When Everything is Sad

January 18, 2017

Anyone who has dealt with major depression knows that it invades every cell of your body, to the point where everything, absolutely everything, can lead to extreme sadness.

I haven’t been there for a whilrubye, but it appears to be coming back. I paid my ex-boyfriend some money I owed him, and felt like that was a bit of closure.

Apparently, I wasn’t ready for closure.

This sent me into a tailspin. I have managed to convince myself that I will be alone forever, and never feel happy again. Part of this is grief, absolutely. I loved him—I still love him—and I’ve lost my best friend and the man I loved.

Part
of it is depression. The signs are far too familiar. I’m sleeping too much ruby2and it never feels like enough. I have no appetite at all except for sugar. I’m losing interest in everyday activities. And I’m sad. I’m crying like I can’t stop again. Not every day, at least not yet.

Yesterday I got up and felt incredibly sad. I did what I could to feel better. I went for a walk in the sun with the dog. I took a hot shower. I had to sit down in the middle of the shower because I was crying too hard to stand up. I just couldn’t stop.

I finally was able to calm myself down enough to do some work, and I looked over at my dog, lying in the sun, looking incredibly contented.

Somehow, that was the saddest thing I had ever seen. That dog, who I love, who brings me joy, that dog, lying down contented, that was tragically sad.

That’s what depression does. It steals the joy in absolutely everything. I don’t want to be back there.

 

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Depression Dreams

January 16, 2017

It hasn’t happened in years, but yesterday I woke up from a dream in which I had been very, very depressed. I woke up feeling heavy and hopeless and sad. It was terrifying and I’ve been carrying the weight around for two days.

It’s strange how dreams can feel so very real. Terrifying. I couldn’t shake the feeling, and I’m still having trouble with it. I’m trying to remember that I’m going to be OK eventually.


Fiction vs. Reality

January 11, 2017

*This post contains spoilers but only of super old books and movies*

When the 6th Harry Potter book came out, I was in rural Mexico with a friend. We took a special trip to Walmart so I could buy The Half-Blood Prince the week it came out, and I read it almost all in one sitting, just as I had done with the previous five Harry Potter books.

When I got to the part where Dumbledore died, I was devastated. And I know people use that work quite often, but I mean, literally, I was devastated. I felt like a friend had died. I was in shock, grieving, and stunned. I cried and cried and couldn’t get out of bed. I tried to hide this from my friend and probably told her I was sick or something.

I was so sad. Really, I was severely depressed. When I am depressed, I can’t differentiate between sad reality and sad fiction. I was mourning Dumbledore like he was a good friend, not a fictional character.

That is not the only time it has happened. I was reading a book once where a dog died. The dog was old and had had a long, happy life, and passed away quietly in his sleep, but it felt like it destroyed me. Depression somehow made me have no filter between reality and fiction.

Depression has been creeping up on me again lately, ever since the breakup in April, my book release (a good milestone but any type of change/accomplishment is hard and I keep being reminded that my ex is not there to experience this with me), and the cold, dark winter. So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when I took my 3.5 year old nephew to see Babe (the pig movie) recently and I cried through a lot of the movie. Only a couple of animals died or were kidnapped and it was done very lightly, and he (not even four years old yet!) was a little scared but fine, and I was crying in the dark. Because the overwhelming sadness is back. I’m fighting it better than I have been, but it’s back.

I don’t want this grief.