I’ve tried writing a new post several times over the last two days and deleted them all. Which is probably for the best.
I have somewhat lost my mind. I cannot explain nor justify it. However it probably has to do with the fact I’m a mental fuckwit at the best of times and I decided to stop taking my anti-depressants which, in the scheme of things, was probably the worst decision ever.
The last two days have been a perfect clusterfuck. I am lucky to have such incredible friends, two in particular who were there to see me at my worst and get me through it. Asking for help is never easy and I have struggled with depression and anxiety for the last 20 years.
What I wouldn’t give to not have this black dog, this shadow all the time. Medication has helped me a lot. A fuck of a lot. But it never really eliminates the underlying fear, the weirdness, the sheer horror. I’m not being melodramatic – I’m being honest. The temptation, the need, the very fucking need to make it all stop is so strong sometimes I can hardly breathe.
I might post this. I might not. If anyone thinks depression or whatever the fuck this is, is not real, then they can get to fuck. I’d like nothing more than to stop the voices in my head. I’d like nothing more than to get the shopping and cook tea and go to the gym like a normal motherfucker. And mostly I can do that. But sometimes all I can see are my failures, they mount up and mount up and I hate myself too much to bear.
I can’t see myself clearly. I have no perspective. I don’t see a point. Being normal is the dizzying high. Let’s not even talk about the crashing lows. I’d love nothing more than to just be normal, to not ever have these thoughts that cripple me and make me want to check out permanently.
But I’m still here. And that’s an achievement. I just wish I could tell all the people that I love that sometimes I’m useless and flaky and prevaricate, not because I’m a bitch, but because I literally cannot deal. That it is too hard and I’m lying on the couch getting drunk and crying and i cannot face anything. But that requires a degree of honesty that I’m probably not willing to give and not expecting people to understand. Because it sounds like a cop-out.
I don’t want to be this way. I would never choose this. But it is my devil, my dog and I can’t change it or make it stop. It is a constant struggle and i’m fighting, believe me, I am. Sometimes I’m not winning. And that is me. Me.