Secret Mania

There’s a lot of back and forth about how I honest I want to be with you. I want desperately for you to like me. In order for me to like myself, I have to be completely open about all my shit. First, I never know when to use a semicolon and you’ll likely never see one in this blog. Also, I suffer from debilitating depression.

There are a bunch of other fun acronyms that I’ve been given but that’s the one I’m feeling in my bones right now. I am writing to push through it. I’m talking to you so that I don’t crumble. It’s not easy right now. A lot of life is happening outside my apartment, it’s loud. There’s an actual outdoor concert a couple blocks away and it’s painful to absorb. In these moments, I crave stillness. I crave peace.

Those of us who suffer this disease are aware of the shame. We’re told to reach out and ask for help. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that I don’t want to be known just as the person who needs help all the time. I want to be known for more than that. This can’t be my whole identity. This can’t be all that I am. It’s really hard for me to ask for help for anything. To ask for help about something so personal and so concerning, it feels like there’s no point to existing if I’m going to require this kind of attention. I wonder, will it ever cease?

These are my honest thoughts and I’m deciding to tell you. I know many people share these viewpoints it’s never spoken. Sometimes you hear about someone admitting they have attempted suicide years ago or that they once suffered from depression. These people seem like mythological creatures.

This goes into the lies a depressive brain tells you. I’m learning all about my liar brain. I’ll admit, that pisses me off, I can’t trust my own fucking brain? So many trust issues and now this? I suppose the lie I’m trying not to believe is that everything is not going to work out for me and that things will never improve. I’m not capable of improving my life.

To think that other people wake up and don’t have shitty liar brains.

If you’re still reading and have never dealt with depression, you might be wondering a few things. I imagine it is frustrating to be around anyone dealing with depression. I can’t even imagine. It’s so frustrating being the one who is depressed because it’s so illogical. It’s so counterproductive. The entire time you’re going through a depressive episode, you’re typically immobile in some way. You usually can’t speak well, can’t leave your home, can’t eat, can’t contribute to your society, your job, your family. It feels like people are judging you and assuming you’re being selfish. You feel like shit. Yet, there is no gas in the tank to get you there. Nothing left. You are asked to do something you could have done once upon a time and the idea of performing is so panic inducing, you have exhausted any resource you have left. Sleep is all you can do because it might replenish the fuel. By the time you wake, your laundry list has piled. You’re so overwhelmed, another panic and you’re back to zero. Asking for help? It feels like asking for the world.

Perhaps my feelings will change tomorrow and I’ll be tempted to delete this. This blog torments me. It’s about writing my truth and putting it out in the world and I suppose it’s for my own catharsis. Part of me secretly hopes it reaches someone and helps them. Everything in my lying heart is telling me to take it down and keep it to myself. My untrusting mind is telling me that it will just be used against me later on. Perhaps.

Living my life that way hasn’t served me. Delivering my scary shit might not either but it’s a different approach than crumbling. I simply won’t crumble anymore.