And Swoop.
June 24th, 2008 by trancejen
One of the things about depression/bipolar/whateverthefuckiswrongwithmyhead that I have really had the hardest time dealing with is that it strikes without warning and it strikes hard.
I’m on meds, both bipolar and antidepressant. I’ve rarely been off of some sort of psychological medication since about 1992. There’s great stigma attached to saying such a thing, but I know that I need them, and I take them religiously and without shame. I am a great advocate for meds. I feel that they’ve helped me tremendously. Without them, I know that I probably would have - strike that - definitely would have committed suicide a long time ago. Such is the nature of my beast.
That being said, no med is perfect, and every now and then they fail me spectacularly.
This is one of those times.
Since the wedding I have been lying around the house, achy for very little reason, tired for absolutely no reason, mopey like one of the schmucks in the Cymbalta commercials. “Depression hurts.” The commercials have always seemed so corny to me, but it does. It is. It is weighing on me heavily. I feel it surrounding me thickly like a lead vest I can’t take off.
I look at my face in the mirror and it seems almost distorted. It is so ugly that I almost can’t believe people are letting me walk among them. I am so fat I don’t deserve to breathe. I am so full of whining, disgusting, self-pity that I should be shot. It would be a relief. I don’t have the energy to fucking kill myself. I don’t want to deal with the guilt.
I think about my mother, the J-Man, Bullshit. It occurs to me that these people are probably sick to fucking death of me, sick to death of my cycling up and down and sick of my mopey, pathetic crap.
Also, one of my eyes appears to be higher than the other. What the hell is up with that?
I should definitely stop looking in the mirror.
I have physical therapy in two hours. I don’t want anyone to touch me. I am so sick of maintaining my fucked-up, broken-assed body that I could puke. I think about canceling and decide it’s not worth the effort it would require for me to explain myself to my mother. My mother knows what’s up. She’s been through this a hundred times. She’s already looking at me with the eagle eye and asking me what the hell is wrong with me.
I don’t have an answer.
I’m currently smoking my last cigarette. I was supposed to quit today. I’m also supposed to have four children over swimming today. The thought is making my head crumble. I don’t even want to be around my own child, the child that is becoming uncustomarily clingy due to my complete lack of social interaction with him.
I’m supposed to think of my son and feel rays of sunshine shoot out of my ass, but somehow this fails to happen when I’m in the bell jar. There goes my shot at Parent of the Year.
I know that this all started with the wedding because I was and am a jealous bitch. I am jealous, jealous of her sparkling career, her tanned, size-four body, her master’s degree, her enthusiastic husband, her happiness. Isn’t that horrible?
She was my roommate. We used to be fucked up together. Yet she has moved on, and I have not. She has, and I have not. I am a petty, jealous-minded shrew. I don’t begrudge her her happiness, but God damn it, I want some, too. I want a house and a husband and health and a career. I want, I want, I want, and God, I am so angry. I am an angry troll, living in my mama’s basement, sick, fat, depressed. I am so fucking angry that it is not me, too.
I am so angry that it can’t be me, too.
I am ashamed to feel this way, because so many have it so much fucking worse, and shoeless me should always look to the footless, right? Right. Still, it stings, and I know that I’m not angry with my friend or angry with “God” or angry even with life.
I’m fucking angry with myself.
I want to pull myself up by the bootstraps and somehow rise above this, but so far I have failed miserably.
I don’t know.
I got up this morning and worked out, half-assedly. I drank my coffee. I smoked my cigarettes. I’m writing my fucking blog. I’m going through the motions. I’m not in bed, even though I want to be. I didn’t do anything stupid, even though a sick, dark part of me really, really wanted to.
I just wish sucking it up didn’t have to hurt so much.
Cruel Irony wrote on 06/24/08 at 10:37 am :
Ugh, that’s such a painful place to be. You’re in my thoughts and I hope you feel better soon.
For-Tart wrote on 06/24/08 at 10:53 am :
HTG (honest to God): As I was reading your post a comercial for depression meds came on the radio. And I think it worked because I would take a pill right now just to see how I felt in an hour. A fishing trip always make me feel better when I am ass deep in bad thoughts. Good luck.
