Do You Know This Person?

Recently, one of my favorite bloggers The Bloggess wrote about her fight with depression.  It inspired me to talk about my own struggles.  However, this is not an easy task.  So much emotion gets backed up that it can be impossible to sort it out into words.  Please bear with me as I attempt to do that.

This bout of depression was triggered by a very large event in my life, but it continues to linger due to triggers – some small, some large – that send me into fits of anger, sadness, disgust and hopelessness – all directed at myself.

Depression is a lonely illness for several reasons.  Most people, who suffer from it, try to hide it.  We put on a brave face trying to mask our pain.  This is usually out of self-preservation since sadness is only tolerated so long by those around you.  You don’t want to be the person that everyone avoids because you’re never happy.

Then that pain begins to eat away at your very being.   I compare my depressive episodes to a werewolf… you keep urges at bay and seem very normal and then the full moon comes out.  You turn into a version of yourself you’re afraid of.  A version you don’t understand.  A version you can’t control.  A version that you feel needs to be kept from others.

This monster inside of you causes you to lash out, creating anger and confusion around you.  People begin to distance themselves from you.  To preserve any relationships that haven’t exploded, you go deeper into isolation.  This fuels the depression like gasoline does a flame.

There is a huge temptation to self medicate.  Drugs, alcohol, food… all are tempting to try to soothe the pain inside.  Physical pain and suffering are much more appealing than feeling like you’re drowning in sadness.  Often times, you do things to yourself without even knowing it until it’s done.  I have a penchant for scratching myself.  Most of the time, I have no idea I’m doing it.  I stop in horror knowing that I shouldn’t, yet the burning of my arms and legs takes my mind away from the sadness.  The redness, welts and hives that form give me something to focus on other than the pain.  My mind sees them as battle scars that show physical pain which most people can relate to.  Then the shame sets in.  The fear that someone may see what you’ve done soon follows.  Then the realization that no one does notice and your pain is invisible to all around you.  The cycle then starts again.

It’s difficult to reach out for help.  To be honest, most of the time I don’t know what I need.  It’s like I’m drowning and the people who love me are standing on the shore with ropes, life rafts and floatation devices.  I’m struggling in the water and they are all calling out to me as to what they should do.  I’m too frightened to give them instructions… I just need them to help save me.  

I didn’t write this post for pity.  I wrote it in the hopes that if you know someone who suffers from depression that you can have patience with them.  To those that suffer with me, I wish I was in a better place to try to get you through.  I just know that when I read The Bloggess’ column, I felt like I wasn’t alone and that did help.  I hope this does for you what her column did for me, which was give me a reason to keep fighting.

And that’s all I really need.