be stuck at feeling like shit and as a depressive, you’re caught between hating them for judging you & also trying to prove to them that your choice in the case of feeling depression quit mattering ages ago.
And now to make sense of where all this is steming from. I’ve gotta admit, there is still a lot of unearthed reasons entirely unknown to me of why I feel the way I do in my daily life. My self awareness radar is deeply unknown to me. On most days, I can’t tell what’s real in my head and what’s not. What’s logical and what’s absolutely illogical. What’s part of being Dawn and what’s part of my attached illness. Just thinking about all those unknowns is mind paining. Until recently, I’ve never truly wanted to acknowledge my lack of ‘direction’ in life. I’m in my last semester of college and I have absolutely no idea what I want to do after I’m done with my diploma. My peers seem to be flourishing and now this imaginary pressure has landed on my shoulders that is pushing for me to have to think further than just a few hours from now. Trying to justify to anyone that I’m trying to take it a damn day at a time and not a month from now, comes off to everyone else like a petty excuse.. and what makes this even more gut wrenching is that I’m beginning to feel like it might just be exactly as they are seeing it, just a petty excuse.
Feeling this conflicted isn’t fun for me. I don’t feel it lightly or regard it as something normal. Nothing about me has ever fit in the spectrum of normal. I don’t want to feel like I need to defend myself to everyone on why I don’t have my shit together. I don’t even know what it means to me for me to have my shit together so all this just makes me want to hide. Yesterday it made me want to die. I fight to never feel the need to die cause I might not have a visionary future like everyone else but I do have a family that I know would feel devastated if I died from my own hands. Fighting feeling suicidal is probably the greatest effort I’ve had to put into anything in my life. I fight to live for everything & everyone else but I still can’t seem to do it for myself. I don’t want to feel like I have no purpose in life cause it will be just a matter of time before that’s not just a thought but more of a replayed tune in my head and eventually, nothing will be worth trying for anymore.
I know that the world isn’t waiting for me to start living or to fit in with everyone. I may not match everyone’s energy at being a ‘normal human ‘ but I’m trying. I’m not glad that the world doesn’t give time outs, it would surely be a whole lot more easier if it did. But I’m trying, I’m trying to find reason to live, even when I’ve lost will within myself to do so.
P. S This entry is a jumble of too many thoughts and i feel like I haven’t made a lot of sense therefore if I truly do apologize if my none train of thought isn’t appealing to anyone who reads this. I shouldn’t care but I’m me, I care always and I care too much. Bear with me.
From your cool depressive,
Daddy’s Young Lady.