I was watching a woman at a cafe the other day. She walked in briskly and ordered her coffee to go. She then sat at a table outside and lit a cigarette. That first pull on her smoke visibly relaxed her. It was a complete change of body language from only seconds before. It that one second where her craving was satisfied it didn’t matter what else was going on around her, she was complete in that moment. Watching her in that moment I wanted to be her. To feel that kind of peace where in that one moment everything is right with the world. I guess that happens to anybody when satisfying a craving or an addiction. Sometimes it’s like that for me with depression.
I wake up some mornings and instead of fighting it I greet depression like an old friend, like a drug I have been craving but been denied for so long. It’s a blanket, familiar and comfortable. Some days it’s too hard to see the sunshine and so much easier to hide in the clouds. It takes effort to feel good and be positive when then blanket of depression is wrapped around me. So I wallow. The longer I wallow the harder it becomes to break out. The deeper it gets the harder it is to admit that I am struggling. I don’t like to admit weakness. I want to be strong all the time and put that face to the world.
I hate asking for help. There are others far worse off than me so why worry anyone else with my trivial problems. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone else. I’m a strong independent modern woman… But I’m not. Not always.
This past week I have been bottling things up again. Usually I can talk to my partner about everything and he helps me shake that comfort zone. But I don’t want to tell him that I am hurting and lonely and that I struggle spending so much time on my own. It’s not his burden to carry. I don’t want to tell him that it’s hard for me when he spends our weekend time together playing on his computer and shutting me out. That’s his relax time. I can’t take that from him just because I want his attention. I don’t want to admit that while I love Daisy so so much and wouldn’t be without her, sometimes her company alone is not enough. It makes me feel selfish getting upset about such little things. And then I obsess about how selfish I am. And the spiral of negative thoughts and deepening sadness continues until it explodes in tears and I am forced to confront it.
It’s a stressful way of life. But it’s the familiar. Working to be free of it requires the intensity of what I can imagine kicking a cocaine addiction would be (only from watching it in the movies Mum!). Days of sweating it out, craving the comfort of darkness where you are certain you are going to fail anyway so what is the point of trying to do anything about it, needing to ask for help but so desperately not wanting to see other people or for them to see you like this. Is it any wonder wallowing is such an easy looking option?
At the moment you could also interchange the word illness with depression in all of the above. Is it really that hard to see why I struggle to get out of bed every day? But I do it. I have to. One foot in front of the other every day to get through. Baby steps. I just need help remembering that if I need to I can lean on someone else to help me through the muddy bits.
Project: Suzy 