While I try to work on the commenting issue (because I have a bunch of comments I really really want to reply to), here’s another random post.
This was written in 2007. For most of my life, I was severely clinically depressed. But when I found Antonio, I found a new way of living. That’s not to say a switch was flipped and everything was peachy, but I truly discovered a new path. While the vast majority of my writing reflects what an amazing discovery that path was, this particular journal entry does not.
I have a lot of thoughts, at this point, about what it means. But at the time, I had no idea. I’m kind of a dolt like that.
This is going to sound stupid, but some part of me is missing the ache I used to feel. I mean, I certainly don’t want it back. I don’t want to be suicidally depressed.
But a part of me misses lying on my bed, in the pulsing heat of Tennessee, watching the ceiling fan in semi-darkness, with headphones pouring music into my ears, soaking in a sadness so big it felt like the moon had risen in my chest.
I miss the pain in my throat that came with choking on my sobs. I miss rolling over and becoming fetal, and feeling the damp spots on the blankets where my tears fell as I worked my wrists over in my hands.
I miss the desperation.
I miss floating through days, balancing my words on thoughts of suicide. I miss waking up to a new day and having to bargain myself out of bed. I miss having a plan for a way out of here. I miss believing I wouldn’t see my next birthday. I miss so much sometimes. And I don’t even know why. Because I don’t want it back.
I think maybe I’m used to associating that with being real, being honest, being open, being free from drugs, being me… For fucking decades, that was me in my rawest, purest form. That was my truth, my only source of reality, my proof that I was still me. That was how I knew I still existed. That was ME. And now it isn’t.
And I don’t quite know what to do with that sometimes. I kind of hate myself for it. It’s purely disgusting.
So I guess I haven’t lost it all. I’m still just as disappointed in myself as I ever was.
It sounds like you miss the emotions, the feelings. Even though they were negative emotions, they were still raw feelings. Whether it’s the fierce love for your child or grief over the loss of a loved one or the utter feeling of losing oneself to another in sexual infatuation, emotions are powerful and whatever else they do, they make us intensely aware we are alive alive ALIVE!
If you are on anti-depressants, they can block those intense feelings; both the good and the bad. I’m assuming this from this part:
Chloe said: “being free from drugs, being me”
Usually that means anti-depressants.
And they do change people’s personalities; I’ve watched it now many times.
I’m not saying stop them outright, because from what you describe, you were in a seriously dark place, but…before taking anti-depressants maybe trying heavy-duty therapy is worth a shot. Yes, it’s more expensive, more work and more time but when done well, it eliminates the need for drugs and avoids the kind of experience you say you are having now. Where you miss the “you” you once were.
My brother stopped playing and writing music after he started anti-depressants, many years ago now…20 years? Not sure. He’s been on a series of them all this time. It has affected his personality greatly and he no longer seems to take real pleasure in anything. It’s almost like he’s faking it. Granted, nor does he have the dangerously plunging dives into despair, either. I get it that the point of the drugs is to avoid that.
But to never have my “real” self again, with all the warts and yes, sometimes despair but sometimes giddy heights of joy, to take all that away… Dunno. I have never wanted to do it. I’ll suffer through the dark times so I can stay *me*.
Most of all, as you say (and as my brother says and everyone I know who takes AD says) it still doesn’t take away the bad stuff. Everyone I know who is on ADs says they still have terrible times of depression and all the problems that come with that. The drugs just make it less horrible.
Which is fine, but…it pulls down everything else as well.
(If you were not talking about taking drugs for your depression, I apologize; it’s a topic near to my heart since all three sibs have taken them, or still take them, and several friends, too, all with fairly miserable results)
{{{{big hugs to you in any case}}}}} I think you’re so smart and witty and just awesome and I hope for you all good things, in all ways.
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This was a very moving post! I can relate (a little) to that desire for true and honest feelings even if they are painful. They were your feelings, a part of you.
My experience with depression was just the opposite. I was numb, couldn’t feel or care much about people or anything. I truly couldn’t understand my friend’s grief over her parents deaths. The anti-depressants gave me back my emotions, my ability to relate to the ones I loved. I was able to grieve and cry when my father died and that was actually a blessing beyond measure to me. I still struggle with being off the meds and trying to keep in touch with my emotions. It’s so easy for me to lose that depth of experience and drift back to numbness. I need to keep balancing my life everyday.
You wrote beautifully about your experience. I hope things are better for you now. Hugs, Meow
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Awww *hugs*, the weird thing is when I go into those dark places and there have been and still are alot of them, there’s a part of me that dwells there. It’s where the real emotional stuff comes out, sometimes it’s overwhelming but it’s about “feeling” whether it’s bad or good. Somedays it’s easier to wallow. I get what you mean and no it’s nothing horrible or disgusting it’s just a part of you that you can be but it’s not a healthy place for you to be. We all have that potential side of ourselves that gets lost and some of us aren’t accustomed to being happy all the time. Look I am waffling now … xxx
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