Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Long time struggles

I guess a lot of people who know me personally know this:

I am the survivor of years of depression and anxiety.


There's a lot about it I'm not talking about publicly, yet. A lot of the different facets of my depression are strange and weird and unique to me, but maybe one day I will tell you about them. But for now, I'm limited in what I can publicly say on my blog because I'm not ready to confront certain people who've played a role in my illness.

Yes, I live with it. I manage it, I live a somewhat normal life. Some weeks and months are happy and I feel just fine, others, I'm sluggish and wish people loved me and that I could be thinner. Depression likes to tell me that I'm not wanted or acceptable, that everybody's grossed out by how fat I am, or that I'm failing in so many ways. It makes my back sore, my muscles weak, and I can't get enough sleep. It makes me fixate on things I don't like about myself and I start convincing myself that okay, this is the REAL reason people don't invite you out or include you. Then, it morphs into: If you were just a little more perfect, people might actually treat you like they care about you. That mean voice calls me a lot of nasty names and berates me pretty badly, I must admit. It's quite normal with depression. I doubt anybody could say anything as cruel to me as what this voice says to me.

I know the source of this awful, mean voice. It's mimicking a person voice who's had a profound influence on my life. It's not my own. Understand that this person wasn't trying to hurt me, but trying to protect me and prepare me for the world out of love. This doesn't make their criticisms of me right by any means, but this individual is NOT a bad person, promise. Maybe a bit misguided and they've been taught to worry about what other people think more than they think of themselves. But they are not a bad person deep down, although I don't know if they believe that of themselves, privately. This person taught me that what other people think of you is more important than what you think of yourself. Now that's a recipe for disaster, let me tell you.

I wish I didn't do this to myself. I wish I didn't let these things overcome me, they sneak up. It's like being smacked over the head. I don't like it, I don't know how anybody could.

But, the good news is, I'm still here. I haven't fallen down the rabbit hole again, so to speak. I did once, really, really badly, and I'm just coming to terms with talking about it. It was like being dragged into a black hole of guilt, shame, anxiety, fear, and self-blaming. I hate it. I wish I could explain it more in detail, and I could if I wanted to... but I won't subject you to that right now. Another post for another time... like when I'm braver about being vulnerable.