Fucking Depression

I wear this crown of shit
Upon my liars chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

“Hurt” – Nine Inch Nails

You might think that I share quite a lot about myself on this blog. But really, I am not. The times that I write about my mental health struggles or my personal life (not my intimacy, that I share freely and happily with everyone!), it is because of memes and prompts. I often question if I even should write yet another post about trauma, or mental illness, or my issues. But they feel okay to write, because there was a prompt about it after all! I write differently then, I write more objectively. It is not like I am sharing how I am doing. Instead, I write because I want to educate about what mental illness (or sometimes physical illness) is like.

I used to have a blog where I did this whole write about my life thing. I didn’t like it. It was too raw, to personal, too direct. I felt vulnerable and like a bother. I like to be known for my strengths, not my weaknesses. I want to come across as competent, as put together, as self-aware and in control of what I am struggling with. And you know, sometimes I am all those things And sometimes I am not. And in the end, if you have to deal with mental illness, it doesn’t matter how much you know, if it hits you hard, you are knocked down.

I had been feeling that a depression was coming but I thought I was prepared. See, depressions are common for me due to my bipolar disorder. They are an annoyance, they force me to adapt to a slower pace and the first few days are rough. But once I am used to the slowness and the lack of motivation, I find my routines back. I know that I have to stick to certain things or I will slide down deeper and deeper into the hellhole.

My last few depressions were not severe, the crash wasn’t too bad and they maybe lasted three weeks and another bipolar episode came along. Apart from my usual trauma shit, I have actually been quite okay this summer when it comes to bipolar episodes. There were plenty of weeks of stability, a week here and there of hypomania and a mixed episode as well. I have rapid cycling bipolar disorder, type II, if anyone is wondering. I am not medicated because medication makes things worse for me and I can’t do shit when I am on them.

But this fucking depression right now, fuck fuck fuck. As I said, I felt it coming on. I thought I was prepared. I adapted my routines and schedules. I knew I’d need more rest. More pushes from my Master. But I wasn’t worried. I know depression, depression knows me. We are old buddies. I am not scared of it anymore. I thought.

I was writing less on my blog, I couldn’t keep up with reading everyone’s posts anymore, commenting on them or doing #SoSS posts anymore. I had expected that. My to do list was cut down, and I was prepared. I cried more. I was less prone to believe in a future where things are better for me. All expected.

My birthday came along. I hate birthdays. They are triggering for me. They remind me of family, they remind me of how little friends I have. My mother contacted me, my brother contacted me. I was worried how my “father” was doing, knowing that I had blocked him everywhere and he wouldn’t be able to get in touch with me. And I had a long chat with my sister. And that triggered the shit out of me: her telling me how my “father” always asks about me, how he gets to meet my baby nephew (the fuck does she allow him close to her child?). She talked so much about the old issues, how he behaves around her. I just got really triggered.

And I sank. For a few days I felt like I was standing in quicksand, fighting to not get sucked into a deeper depression. Well, I lost that fight. I lost my routines, I lost my motivation, my energy, my willingness, my will to live. My anxiety is through the roof. I cry all the time. I got two very good news in the last few days, news that have an absolutely positive impact on my future, I could not feel happy, I was apathetic. My health anxiety is fucking with my head. I haven’t showered in three days. I need to be forced to eat. All I want is to lie down, and wait for death. I am so tired. I am so empty. I am so hopeless. I am so helpless. I somehow think I should be at the hospital because parts (yah, like, the other alters) are not safe and want it all to stop. But I don’t have insurance. And I am worried how it could affect my residency application.

I am trying so fucking hard to not be stuck in the depth of it all. I am trying. But I have not had such a deep depression in, I don’t know. years. Part of me wants to panicky withdraw from everything, not do anything anymore. Because there is no use for me in this world and I suck anyway. Other parts want to try. Fight. I am just so tired. Oh so tired.

I went to a concert last weekend. I met some new friends. I danced. I pretended. But the next morning I was a wreck again. I didn’t want to feel that way. I wanted to try. So I went out, to the movies. I tried. But now I am paying for it. I am so tired. I don’t want to do stuff.

On top of all that, I have been shadowbanned on Twitter. This really came at a shitty time for me. My stats have dropped, barely anyone sees my tweets. This sucked out more of my motivation to write, to create, to work on something.

I am not sure why I wrote this post. I think because I feel guilty. I feel guilty that I am not writing as much. I feel guilty because I am not as active in the community right now. I wish I had the focus to read everyone’s posts, comment, reply to messages on social media. But I am drowning in the deep ocean of depression right now. This is so so terrible. It hurts. It hurts so much. So yah, if you have a snorkel, please send it my way. Drowning.