tug of war 

i am Depressed.

not the tumblr kind of depressed, though; i don’t cry into the shoulder of a cute, sweater-wearing boy while he holds me, surprising me w flowers while the smiths are softly moaning in the background and suddenly i am better after a few minutes or so after he looks deep into my eyes and says, “cheer up!” or “just don’t think about it”. there is no snapping out of it, no way to switch it off. sometimes i can hardly  talk w my closest friends. i cannot get a date because the thought of someone putting up w me is so unbelievable. this is a gross kind of Depressed, a sick sort of Depressed. the one we should talk about more. i am just one person dealing w this Sadness out of millions. i am nobody but somebody w things to say about the feelings that eat me up. and it’s hard and messy but here i am anyway.

i am Depressed. there are days when i cannot get out of bed or even manage to shower, let alone properly feed myself. i’ve wished i could slip into a coma so i wouldn’t have to deal w myself or my thoughts more than once. i am also Anxious. i have to finish my assignments the moment i receive them. i question every move i make and every word i get out. i’m even Anxious that i’ve used the word “i” so many times that you think i’m self absorbed. i’m (there it is again) really the opposite. Sad. Anxious. i keep those two words capitalized bc, for now, they are bigger than me. i have been diagnosed; these are more than average, my abnormal feelings.  these emotions  wrap their poisonous words around me and won’t let go. they choke me with their false truths and i believe them. i know i’m not alone in my struggles but the fact that i can hardly put one foot in front of the other makes me think otherwise.

why are you reading this? why am i pretending it’s worth writing?

Anxious. Sad.

i’m writing so i can be louder than my Generalised Anxiety Disorder. so i can be louder than my Major Depressive Disorder. maybe you are stuck on the same see saw as i am. maybe someone you care for is. maybe they are but you don’t know. (we are good at hiding so we don’t have to bother you). suffering from these two monstrous illnesses is like they are playing tug of war with me. i’ve being thinking about it lately (lately aka twenty years).

what it’s like when Anxiety and Depression play tug of war w you:

it’s Depression begging you to do nothing while Anxiety lists off everything you need to get done.

it’s laying in bed before work, or anything you committed to as long as possible, unmotivated and borderline comatose while you scream at yourself that you will lose your job/friends unless you move. right.  now.

it’s never wanting to make plans but being scared that none of your friends will like you if you keep avoiding them like this.

it’s wanting to take a day off from your dream job(s), just one day so you can rest because every muscle is sleeping but convincing yourself your employer(s) will think you are a lazy, untrustworthy person. obviously, they will fire you. so, go to work. you’ll sleep when you’re dead.

it’s wanting to die. it’s choosing to live simply because funeral costs are too high (seriously though why). and if you fail at dying? hospital bills. don’t do that to your family.

what is it like?

it’s thinking “staying up all night wouldn’t be the worst” soon followed by panicking that you won’t be able to function the next day, and obviously fail at any attempted task. there have been countless nights of me staying up all night in order to avoid sleeping through my alarm. Anxiety logic !!!

it’s wanting to go to sleep at seven. it’s staying up well past midnight because what if the house burns down or someone breaks in or that radical  group was right about the rapture today or is my heartbeat supposed to be like that or what if i have an undiagnosed brain tumour that decides to burst any minute now. i can feel it if i lie very still oh and what if-

literally anything.

it’s not wanting to change out of your robe and into party clothes but somehow you manage. then, it’s waiting by the clock, trying to pinpoint the most practical, perfect time to leave. too early and you’re desperate. on time and you’re boring. late and you cannot be depended on. ever. kiss invitations goodbye, whatever time you arrive.

it’s not wanting to take your meds (“what’s the point?”) but fearing the side effects if you miss a dose.

it’s when you can’t even reply to a text but when someone doesn’t text you back, the thought that they died in the most gruesome way ever won’t leave your poor head.

it’s not caring what people think yet questioning your every move and the reactions they prompt from others.

it’s not being motivated to date but staying up late, crying at the fact you’ll most likely die alone.

it’s wanting to die one minute while having a panic attack over whether or not there is life after death the next.

it’s not caring about anything. it’s caring too much.

it’s not wanting to do anything, thinking what’s the use in getting help, but worrying that you’ll never get better and always be at war with yourself. so you bite the bullet and call the doctors from under your comforter.

asking for help is difficult and maybe one of the hardest things a person can do. i barely manage it. don’t see it as admitting defeat; Depression and Anxiety fight dirty. putting yourself first is such a simple notion, yet we rarely do it. we encourage those close to us to do so, but tend to save it for “later” when it comes to ourselves. why is that? why is someone caring about themselves seen as trailblazing ? let’s normalize self-care and start with the well-being of our minds. let’s normalize the fact that brains get sick just as frequently as bodies do and require the same amount of dedicated treatment (and get well soon cards, teddy bears, balloons and fresh bouquets).

sending you all lots of balloons,

xo,

bee

 

 

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