I’ve probably been dealing with my worst period of depression I’ve had in many years. Makes me think of the Sylvia Plath poem (isn’t that ironic), Lady Lazarus:
‘I’ve done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it–’
It’s all been difficult. The actual thought of Christmas was like a ticking time bomb. Christmas morning I thought I would explode.
The pre-Christmas stress was the worse. Having to buy presents I couldn’t afford to buy, knowing there would be an increase in social activity.
Ah — social activity. It’s a killer for me at the best of times, but when I’ve fallen into the deep dark hole of depression, it’s tantamount to torture. After every occasion I would lie in bed wondering what I’ve said to everyone, was it appropriate, what did they think of me?
I didn’t want involvement in Christmas day itself. I thought it would kill me. I’m not talking lightly when I say that, I thought it would literally kill me. I decided, for self preservation, that I wouldn’t attend the family event. That would get me through. That would keep me at bay. That would keep the devil from entering the fray.
But then I thought of Mr Thomas. He has no family in Australia. If I told him I was staying home, he would have stayed home with me, because that’s the kind of person he is. And so his day would be shit, sitting next to a shell of a person instead of enjoying my mother’s meaty feast.
In the end, I survived Christmas. I’m sure I’m not the only person with depression who took a massive sigh of relief come midnight.
I guess I’m reveling in my own self-torture here, but that’s what you do. Aren’t those of us who are blue spend the days in our heads, torturing ourselves? It’s like being stuck down a deep, dark hole, knowing only a miracle will get you out. The only thing you have is the darkness, it’s your only friend, and the only way you can survive is by delighting in that one thing that you have.
So through all of this, I haven’t been the best person to be around. I haven’t been kind, or considerate. I haven’t been a good friend, wife, sister, aunt or daughter. Facing anyone who loved me just added to the torture. I didn’t have anything in the tank left for myself, let alone those around me.
My husband has dealt with the worst of it. As usual. I’ve kept the full extent of my troubles from him as the poor bastard shouldn’t have to deal with me. But he sees it, and he knows. He tries his best to make me feel better and I try my best to keep up a wall and reject said offers because, again, he shouldn’t have to deal with it. I am thankful, though, for his absolute stubborness and misguided loyalty — I guess that’s what has kept him around. Of course, it could just be that he’s nowhere else to go. Whatever the reasons, I am thankful that he is here, thankful that he sees past this affliction of mine and is able to see something positive in me; the worthless human being.
My sister has been amazing, as always. Whenever I come across people that know her separately from me, everyone always has the same opinion of her. That she is kind, has a generous spirit and an energy that we all marvel at (while secretly wondering if she is a witch). She is the most selfless being I have ever met. As with everything, I often feel that I don’t deserve to have her as a sister. She’s given me so much, and I provide nothing in return. I just hope she knows that I am, always, extremely thankful.
And to you, WordPress family – I’ve been terribly amiss. I may not have been able to find it in myself to post, but I could have stayed connected with all of you that have supported me up until now. The fear of failure has kept me from logging on, whether to write or communicate, and I have missed your words and support. I hope you’re all well. A big thanks to Crow – falling into my hole didn’t keep him from wishing me the best, and I’m thankful.
I’m not by any means ‘better.’ It’s still dark down here in this hole. Yet in the last few days it’s been light enough to see the faint lines of my hands; so there is room for optimism.