You've been warned. I hope you continue to read. I hope you are able to get something from whatever will be spilled from the tattered brain dump that is about to happen. I blog for me. It is cathartic. And right now I'm in need of some intensive therapy. My therapist doesn't think so from what I can understand. She isn't fully aware of the darkness that has transcended.
Here goes it.....
Even with all of my experience with depression and anxiety, I was fortunate enough to be without suicidal thoughts until I wasn't. It has been about 6-7 years that the war has raged on. Rage is the understatement of the day.
I battle with severe depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation on a very regular basis. If you've read this blog at all you will have figured that out. I don't always write about the good days. I'm tired of battling this mother-fucker. Sometimes depression battles me. Gives me a sucker punch to the gut and while I'm gasping for air, it twists my arm around my back and kicks my ass face first to the floor. The floor is a nice place to be when you are depressed.
Getting up from the floor is often the hardest thing I do everyday. I've been sucker punched more and more over the last year or so than ever before. It's getting old.
Usually when I'm depressed, I am able to go to work. I am able to parent in a half-assed sort of way. I'm not very good company, ask my husband. This has cost me friendships over and over. When you are constantly face planted in the middle of the floor you are not a very good friend. You are not a very good wife. You are not a very good mom.
I try hard every.single.day to find one thing. I try hard every.single.day. to find something else to be grateful for. Depression is a fucking bitch. She's a lying whore who needs to have her ass handed to her. She tells me that I can't get back up. Heaven have mercy, I know I can. I do. I have to do whatever it is, that one thing at at time...to get my ass back up off this floor. My face is currently planted on the floor. If you think to yourself that the only manageable things is harming yourself, you are not alone. Shit you are not alone.
I know what it is like to lay on my bathroom floor in a heaping pile of tears. Thinking the only way out is to line every mother-fucking bottle of pills in that cabinet up. And one by one take them. That isn't you thinking. That isn't me thinking. That is the bitch depression lying to you. To me.
The grip of this illness is suffocating. It is so freaking suffocating. I am suffocating. It has grabbed me by the horns and sucker punched my ass right down on to the hardwood floors.
Not to long ago I came across this article.
I'm going to end this post with an excerpt from this link. About the weather. About depression. About the similar lives they live.
Excerpt from: Letters of Note: It will be sunny one day
Not to long ago I came across this article.
I'm going to end this post with an excerpt from this link. About the weather. About depression. About the similar lives they live.
Excerpt from: Letters of Note: It will be sunny one day
"Here are some obvious things about the weather:
It's real.
You can't change it by wishing it away.
If it's dark and rainy it really is dark and rainy and you can't alter it.
It might be dark and rainy for two weeks in a row.
BUT
It will be sunny one day.
It isn't under one's control as to when the sun comes out, but come out it will.
One day.
It's real.
You can't change it by wishing it away.
If it's dark and rainy it really is dark and rainy and you can't alter it.
It might be dark and rainy for two weeks in a row.
BUT
It will be sunny one day.
It isn't under one's control as to when the sun comes out, but come out it will.
One day.
It really is the same with one's moods, I think. The wrong approach is to believe that they are illusions. They are real. Depression, anxiety, listlessness -- these are as real as the weather -- AND EQUALLY NOT UNDER ONE'S CONTROL. Not one's fault.
BUT
They will pass: they really will."
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