I’m struggling and I hate it. I hate that my moods are out of wack, that I feel so low, that the depression is back.
And the thing I hate most about the depression?
Feeling like a failure just for having it.
Logically I know that is not true, but much of me feels that way. And now I’ve added in ECT too, which means memory loss.
The memory loss is frustrating because, like depression itself, it slows me down, makes me more reliant on others, makes me feel like a fuckin moron.
Going into work and not remembering what I’ve done, who I’ve e-mailed, what programs we use,…fuckin moron.
So tonight I came home and took notes on my day in hopes I will be less reliant on others when I go back on Tuesday.
Now to just remember where I put the notes.
I am struggling. Again. I think this is the thing about depression (and there are about 17 “the things” about depression, “the things” being what makes depression different. But honestly it might not be different, it is just what I have.)
But back to the thing: I struggled with depression. I made it through. I knew I wasn’t done for life but I didn’t think it was going to be this tense this soon. I’m back to three ECT treatments/week and they are taking their toll on my brain, my life, my day to day.
I am a lucky person. I get that. I so unbelievably fuckin get that. Really. I do. I am reminded on a daily basis how lucky I am and I love that.
And because I am so lucky I feel bad complaining, but right now, stuff is hard and I wish that would change. I get that’s not how it works but I just need to say it: Right now sucks and I want the disease to get better ASAP.
Ok, I’ll let the universe do what it does and I’ll just keep doing what I do best: Working on getting better (while also complaining a little,) reaching out to people, and making references to 80s/90s TV.
I used to be able to separate what this disease makes me feel and what I actually feel but it is getting harder. Maybe the depression is just becoming a better liar. Maybe depression’s pants are so on fire, and I just can’t see it as easily.
It’s easy to believe what depression says, that I am whiny and self-absorbed, that if I wanted to, I could be better, that the depression is still around because I’m not working hard enough.
Depression is like one of those dick husbands in an old school Lifetime Movie and I guess I just need to get all Nancy McKeon on its ass. I swear I’m trying but it’s getting to me. A lot.
I’m fighting the illness and also the side effect of the illness, the one which makes you doubt any strength you have, the one which tells you, you’re not worth the fight.
I just have to keep remembering that voice’s pants are on fire.
I am suffering right now. I don’t know that I have ever said that sentence, it sounds whiny, but it is how I feel. I feel in pain. The pain makes me angry. Angry at myself. It doesn’t make sense, but then it so does.
I know that I am working hard to get better, to manage this disease, logically I know that, but deep down I don’t believe it.
I blame myself for feeling this way and logically I get why that is untrue and harmful, but I do it. I am trying not to. A lot. But I am doing it. A lot.
I wish there was a way to handle the up and down of getting healthy without getting knocked around so much.
I want to enjoy feeling better without getting attached to it, in case it fades.
I want to not need others in the way I do.
I want to be for myself who I hope I would be for someone else.
I am struggling and I want to find a way to get through.
“And, oh, it was so baffling. You know when you have the flu and you can’t remember when you felt well? And then when you feel better, you can barely remember feeling sick? The authority of depression is horrifying.” – Dick Cavett on his battle with depression
I am ready to barely remember feeling sick.
I am ready to not feel like such shit all the time. I am ready to not feel worthless, worn out, and like I am just done. But I don’t get to decide the timeline. I just get to fight and hope something sticks. And it is rough right now.
I have patience and love for others but I think we all have a harder time giving that to ourselves.
And this disease, it just fucks with that part more. Remembering it is just a disease, and that I am not the disease and that it is a disease that will hopefully get better, that’s the hard part.
Being done seems like the only choice but it is not a choice and that’s that.
And soon I will take Ambien and conk out. Yay.