Depression is hard. I think that’s a fact that nobody can deny. It swallows you whole and consumes your entire being. Acting without mercy. Destroying your potential and future if given the slightest chance, inching within your brain until a black cloud covers your mind. When your worst enemy becomes the words in your soul. They fire at you in the middle of the night when your defenses are down. When you’re in between alertness and sleep, desperate for the escape that slumber offers. Fat, ugly, worthless. They echo between your ribs.
I am not happy. I haven’t been for a while but I was too stubborn to see. Believing that a new job would save me instead it brings new stress that my fragile being can’t handle. I’m drowning in the fear of disappointing my new team of coworkers. A new anxiety thanks to my former work place that judged me from the moment I walked through the door.
And what can I do if I cannot work? A simple question with a complicated answer. In America if you cannot work or contribute to society you are seen as lazy, worthless. But how can you when a war is raging in your head? shooting cannons of exhaustion and migraines. I try to stay calm, bite the inside of my cheeks until it bleeds to keep the tears from overflowing.
It doesn’t help that I must now sit at home for two days with bronchitis when I have not even worked a week at my new job. I would much rather be at work and a complete wreck than in the safety of my bedroom. If I am the later how may I grow? At least with the first I am earning money and attempting to prove myself to those around me.
Right now I like to listen to the song Titanium. I have just discovered this gem of music, proof that I live under a rock, hidden away from the rest of the world. I try to believe the lyrics, to make them truth. I’m bullet proof, nothing to lose.
I am not bullet proof. Depression is my silver bullet and I fear it will one day kill me. Not in the suicidal way but in the way that a light bulb eventually goes out. I’m terrified I will dim and live in darkness for the rest of my life. Passing by like an unseen ghost. Well, at least as unseen as a woman my size can be.
I wish I had an answer to this problem but I don’t. I will continue to go to therapy, nutritional and psychiatry sessions. I will look for a job I will enjoy and try to keep a smile on my face.
But all this would be easier if my life had a purpose. If I was able to live up to my “potential” as my mother likes to say. If I had an literary agent and a reason to write everyday. A job I looked forward to going to. If I had adventures instead of sitting at home in all my spare time. If only.