Diane wrote on 06/24/08 at 11:50 am :
When my ex and I broke up I was depressed and broken hearted. I had never experienced that kind of depression before. I did alot of drinking just so I could pass out. The pain was unrelenting and you carried it with you everywhere. There was no way to make it go away for even just a little while so you could feel happy again for a bit and catch a damn break. When I see people stuck there I feel so bad because I know that saying it will pass sounds trite and stupid when you are in it. If it really was the wedding why don’t you ever allow yourself to get married? You’ve been asked. I thought I was too sick to get married too but I finally believed that I made his life better and I wouldn’t be a burden. (I’m wandering here trying to fix something that I can’t fix. delete this if you want but know that I am reaching out and trying)
sooboo wrote on 06/24/08 at 12:51 pm :
You’re not sucking it up, you are fighting it because you are a fighter and a strong woman and a beautiful mother, daughter, friend, writer, girlfriend. You have a lot of gifts to give and I thank you for sharing yourself and your life. It means a lot to a lot of people.
misha wrote on 06/24/08 at 3:14 pm :
i feel for you. you are not alone. i too feel like a gigantic loser though i have much to be thankful for. I am supposed to be thankful for my parents b/c they have money and all that, but i really feel they are making me crazier. I dont call for 2 days and then i call from an unfamiliar number and my mom thinks its someone calling to inform her that they have found my body. the stress of having to stay alive so my mom wont go insane is too much. but i am supposed to be the grateful daughter, but i really am not. i hate everything most of the time. Sorry for venting here. dont have the balls to do it on my own site. feel free to delete this.
amanda wrote on 06/25/08 at 6:20 am :
I know how you feel. And well it’s all well and good to have other people say that they know how you feel I also know that you will never believe it. When I am having a particularly hard time with my own depression, this article helps: http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/Content?oid=445158
I was so happy when I read this. So happy to finally have a Rosetta stone for my own unhappiness.
I also have a copy of the new Scarlett Johansson album of Tom Waits covers. Email me if you want me to share.
Kim wrote on 06/25/08 at 7:51 am :
The scary part is I used to think people who committed suicide were just sick or selfish. Now I believe you’d (not YOU per se) do it just because you’re exhausted and it seems like the only way to get some rest. Rest from the world, from all the bad, from your own brain. And that scares me a lot. Over the years you’ve been so honest about your feelings that I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve already helped and even saved quite a few people without even knowing it. I’m praying you’ll be able to save yourself as well.
Sending you good thoughts from the South.
–Kim
Mo wrote on 06/25/08 at 12:22 pm :
Man oh man have I been here before! I have tried to commit suicide twice, but both times have come back to myself, a little different than before…life is hard, and it’s often painful, and much of the traumas I’ve encountered have played a major role in who I am currently and will be for the rest of my life. Some things never change…but I’m feeling okay right now and am actually a psychology major, ironically, b/c I want to help those whom I can relate to the most.
If you ever need a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on, I am here. Even though we barely know each other, I feel like I know you so well b/c I have been reading your blog for years. I understand your pain and sometimes all we need to do is vent.
You are doing well but not giving up, but fighting onwards; don’t give up.
Bozoette Mary wrote on 06/26/08 at 9:46 am :
Hold tight, hold tight. Hugging you.
Lorrie wrote on 07/1/08 at 7:41 pm :
I used to read you and go “Man, that poor bitch got a sucky deal from the world” and now I read you and think “and now I KNOW JUST HOW IT FEELS!!!” Fibromyalgia for me, and Stage 6 Alzheimer’s for my beautiful and wonderful mom who I have to put in a nursing home tomorrow. I have no body chemistry depression though so the happy meds just make me fat and sleepy.
Trish wrote on 07/3/08 at 2:15 am :
Yep. Know how you feel. Whenever my mom starts talking about so and so and how she is doing so good at work, marriage is great, looking really good… I am thinkin nothing but, yeah, well wait until the company tanks, causing the marriage to be strained and end, and the inevitable body fail due to long term depression and what not. I hate happy people. LOL.