/ sorrow found me when i was young / sorrow waited, sorrow won / sorrow, they put me on the pill / it’s in my honey, it’s in my milk /
No editing, just stream of consciousness. Away we go.
Depression is a difficult thing to write about, but it’s also the primary thing I have going on in my life most times. Most often, I don’t even tell my closest friends what’s going on with my depression, aside from broad strokes and generalities. I just don’t know how to get into it. I think I should write more personally on this blog from time to time. I’m not sure anyone actually reads this blog anymore, but I suppose there is some value in writing just for me, even if I’m the only one who actually checks in with my words. If I am in fact going to write more personally from time to time, that means writing about depression. Who knows, maybe this will be the only time I do something like this, but I think it’s what I need at the moment, so here it is.
Depression is so many things. I think when people hear someone say they struggle with depression they think it means they are really sad a lot of the time. That’s true. It’s also just a tiny part of what depression really is. I think in some ways it is different for everyone who struggles with it, but for me it includes things like overwhelming, bone-tired exhaustion and insomnia. How do you like that for a kick in the nuts?
It somehow works in my brain chemistry and makes it impossible for me to believe deep down that people value me or want me around. It feeds off of negative thoughts and keeps the positive ones from getting any traction. Self doubt, fear of rejection, social anxiety, certainty people dislike me… all par for the course. I know, everyone deals with these things, but not to the point that every positive thing is poisoned by them. Like Matty B and The National sing it, /it’s in my honey / it’s in my milk /
From what I understand, depression can hit people in different places in their body. Mine hits me all over, because it is often impossible for me to rest, surrender, feel safe. etc. However, primarily my depression hits me in the middle of my chest, like a vice. It’s like two large, strong hands gripping my heart and squeezing. My soul feels like it resides in my chest, and that soul always feels like its trying to breathe through a wet blanket.
I walk around all the time pretending things aren’t falling apart, but I’m always on the edge of falling apart. Sometimes I just flat out fall apart, but most of the time I can hide it. Right now, things in my life actually are falling apart. School is falling by the wayside because I need to work full time, and part of what it means for me to carry this depression is that I never have a remainder. I hear of people who work full time and then come home and do school work. I’m lucky when I can come home and watch a movie. I know, it’s pathetic. But, it’s me.