The Unspeakable
The most frightening thing about being chronically depressed is that you don't really know why you are, but you know that you are--you can feel it, and the frightening part comes in when you have to explain to the outside world why you feel the way you do.
And to yourself, of course.
These days I have been plagued by a deep sense of depression. My internal weather dropped below zero. It's kind of strange to walk through life feeling like a frozen person: sensations are dulled, visions are blurry, thinking becomes slow and distorted and it's so much effort to just take one step after another. Life feels really cold and everything is distant. The icy, weighty feeling goes all the way straight into your heart.
I defrosted a little when I went to my therapy session last Friday. My therapist was very warm, kind, and compassionate. I actually felt like that he did give a damn. It's a big deal when somebody who is capable of giving a damn actually gives a damn, at least to me.
Sometimes I feel so easily irritated and triggered by little things. I feel defensive, and full of wrath.
I hide in my room when I feel like that, and I read. I don't want to randomly last out at people just because they happen to walk past me. I really feel violent and want to beat the living crap out of someone.
It's very difficult to feel so much self-hatred. I don't know why I hate my life so much sometimes, especially when things are going well. Things are going well in my life right now: school, relationship, great support network. Except for occasional financial stress, everything is well underway for me to live my life; the sky is the limit, as they say.
The most frightening thing about being depressed is that you don't really know why you are, but you know that you are--you can feel it.
And the frightening part comes in when you have to explain to the outside world why you feel the way you do.
And to yourself, of course.
Sometimes, when people get sick of trying to find out why so that they could explain to the world and themselves, they just kill themselves.
I can understand.
It is not easy being crazy. Getting there is easy; being the nut is not.
And to yourself, of course.
These days I have been plagued by a deep sense of depression. My internal weather dropped below zero. It's kind of strange to walk through life feeling like a frozen person: sensations are dulled, visions are blurry, thinking becomes slow and distorted and it's so much effort to just take one step after another. Life feels really cold and everything is distant. The icy, weighty feeling goes all the way straight into your heart.
I defrosted a little when I went to my therapy session last Friday. My therapist was very warm, kind, and compassionate. I actually felt like that he did give a damn. It's a big deal when somebody who is capable of giving a damn actually gives a damn, at least to me.
Sometimes I feel so easily irritated and triggered by little things. I feel defensive, and full of wrath.
I hide in my room when I feel like that, and I read. I don't want to randomly last out at people just because they happen to walk past me. I really feel violent and want to beat the living crap out of someone.
It's very difficult to feel so much self-hatred. I don't know why I hate my life so much sometimes, especially when things are going well. Things are going well in my life right now: school, relationship, great support network. Except for occasional financial stress, everything is well underway for me to live my life; the sky is the limit, as they say.
The most frightening thing about being depressed is that you don't really know why you are, but you know that you are--you can feel it.
And the frightening part comes in when you have to explain to the outside world why you feel the way you do.
And to yourself, of course.
Sometimes, when people get sick of trying to find out why so that they could explain to the world and themselves, they just kill themselves.
I can understand.
It is not easy being crazy. Getting there is easy; being the nut is not.
posted by Julia C. at
Sunday, September 14, 2003
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