My “other” dark monster

So let’s talk about the other dark monster. I tend to avoid the subject of depression as it’s not as “cool” to talk about as anxiety. First I’d like to differentiate between MY anxiety and depression. My anxiety is what kept me up at night. It made me angry, bitter, quick reacting, and long regretting. I’d always worry about what I said. Physically it made me have bubble guts, my armpits itch and I’d sweat. Depression is deep and dark. Depression is this nagging feeling of inadequacy. Like no matter what you suck at life and there’s nothing you can do about it. Depression feels hopeless, as if there’s no happiness, and if a happy moment happens its clouded by the fact that you are nothing. Physically depression is draining. You have no energy because your mind is too busy telling your body what is the point and you are forcing yourself to do things ONLY because you know you have to. Things that don’t HAVE to get done won’t.

Depression is what made me get help.  Think about it. I’ve suffered with anxiety my whole life—I recognized my depression pretty quickly and it was so scary that I pushed past my anxiety for help. I used to take those quizzes all the time, “Are you depressed” and I wondered– would I know if I was depressed? My depression was so strong, and so scary that it would have been impossible for me to miss. I didn’t want to leave the bed. Nothing made me happy. I cried 50 million (maybe a slight exaggeration) times a day. I showered just so my tears would go down the drain—not to get clean or any of that stuff that required effort.

My depression, if it were a person, would have been a tiny little bully—small enough to sit in my ear and whisper ‘nothings’ to me. You are nothing. You mean nothing. You do nothing. Nothing you’ve done matters. Nothing you love love’s you. Nothing you care for cares for you. Nothing or no one wants you.

Just nothing.

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