First off… no one panic, I’m not suicidal.
Yes, I get down and feel like wtf is the point at times. I hate having to work when I know life is short and I’m not happy at my job and I keep thinking.. no one cares. If I died tomorrow, there’d be some poor schmuck who needs the job and if he died… there’s another to replace him. Why should I be here? Why am I busting my ass, and putting myself through the abuse dished out by the callers? My last day on earth could be spent staring at a drab gray cubical wall and waiting for a beep that signals the next upset person is on the line. But I am not suicidal.. although at times I have just wished I didn’t have to deal with this new life, and the fear that comes along with it.
What is prompting this post? First Chris Cornell and now Chester from Linkin Park have killed themselves. Robin Williams, killing himself… I know fame and money won’t make you happy, but surely they can afford to get the help they need…. They SHOULD be able to voice their pain… what they need. I mean, I’ve heard stories that this star had to have only green M&M’s in their dressing room, another star demands to be carried everywhere she goes… another has to have a new pair of white sneakers before every performance. So WHY can’t they demand some help? Why can’t we? Why aren’t we talking about depression?
I knew I was struggling with dealing with losing Dave, and I know I thought I was doing okay. I didn’t realize I wasn’t until I went to the doctor for my leg and she said it was a bruise…. (still there after almost a year but *shrug*) I ended up walking out of there with a prescription for anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills.
Not going to lie, I felt even worse thinking I wasn’t being strong. That I was failing and I should be able to do this without them… I’m still not happy with it… I mockingly call them “My happy pills” but they allow me to sleep (a little better), they keep me from blowing up over small things, but allow me to cry and to have my breakdowns..
I’m far from healed, but I’m getting better. It’s not a weakness, even if it feels like it is. It’s not a failure, even if it feels like it is. You’re hurting. If you had a knife in your side, it’s not a failure to go to doctor, it’s not a failure to get medication for infection or for pain.
Depression is an infection of the mind, brought on by emotional pain. Get help….
I keep hearing how brave I am, how strong… BULLCHIT.
I’m surviving…. and for now, that’s what it’s about.
I didn’t understand how people could kill themselves, until I lost Dave. I needed help, I needed to cry to scream and to throw things and hit things. I tried to talk to people, to cry and just try to get it out of my system. People are always, shushing, and telling you it’ll be okay. (It won’t… not for a long long while anyway). I needed Dave to let me break apart on him, to hold me and keep me together, but he wasn’t there.
It’s like drowning, I felt like I’m sinking beneath the waves. Cry out for help, “I’m struggling…” and someone says: You’re so brave. Water closes in over top of me and I can’t breathe, Break the surface, call out for help: “I’m not doing well…” You’re so strong…
No… I’m not… I want to scream. Random songs make me cry… I go quiet… I don’t go out… I lose myself in a stupid game. I also sometimes feel Iike I should lie and say I’m doing okay… just so I don’t bother people. I know they get tired of hearing about it, but I live with it every day. Some are better than others…
And then people are shocked when someone kills themselves. WHY??
There are signs… they are often just ignored. Because It’s easier.
Why can’t we talk about this? Why isn’t this treated as an illness? Why are we so afraid to admit we need help?
PS… I’m TRYING to get back into things that make me happy and posting and writing.. but it’s hard to find the time and energy to do things. Yes, even things I enjoy and want to do. I talk myself out of them or sleep, or…. waste time in some stupid way or another. But I’m Trying..