Category Archives: Depression and Anxiety

Disjointed Rant in F Major

Poor Apple is all Alone

The over-diagnosis of depression, and people using the term to describe how they feel when they brake their fucking fingernail is a slap in the face to people who live with the disease.

Here are some of the things depression does to me:

I take a drink of something and a full 60 seconds later, I realize the drink is still in my mouth. I completely forget to swallow it. 95% of the time, I swallow it as soon as I realize it’s still in my mouth, but other times I can’t. It’s not painful, or unpleasant in any way when I swallow, but sometimes I just can’t do it.

I often sit and stare for hours at a time. I become so wrapped up in my thoughts that when I finally come back to reality, I realize my mouth was hanging open for an hour or more. This happens a lot.

Sometimes, I am completely unable to move. It’s like the scene in Kill Bill when Uma Thurman says, “Wiggle your big toe.” I come out of one of my previously mentioned staring fits, and I want to change positions, or go to the bathroom, or whatever, but I don’t move. I think, “Lift your hand off the desk,” but my arm is just like, “Nope.” It usually takes a full 3-5 minutes before I convince my arm to move, but sometimes I slip back into another staring fit.

There are strange moments when I start to groan. It happened last week while I was in the middle of reaching for my toolbox. I lost the ability to move, becoming a rag doll draped over the left side of my chair. I stayed like that for 30 minutes, mind blank, groaning repeatedly, completely unaware of my body. I felt like an injured animal, so hurt and scared that all I could do was make this pitiful noise.

Depression also gives me constant thoughts of suicide and anhedonia. Both make it nigh on impossible to feel any pleasure. Experiencing pleasure is necessary to human functioning. Without positive reinforcement, there is no motivation. No happiness at a job well done, no feeling of accomplishment, no desire to watch TV, play games, engage in hobbies, develop friendships, sustain relationships. Nothing.

That is depression, and living with it’s effects makes it beyond infuriating to hear people talk about how depressed they are that their car broke down, or their damn dishwasher is broken. And, the diagnoses of depression and prescribing Prozac and Ativan because someone’s pet hamster died, or because they have inoperable armpit sweat is not helping matters. This careless and flippant attitude is damaging and insulting to the people that really are depressed, the people that have demonstrably impaired brain functioning.

I understand situational depression happens, and it can be just as debilitating as chronic depression, but I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the, “OMG im so totally depressed bcuz I cant hang out wit mah gurl friend 2 nite,” crowd. Yeah, stop using that word, you sniveling little shit. You are not depressed. You are upset.

This is why people scoff at depression. They don’t recognize it as a debilitating condition. They see it as a joke. A weakness. A character flaw. A condition that can be cured by a happy song and a new sweater. And, if a person stays depressed, well, that person is just lazy. They’re “…using depression as an excuse to be a worthless piece of shit,” as one fine gentlemen said to me recently. Thank’s buddy. You really made a point there.

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Sweet Potatoes Really Are Disgusting

What's Behind Door Number One

I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want to eat, but I don’t want to not eat. I don’t want to exercise, but I don’t want to sit on my ass all day. I don’t want to go outside, but I don’t want to stay inside. I don’t want to play any games, but I don’t want to be bored. I don’t want to be miserable, but I don’t want to be happy either.

This is all the illness talking, of course. At least, that’s what they tell me. I’m afraid I might get to a point where I’m no longer mentally ill, but still take no pleasure in the world. I mean, what if I just don’t like being alive? Some people don’t like carrots, and some people don’t like life. Is that a thing? Does that happen? In addition to my aversion to sweet potatoes, do I also have a general loathing for  life?

Get Back Down There, Worm!

Less Than a Worm

I’m at the bottom, and I’m afraid I always will be. It doesn’t matter how hard I work to climb up, I’m always forced back down. I fall, I get up, I climb. I fall, I get up, I climb. A rising and falling tide, a perfect cycle of failure. It’s happened a hundred times too many, I’m afraid. Cynicism and suicidal ideation are my reaction to everything now. I will lay  in this filth until I break, and when that happens I will kill myself.

I’m making excuses for my personal failure in life, yes? I have a defeatist attitude, yes? I deserve everything I get, or don’t get, yes? I’m weak, yes? I’m stupid, yes? I’m worthless. Yes. I believe I am.

Nail Polish Remover Kills

Fingernails Are Pretty

The screaming and boxing matches between my parents were too much for me. I was scared and sad all the time, and I had no means of escape. When I stumbled on a chance to end it, I took it.

“This stuff is poisonous, so go wash your hands,” my mother said, twisting the cap onto the bottle of nail polish remover.

Poisonous? Really?

I walked down the hallway and slowly entered the bathroom. I turned on the water, and pretended to wash my hands as I stared into the mirror. I said goodbye to my tiny reflection, and walked to my bedroom. I said long, tearful goodbyes my stuffed animals, and somberly knelt down in front of the window. I put my fingers in my mouth, and waited to die.

I was very upset when the poison failed to kill me. Taking more of it, or finding some other poison never crossed my tiny, little mind. Kindergartners just aren’t that smart.

Get a Job, You Dirty Hippy!

(This makes me sound like one of those people. I don’t think I am, but draw whatever conclusions you like.)

I have major depressive disorder, severe anxiety, an eating disorder, temporomandibular joint dysfunction (TMJ), debilitating headaches, and aches and pains all over my body that the doctors have dubbed Fibromyalgia.

I have tried to hold a job. I desperately want to hold a job. I don’t want to be so poor that buying toothpaste is a major financial decision. Sadly, the crazy and the pain stop me every time. I ultimately fail at everything I attempt, and I despise myself for it. Why can’t I just function like a normal human being?

Is It Time for a Funeral Already?

You know that feeling you had right after you found out your grandma died? I have that feeling almost all the time. A feeling of emptiness that can’t be filled. A feeling of loss for something that never even existed. When that feeling takes over, an overwhelming desperation for relief explodes inside. But, there is no relief to be found. So, I crumble and fail at everything I do.

Another Lovely Failure

Dirt

The dirt of poverty creeps in and infests every corner. You’re so busy worrying and struggling and fighting the world, you don’t notice the dust, dirt, and debris piling up. Then you look around you, and all of a sudden the mess is leering at you from every nook and cranny.

Shame washes over you, and you grab a bucket and a scrub brush, and you set to work. The more you clean, the more you notice is dirty.  So, you scrub and scrape until your arms feel like they’re going to fall off. You get to a point where you just can’t move anymore. You look at the progress you made, look at the progress you didn’t make, and your sense of accomplishment dwindles away like the embers of fireworks. Crushing defeat settles in, and you bury your face in something, so you can’t see what a failure you are.

The Dirt's Creeping In Again