Depression

I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and PTSD back in 2008 (well, PTSD in 2006, anxiety disorder in 2008, if we’re being fair).  I have never experienced depression.  I mean, we all have our moments.  But I’ve never had five days where I’ve just cried, and cried, and been lethargic, and done nothing, feeling broken and unable to pick the pieces up again.

So much has happened in the last few days that I just…can’t comprehend.  The short story is that, after a slew of really painful incidents last Wednesday – Friday, I hit a point where I just stopped.  it was like a piece of my brain broke, and I couldn’t get it under control again.  And where I’ve cried probably buckets of tears since September 2011…I probably cried the equivalent of that just between Wednesday, February 13, and Sunday, February 17.  Generally over the past year, I’ve been okay when I’ve been around other people.  That isn’t the case anymore.  I cry anywhere, any time, and it’s…inconvenient, to say the least.  Embarrassing, to say the most.

But the worst comes after dark.  When I’m alone in my apartment, and the thoughts that used to eat me alive when I was a teenager come back. 

I am a bad person.  I must be.
Things like this don’t happen to good people.
If I was a good person, my husband wouldn’t have cheated on me.
My friend wouldn’t have lied to me.
My boss wouldn’t have yelled at me today.

My parents wouldn’t be disappointed in me.
If I was a good person, these things wouldn’t happen to me.

I don’t feel strong anymore.  I don’t feel sure anymore.  And if you get all psychological, this is just one more step on the Kubler-Ross grief scale, and I was going to get here eventually.  But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, every minute I go through it, every day.

I’ve tried slogging through it, pushing through, thinking to myself I am better than this, I will not let myself fall apart.  But in the end, it just prolongs the inevitable.  And I get more upset with myself for falling apart, when it does.

I am afraid to go to my friends, or my family.  I am afraid of being judged or being a burden on anyone.  I cry all the time, and I pick the skin from my fingers (I didn’t realize until this morning that this is a thing that people do when they’re anxious or depressed, I figured it was just something that I did that was fucked-up), and after months and months of pushing through and being strong and being okay, I’m on a downward spiral that just goes nowhere, ends nowhere.

The one person who promised he’d stick by me and be there for me regardless of anything, isn’t there anymore.  Doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t love me or care about me.

I’ve known this since April 2012.  You’d think I’d be over it by now.  I thought I’d be over it by now.

But I’m not.  And I hate that I’m not.

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