Note: This is a post I wrote a few weeks ago. I won’t deny it’s validity by saying it reads like an angsty me teenager (though it does). I wrote it because I felt I could try to explain what was going on with me at the time. Now I’m posting it as a way of sharing where I’ve been these past few weeks. If the emotional stuff is too much for you, never fear, the comedy versions coming out later today.
Today I am sad and out of sorts. It has to do, in part, with these things:
- Tomorrow my friend is going to put down her long-suffering dog. This is a dog I’ve known for years, who I used to live with, who I’ve pet sat for on many an occasion. I’m stopping by tonight to say goodbye but how do you begin to say goodbye?
- People keep telling me there’s a song written about me. They’re thinking about “Cecilia” by Simon and Garfunkel. I know because people have been telling me that and singing to me most of my life. I am sad that they can’t read my name tag properly. I am sad that they’re trying so hard to connect but are going about it all wrong. I am sad because I don’t have the energy to correct them or care that they’re wrong. I respond to Cecelia. How sad is that? It’s not even my name.
- I’ve been getting pretty sad and worked up about fictional characters lately. I love fictional characters, love them so much it hurts when the book is over or the character dies.
Mostly I am just sad. As in the depressed kind of sad. Sometimes I consider myself a high functioning depressed person. Sometimes I call it mild depression.
The drugs make it so I feel generally a little better. They also make it harder to cry. Like there are tears constantly building up behind my eyes but they won’t spill over, they just build and build until I am so upset I can’t help myself. Sometimes I wish I could cry more or better or whatever.
It’s this ache in my chest. It squeezes my heart, trying to squeeze out all the emotion. But the only emotion I have, the only one that is there, is sadness. It squeezes and I feel more sad and still no tears.
Living with depression is like that. There are good days and bad days, ups and downs like whoa. The middle ground is an illusion we don’t know about anymore.