Coming at you live from a blue day, and my head is heavy, literally and figuratively. I was doing the dishes and had to rest my forehead against the cabinet above the sink, like some broken weeble wobble that toppled over and got stuck sideways. My rubber glove’d hands worked away, and I imagine it all would’ve looked pretty comical had anyone walked in.
I keep thinking about how I should be writing to work on my thesis, but can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve got a litany of to dos, and just… cannot. It’s an inability, not a lack of willingness, something that’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced mental illness, but I am doing my best.
DEPRESSION: Some days I am plagued by a feeling of worthlessness. I become certain that things will never get better and everything is a downward spiral from here. Nothing sounds appealing, and my inaction builds an internal tension and a self-doubt that often leads to self-hatred. When I try to pull myself up and out of my slump and fail, my mind bottoms out and I fall further downward, mentally. I hate myself even more. I clam up, don’t want to talk, shuffle around too exhausted to pick up my feet, and would do anything for it to be acceptable for me to just go back to sleep. I become convicted that this is it, this is who I am, a big ole bump on a log and a burden to my loved ones. What’s the point?
Despite feeling the way I do, life keeps moving with or without me. Time and responsibilities don’t stop because I woke up mentally paralyzed. There is no pause button, so I push through, go through motions, and do the very best I can until the cloud lifts. It always lifts, I just never know when it will – sometimes hours, sometimes months. The unpredictability is troubling and hard to plan around which is, frankly, a big part of my apprehension about becoming a parent. How could I subject a child to this? I know deep down that depression lies, so when I’m in the thick of it, like now, I try to remember that these toxic thoughts are not true. The thoughts exist, but they’re not substantive.
My commitment to be open about mental illness on Bummed Out Baker is important to me, and I hope it helps someone either understand what a loved one is going through or feel less alone if you yourself are going through it. I’m game to die on the hill of destigmatization, which also means I will possibly never be hired anywhere else, ever again. The idea is such a bummer that I have to laugh, internally of course, because turning up the sides of my mouth today feels impossible.
In between writing the above paragraphs I had to break to rest my head on my palm, my temple on my fist, or just completely collapse on my arms on the desk until I could pull myself up again. Depression is nonsensical, physically exhausting, dramatic, and infuriating. It’s also sort of funny, but only because if I couldn’t laugh about it, I don’t know if I’d survive.
Written on Monday, May 13, 2019.
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