Words between worlds

It is a Friday night in a small town and I am feeling like heavy ball that doesn't bounce. I have Bipolar disorder and for me, that means I'm in one of two worlds, mania or deep depression. Right now, I feel as though I'm looking through a window with paint on it. I can't really see what's in front of me, but I know that there is life beyond my skewed vision. And that makes me feel worse, because I desperately want to be a part of the world around and in front of me, but my depression is a big liar and is saying "nobody wants you."

Now, on top of Bipolar, I also have anxiety, mixed with a crushing insecurity that follows me around like a dryer sheet stuck to my pant leg.  As I describe this to whomever is reading, I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm writing this in the hope that someone can relate and maybe, for those with open minds, you can see the brevity of an illness that I and so many people like me live with every day.  

Starting your day with depression isn't easy.  Many times, the act of getting out of bed is a colossal chore and if that's the only thing accomplished on that day, then there's no shame in it. If we make it from the bed to the couch and watch Netflix for the rest of the day, so be it. In recent months, I've been called lazy, presumably because I don't work and also irrelevant for the same reason. I'm not going to lie, I am a bit lazy.  I hate doing things I feel I have to do because I have to do them. I suspect that I also have ADHD and I like to do things that have a speedy reward at the end of every task. But, my depression simply tires me out after I do things inside of my sadness. Think about the last time you cried. Did you get up and do the dishes while you were crying?  Odds are, you didn't. You cried and that's all you felt like doing in that moment.  Depression is like that. It can be absolutely immobilizing. Because, broken down, depression is pain. And there are levels to this. 

When we scrape ourselves just on the surface, a little pressure and a band aid can help. But for a deeper gash, we need stitches and possibly a pain killer. Depression can be lighter or it can be more like a deep wound. Now, in the mental health community, therapists have different ideas about why depression occurs at all.  One of my therapists feels that my illness is directly related to my childhood.  While I agree that childhood trauma can influence Bipolar, I don't subscribe to the idea that it causes is. I know that my genetic make up was pre-disposed for this.  Many people with mental health issues come from traumatic childhoods. But, I can be depressed for no reason at all. I simply wake up feeling like my best option at this moment would be to just fanny my butt back to bed.  And I do, because it's easier to escape the depression rather than carry it, at least for that day. 

And then, like the movie "Princess Bride"  there are the pits of despair. And this, for me means that I want to exit the planet.  It doesn't mean I will decide to go or that I have a plan to leave. It's a feeling of not belonging anywhere and that nobody gives a shit if I live or die. Suicidal ideation is a convoluted experience.  You really want to die and you really want to live. Because you want to live, you also want to die, if it means carrying on in this dark hallway leading nowhere. It really hurts. It hurts to think thoughts like this and it hurts to feel the weight of these thoughts. 

Suicidal thoughts are a one way ticket to Mordor and equally terrifying. And the kicker, calling the hotline if I'm suicidal is about as appetizing as burning my hair. There's nothing like the love of someone you don't know, talking you out of killing yourself. Yes.. that's why it works, but I can tell you that it's not a very winning thought is it?  What you most want in this moment is for someone who loves you to tell you why they do. A hotline seems a bit, icy.  I'm thankful they are there but it's also impersonal and weird, if you think about it.  A problematic occurrence with me is that I tend to be suicidal when no one's up.  And, it's hard for me to justify waking people up at two in the morning and telling them I want to die.  I guess this is why the hotline works, really, now that I think about it. 

If you're dealing with a suicidal person, it's not easy. All you can do is sit with him or her and just stay with them. The wounds are salved by love, but not cauterized completely. That's really up to the person, the individual dealing with the pain. The fact is, only we can save ourselves. No one else can do it for me in the end. God helps... if you have a belief in some sort of God. For me, it's essential to believe in something bigger than the confines of my mind, especially in a volatile moment.

My therapist tells me I don't matter to me.  I was taught to think this way and it's one of the reasons my depressions happens. This blog is one of the ways I tell myself that in fact, I DO matter. And so do we all. Depression can tell us we don't have any reason to exist.  But we do. If we're still breathing, we have a right to keep living, one breath at a time. 

This is dedicated to anyone living with depression and to Lane Stanely, Scott Weiland, Chris Cornell, and Kurt Cobain and to Heidi Sue Kebbekus, who lost her battle with depression and who was and always will be my best and most kindred friend.  I miss you all.