As documented in my last post, and over the last year, I’m doing really well. Am I cured? No. And oddly although I don’t like labels, I sort of wish there was a better name for my main mental issue of severe depression, it just sounds funny, but when my shrink has to fill out any forms, that is what occupies the suffers from space, so that is what I go by.
The last week and a half though was total shit. Really hard. I managed for the most part to stay out of the suicidal mindset, despite a couple of unwanted intrusions. But I have this thing where I mention it instantly now, using it almost as a grounding exercise. One of my long time readers asked me a while back how it is that Adam is able to handle my monotonous threats of suicide. I told her I didn’t know but that I’d ask him and I also asked why he married me knowing that one minute I’m happy as a pig in shit only the next to spit out “I fucking hate everyone I just want to fucking die, fuck this shit” and off to bed I go. He said it was because he called my bluff. Then I said, “risky business”.
Feeling better is something that as we have a chance to get acquainted comes with it’s own set of variables, like the fear of having another actual breakdown or even just slipping into a depressive episode over what so far hasn’t been longer than seven days without waking up one day and having it genuinely break like a really bad headache eventually does.
I’m finding some things that even though I know deep down are things that I’m taking big liberties in perception with are bothering me none the less.
I feel under pressure. Pressured to keep all of my friends happy and supported both online and off and I feel I am failing miserably there. Pressure to NOT get depressed. Pressure to keep my shit together around people who also suffer from depression but have their shit together now so as to not be a burden. Pressure to NOT want to kill myself. Pressure to NOT freak out or lose my temper or swear at someone. PRESSURE PRESSURE PRESSURE.
No one but ME is placing this pressure, that I am aware of anyway. But I have no idea how to just drop it off on the curb because it gives me anxiety. Just because I feel better doesn’t mean that my social anxiety doesn’t take a couple licks at my ass as it is trying it’s darndest to get out of the house. Sometimes I don’t even know what feeling better even really means other than not being on shit loads of medication and having a fairly drama free existence because for me there is always that voice in the back of my head that for almost a year has been tiny but is still constantly there reminding me I’m on three medications, though the dosage has been dropped significantly. I find it pretty disconcerting when I look back on how much medication I was on for the first half of 2009. I’m not saying that I will never have another breakdown but the version of me that occupied my body during what was the longest lasting depressive episode I’ve ever had through 2007 to 2009 doesn’t exist anymore. Even when I get pissy and throw a temper tantrum it is coming from a completely different mentality.
I’ve been working on myself for so long I don’t know WHY I can’t just be happy with the progress I’ve made and call er a day. Be thankful for every good day and just accept that I am going to have REALLY bad ones no matter what. I don’t even feel it is asking for that much but apparently at this moment anyway, my brain feels it is.
** Title from Under Pressure, Queen w/David Bowie
