~A Bitter Swallow~

  I told myself (and a couple others) that I wasn't going to write on this anymore.  I knew when I said it I was lying.  My pants were so on fire.  I can't just stop.  The magma of my mind needs to spew every once in awhile.  This is (one of the places) where I spew it.  I have come to the conclusion that, although sometimes knowing of people who read what I have to say here might make me uncomfortable, they still read it and they still talk to me.  So, that has to count for something. 

  Yesterday I was talking to my boyfriend about my depression.  It's hard on those around you.  They tend to view something amiss in themselves that someone they love should feel so utterly hopeless.  They think they are doing something wrong, or that they in and of themselves are the worthless one.  It's very  difficult to explain that sometimes they are the one ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak world.   

  While trying to convey this to him yesterday it dawned on me why this last bout of depression was so overwhelming, and worse than other times before.  Every other time my depression got bad, I got medicated.   This time, I did not.  Before, I always had my anti-depressant / anti-anxiety med to help ease the burden a bit.  The darkness was still there, just not as thick or oppressive.  

Upon realizing this, I started to think that maybe going back on my meds was the way to go.  But then I thought, but I beat it this time.  All. By. My. Self.   Well, I wouldn't have without the love and support of my friends and family, but still.  Pill Free.   That made me feel pretty damn good.  But wait, there's more!!  Then I thought... well, but what if next time it's even worse, and I don't beat it.  What if it wins?  

Shit.

So, the debate still battles within my mind:  Medicate?  Or no? 
 

With all my previous bouts with depression, the one thing that separated me from the norms (considering the level of "depressed" I rated based off of their tests) was that I never contemplated suicide.  Jumping in my car and driving until I ran out of gas, then hopping on a bus until it stopped- yes.  But suicide, no.  I always felt that suicide was a cop-out, and the most selfish thing anyone could ever, ever do.  I still do.  Of course, back then I had others around me who made me feel wanted.  I felt like there were people I could turn to, people I could talk to, people who would actually miss me if I left like that. 

I guess that's what scares me the most this time around.  I don't feel like I have those people anymore.  I don't feel like anyone would be particularly upset, at least not for very long.  It would be more of an "Oh, well that sucks..." and then life would move on.  Suicide has entered my thoughts on many occasions this go-around.  I just don't see the purpose of being here.  I don't have a purpose.  

Other than my kids.  Many parents say that their kids are their life.  And I'm sure that they mean it.  But I wonder how many of them are as literal as "My kids are why I am still alive"?  Because my kids are the only reason I haven't acted on those contemplations.  When I get really down and to that point, I see their faces, and wonder what would happen to them if I were to take the coward's way out.  And I can't do it. 

Many parents say that they would give up their life for their kids.   I am giving up my death for them. 

I'm not sure if that's honorable or not. 

  I'm having a very hard time dealing with the depression this time around.  I'm sure I've already mentioned that to death, but it is just getting worse and worse.  My "Daily Challenge" this morning was to list 5 positive traits about myself.  I seriously couldn't even think of one.  I don't know one good quality about myself.  I seem to fail at everything I try to do.  I have no motivation, no purpose, no willpower, no courage, no self-esteem, nothing.  I have become bitter, fat, and emotionally removed.    

  I am a horrible girlfriend.  There are issues about myself that I just can't seem to push past no matter how much I try.  I try to be who I think I'm suppose to be, but I just can't force myself to do things that make me feel so much worse about myself.  I know it's not normal.  I know it's not healthy.  But it's there and I can't seem to fix it.

  I try to dig myself out.  I try to tell myself "You deserve to be happy."  But I don't believe it. I try to smile, to make myself keep a "sunny disposition", but it feel so fake on my face.  It must look more like a sneer than a smile.  I don't believe I deserve to be happy.  I don't know why, but I don't.  Whenever I genuinely smile, that little voice in my head is right there questioning what I think I'm doing.  What have I done to deserve that little moment of joy?   And then there it goes- vanishing just as quickly as it came.  Faster, actually.

I don't necessarily have the best "past", but I don't have anything that I feel should have led to the level of self-loathing that I have come to.  I don't see anything that I feel responsible for the attitudes and thought-processes I have towards certain things.  I don't find anything that is substantial enough to justify the way I am.  I just am. 

And everyday I seem to come across more and more that prove just how unworthy and unwanted I am.  I am tolerated.  I am convenient.  I am "okay for now".    It's really hard for me to try and work on justifying my desire for happiness and normalcy when I keep being shown that I'm not.