Not Hyperbole at All

Well, I'd like to thank the people who said something to me, either in real life or via blog comment, about the last post here. It's good to know that people are here, that they're reading the words I throw into my blog posts, and honestly, 'outing' myself makes me feel a little more free, somehow.

I'm not sure how or why, but I've felt a sort of weight lessen, like not admitting that I struggle with depression was holding me down, in a way. I don't know.

I won't lie. Last night wasn't really a good night for me. But I'm ok today, and I'll be ok tomorrow. And that's how it is.

I won't make any promises that my next post will be all sunshine and roses, but I want to talk a little bit more about my dealings with depression in this post, because sometimes, I read things and they strike a chord and I can't not say something about them, so here we are. Besides, this is my blog. I shall blab about whatever I want, yes? Yes.

Hyperbole and a Half is a blog I've been aware of for quite some time, but her most recent post has been such a GPOY for me that I can't really explain it. She succinctly words some of my thoughts on my depression - because I do have to own it - to the point where all I could do while I read the post was nod and stare at the screen in some form of awe.

The beginning of my depression had been nothing but feelings, so the emotional deadening that followed was a welcome relief.  I had always wanted to not give a fuck about anything. I viewed feelings as a weakness — annoying obstacles on my quest for total power over myself. And I finally didn't have to feel them anymore.
But my experiences slowly flattened and blended together until it became obvious that there's a huge difference between not giving a fuck and not being able to give a fuck. Cognitively, you might know that different things are happening to you, but they don't feel very different. (via)

This is me, to a tee. K and I have had a very difficult five years. Every sort of financial problem that you can think of has fallen over us. We moved to get a fresh start, but experienced a lot of the same issues we had in our original location. The strain that came as a result of all the financial woes was compounded by issues with a member of my family that was a never-ending drain on my feelings of self-worth and my feelings about life and where I wanted to be. There were good things, of course - the birth of our daughter is the best thing life has ever granted either of us, we do have a handful of friends who have remained at our side, and for me, there was writing and reading to escape a bit. But still, because of how very difficult life had become, from mid-2009 forward, I was basically in a constant state of stress, strain, and variations of "God, what next?"

At some point in 2012, I realized I was able to stop feeling things. I was able to turn off the freak out, I was able to stop my anxiety, I was able to put on a smile even when I felt like hell. And at first, that seemed like a blessing. It felt like a victory of sorts, because I could stop feeling stressed and beaten up and the numbness was just... well, it was sort of lovely. Then, in late 2012, my marriage hit a wall, and we very nearly separated. In the beginning of this time, I felt nothing.

Let me repeat that: I felt nothing about the possibility of my marriage ending.

Until one day, I did. And that day, we decided to make it work, and we're better and healthier and more honest with each other now than we ever were before, and it's good.

But that got me thinking.

At some point, in hindsight, I realized that I could feel okay. I could feel content, and not strained and sad all the time, but that there was some sort of haze over it, some sort of cloud that kept me at arm's length from every feeling. I realized that this thing that I thought was a sort of blessing in disguise was a curse straight from the pits of hell, because not caring is one thing - not being able to care is a wholly different item.

Further, there was the realization that I felt a strange sense of animosity toward some of my friends - only a handful, who were perpetually happy and refused to allow me not to be. It made me crazy when people tried to put a positive spin on everything, when they wouldn't just let me feel what I felt, even if it was nothing that day. When every day is dull and drab, it's hard to feel like there are sunshine and roses anywhere, and that's all I can say about that.

At first, I'd try to explain that it's not really negativity or sadness anymore, it's more just this detached, meaningless fog where you can't feel anything about anything — even the things you love, even fun things — and you're horribly bored and lonely, but since you've lost your ability to connect with any of the things that would normally make you feel less bored and lonely, you're stuck in the boring, lonely, meaningless void without anything to distract you from how boring, lonely, and meaningless it is. (via)

That. So much that.

Thankfully, my daughter has been the exception to this rule in my life. She has the power to make me laugh and cry and smile and forget any of the shit that's holding me down, and even if it piles on top of my head the moment I put her to bed and I'm faced with it again, that makes her the strongest, most wonderful person in the world, in my eyes (on top of the fact that I love her, no matter what).




So here's the thing:

I struggle with depression. Saying "I'm depressed" has become an almost useless statement in our society, I think, because it's used when referring to things that are just a bit of an inconvenience. Are you really depressed when you can't do that one arbitrary thing? No, probably not. So I won't ever refer to my emotional place as that. But it is a battle. Some days are better than others. I love the people in my life. I love where my life is moving. But sometimes, I look out in front of me and I see what looks strangely like the seemingly barren wasteland that is behind me, and I have a hard time putting one foot in front of the other.


And here's where I am:

I am working on regaining some of the hope I used to exist in. I am working on thinking about us owning our own home and traveling together and being able to wake up with a smile on my face. I am working on being more honest about my feelings, outwardly, instead of keeping my real reactions to things in my head. In this same vein, I am working on being honest with my husband instead of shielding him from my struggle because I know he worries more than he'd ever publicly let on.

Basically, this right here:

via

No, I'm not all instasmile and permahappy right now, and maybe I'll never be, but for the first time in my entire life, I'm ok with that. I can be content with what I have and where I'm at, yes? And that, my friends, is progress in the right direction.

And now, back to your regularly schedule program. Thanks for reading.

until next time,
ang