Spilling my darkness

I doubled my depression meds and was capable of functioning today. I decided while I’m able to function I should find some advice, something relatable, just SOMETHING for when I go there again. Because I will. Depression is an everyday battle. Most days are good now thanks to my medications–but some days are so bad. So bad that the thoughts that fill my head make me cry. But, back to the research. I started on Amazon and moved to a basic google search. I found nothing. Nothing that gave me the glimmer of hope, that “ME TOO” feeling. So I decided to come here and write. Maybe my writing will be someone’s me too.

I don’t know what triggered me exactly. All week I had been snappy, irritable, unfriendly, impatient, and blunt. This is my textbook anxiety. But that I can live with. Friday started as a normal day, I woke up, went to work, worked my ass off, and around 1ish an email came through. An email that normally would have pissed me off just a tad or made me feel unappreciated per usual, but this time it was scary. The rage that I felt was unholy. That rage led to angry emails, which then caused fear and anxiety, which led to apologetic emails. Apologetic emails led to come to my office which ended in a full on panic attack.

Tears, leg shaking, unable to speak or catch my breath, drawing lines aimlessly on my notebook. Every time I thought it was over I’d try to excuse myself only to end up worse than the prior time. Finally, after about 30 minutes into my full on breakdown I was able to hold back my tears long enough to make it back to my office without attracting too much attention. I sat at my desk staring at the screen but seeing nothing. Luckily it was the end of my day.

I’m sharing this because everyone thinks I have it together. I don’t. Not one bit. I simply push and push and continue moving forward because that for me is the easy thing to do. I need to be improving myself, otherwise the little self confidence I have would diminish. I do a lot of things, and honestly I think I do a lot so that I have an excuse for the things I don’t do.

My depression is dark. I don’t know how it works for everyone else, but I don’t feel just sad or tired. I mock myself. I feel so deeply that I’m a failure and that my depression will never let me be great. I get the urge to harm myself. Yes, I’m admitting this for the first time out loud. I wallow in sorrow so deep that I feel like I’ll never reach the surface, like I’m drowning in oil and it’s filing my lungs and my body, weighing me down.

It is in these moments that I become the best actress alive. I smile, I sing, I do things that I think happy people do. I fake it. And then finally I get to a point where the self torture is enough and I do something about it. So–if you’re looking for someone to relate to. Or if you’re looking for someone who is not ashamed of spilling her darkness. I’m your girl.

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