depression – Born Sleep Deprived

Seasonal

Winter is here.

The weather is gloomy, the days are shorter, and depression has set in.

Every morning I have to wake up and face the day. Will I shower? Maybe. What about cooking? I’ll do leftovers in any form to avoid it. That sounds quirky but it’s not cute. Dishes are piled high in the sink and clothes are all over the floor, so I look away. I’m sad. I want to do more but nothing stays done. Getting up and getting out is like lifting dead weight. I’m the deadweight and my heart is the heaviest part of me.

If I’m at work or out with friends, that’s when I push the lie that I’m fine. I know that I’m not.

Every evening I pass the time to stay up late just to postpone the morning. The hardest part is when I lie down. It means the day is over and the next one is about to begin. Closing my eyes will not help me sleep. I just stare at nothing until I wake up.

These feelings came on so suddenly yet should have been so predictable. I’m frustrated with myself because I seem to struggle every year. Why Isn’t knowing ahead of time enough to prevent it from happening again?

Winter is here. I wish I wasn’t.

Resentments and Reasons to Stay

My parents are side by side in front of me, backed against the fireplace by my shouting. I’m freshly released from a two night stay in the mental hospital. I am discharging pain at them like never before.

I’m mad, but the undercurrent of my anger is resentment. It’s been building for a while without me understanding why but has now come fully up to the surface.

People should understand, I explain to them, that I’ve chosen not to kill myself more than once for their sake and not for mine. Going to doctors and faithfully taking medication isn’t going to cure my chronic illness; it only manages to drag my condition into a state of numbed suffering.

And while this is going on, my friends and family who love me dearly are off raising their children or devoting themselves to education and careers, and then there’s just me keeping my mental illness company; It doesn’t take fifteen-minute breaks, an hour lunch, and then go home at five. It never takes a day off so neither can I. I sustain my efforts to struggle one more day by reminding myself how hard it would be on my loved ones if they lost me to suicide. I stay so they can feel better.

I shout all of this at my aging parents who have just spent the entire weekend in tears because I was suffering in the hospital.

My mother stops me dead by responding with quiet yet powerful conviction. “Staying because it will stop other people from being sad is no reason to live.”

Are the Meds Working Yet?

It’s late. I know because my roommate is asleep. I’m lying on my back with the covers in my hands and under my chin. I’m not even tired yet. It’ll be about 2 am before that starts. These are the hours for my mind to wander.

My thoughts are introspective tonight, and they are not kind. “Am I a monster? Do I even care about people? I never feel anything when my friends struggle. Am I capable of loving anyone?”

Thoughts like this swirl around until I turn to actual memories. I start with my still-current friends from elementary school, junior high, high school, and all the way to the present moment. One memory from the 7th grade is standing out. A classmate had given me a plastic valentine heart with a drawing done from an anime we both liked and had bonded over. Her version of Goku from DragonballZ was flawless and still in my keepsake box.

I’m thinking about the drawing and all of a sudden, my chest starts to feel warm and it’s like I can feel the outline of my own heart for the first time. I start to cry and for some reason connect what’s happening to the mood stabilizer I’ve been taking daily for the last two months. It’s the first medication I’ve ever taken for Bi-Polar Disorder. But I’m not crying because my meds are working, I’m crying because now I know I’m not a monster. Now I know for sure that I truly love my friends.

Little Known Facts About Depression

Depression is like an infection. It injects itself into your thoughts, and, like infected cells, replicates itself. Mantras like “Give up” “I’m worthless” “I want to die” reproduce over and over again. My brain has no anti-bodies for the invasive thoughts. Every time I hear a voice say, “Kill yourself.”, my brain’s automated response is, “I should kill myself. I’m just using up oxygen that could be put to better use.” And the disease intensifies.

Depression is like the narcissistic partner that gaslights me into thinking I’m the problem. With subtle hints about how my clothes, taste in friends, and career choice are all pathetic, they get inside my head. Even though deep down I know they’re wrong, I can’t help but wonder if they’re right. Maybe the way I dress does suck and my friends don’t care about me and I am pathetic….

Depression is like a little red devil sitting on my shoulder whispering in my ear that it’s all in my head. All the while, tempting me to drown out what’s in my head with drugs, alcohol, and lashing out.

I don’t know the scientific reason why depression is so convincing. I guess I could do some research on chemicals and neurotransmitters. But the empirical evidence is clear; depression is real as hell, and so are its lies. Real… but not true.