Hope is touted as a positive thing. Something that keeps people going. Hope has been my undoing. I’m always cynical, but really wanting to believe the best of people, giving second chances, wanting to trust, being too scared to. My heart constantly battling my head. The hope never lasts, giving way to despair again. Let down, feeling crushed, feeling stupid for letting it happen. It’s that rise and fall I’ve struggled with. A steady line of cynicism is fine. I retreat into myself and I’m okay. It’s the hope of something better, always the hope…it’s a killer.
I tried everything this time. I addressed things I didn’t want to. I talked when it was difficult. I tried until I was fobbed off. I distanced myself but was toyed with, picked up and put down again and again. Things said, all at once, then slowly taken back, bit by bit until only the meaningless was left. I let myself cry. I went out more and talked more though not entirely by choice, but at the insistence of friends. I tried to be more positive. I used light therapy and vitamin D supplements for my SAD. I allowed myself to get close to people. None of it was good enough. Some of it even made things worse.
My awful judgement struck again. I blamed myself. Hating compliments from people who couldn’t show it. A hatred for empty words that was so intense, it made me vibrate with rage. Wanting everyone to just stop being so careless with what they said and did. Demanding accountability for what you put out there. People have no idea about the damage they can do. Platitudes don’t change how you make someone feel. Kind words didn’t undo the damage. They just felt patronising when not backed up. Meaningless apologies thrown out. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want sympathy. I just wanted to feel numb. In the end, I gave up and went back to the doctor.
The signs had been there for a while. Seeking out dark things. Sad songs, poetry about hurting, heartbreaking blogs, wallowing, finding comfort in the pain, feeling understood by anyone else who was suffering because it meant I wasn’t alone. I tried to break out of it. There were distractions and moments of sunshine, but they didn’t last.
I’ve hated being on medication. I like feeling, even the negative, even the pain. Some days, it’s the only way I know I exist. But for the first time, I’ve looked at others transformed by antidepressants and felt envious. I know how that sounds, but I just wanted to feel numb. I wanted to feel empty. Just exist without the noise, which had become overwhelming. The replayed conversations, a choice between not sleeping or the nightmares where I was screaming, the voice in my head that continually told me and continues to tell me I’m nothing.
I haven’t picked up my prescription yet. I’m told this time I’ll be on it long term and I feel torn. Really wanting to try any alternative I can to this future, but then wincing at the thought of my birthday next month, the worst day of the year for me, and I go back to craving the numb again. Seeing the state of the world right now magnifies that need. Then seeing the people around me, good people, intentionally causing pain, just leaves me feeling utterly defeated. It all feels so bleak and the common denominator is always me. It’s my fault they can’t treat me like they treat others, it has to be. A feeling that leads to comparisons to other people and even inanimate objects and always coming up short. Depression has many symptoms but this time, it’s not paranoia, of that I’m certain.