Disclaimer: There are no rainbows in this post, only dark and pendulous clouds of melancholic woe. Lamebo, right?
I have a secret to tell: I am clinically depressed. Not only that, but I am an inherent masochist to the slave that is depression that I have gone by untreated for so long and I have just become a festering glob of sadness and apathy, beyond the ability to cry or feel and just pitifully numb about my existence. The emo teenager that resides within used to call this existence an “iron maiden” chained around my heart and soul.
The hows and whys of how I have become tainted with the dark slimes of woe are beyond me. I guess sometimes it just happens. I recall leaving my high school graduation to drive into the deep and dark bush alone to ponder the ending of my life, instead of celebrating with friends. I got home and cried to mother that I was depressed, only met with the advice to “just be happy”.
Just be happy.
I don’t even know if I know what that means. I mean sure, I go out and do perceptually exciting things, travel, go on drunken adventures – many people would perceive me to be a happy individual. But I fear all that is just a facade and I couldn’t really tell you the true warmth or feeling of the term. As the great late Freddie said, I am the great pretender.
If it was socially and financially viable, I could probably remain locked up in a room alone for eternity and not really bat an eye lid or sigh. I spend most of my evenings staring at the wall or just looking at the tv and not seeing anything but nothingness.
And why I am writing this today, my dear rainbow chasers, is that the numbness that consumes me is oozing out of my pores and beginning to entangle those I love around me in my melancholic poopery. And I am poisoning my relationship with boy.
But I guess the deterioration of our relationship is not all my fault – I’m not that good. He is terribly crippled by a lovely concoction of anxiety and depression that has put it’s own strain on our relationship and turned me into more of a carer than a lover. Which really couldn’t be helped when you are calling ambulances on numerous occasions or trying to get him out of bed after 32 hours of sleeping. Digression.
Long story short, we have both had enough of being two blind lamebos bashing our heads against a wall with no intimacy or communication. But, we love each other too much to walk away…..
Something’s got to give. I need to get the professional help to detach the horribly old and decrepit monkey Off of my back so I can start living with light, not in perpetual darkness. I want life to stop looking like a beat up black and white movie, waiting for it to start while the days wither away.
I have tried before. I’ve been on the meds that made my brain feel like it was suspended in deep fog. I’ve been to appointments where “psychologists” my age have smiled and nodded andreitterated how “bad that must make me feel” – yes I feel bad you dick, I need some help to stop this carousel of negativity in my mind. It’s so tiring. So I gave up for a while, just decided that perhaps if I pretend to be normal it will just go away – but all its done is make me more numb.
This Time I will try it for real – at least I will do it for the boy.
We also need to get some *shudder* couples counselling to get our communication open and functioning so we don’t lose each other.
My heart cries and says that our love is worth fighting for, that we can’t lose what we have as it is special, although it has been stained with the vice of mental illness and resentment.
But the emo within laments that it is already too late, that I was a fool to begin with to ever think I could sustain a relationship or be worthy of deep love…
And so it is. Will see how we go, and hope that hearts don’t get shredded on the way.