“We fear violence less than our own feelings. Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.” – Jim Morrison
I regard myself as an emotional person, but today, I have found it difficult to go about addressing what I’d like to write. I recently told Boyfriend that I wanted to start a 90 day challenge, the purpose of which to go about my day with a contrary outlook – To be more organised, more positive, to exercise, be mindful of myself in order to make choices that benefit me and those around me. I realized long ago that this is the way I should be living my life, I hoped if I could practice this successfully for 90 days, I would be encouraged to extend the challenge and push myself to do greater things.
I failed on the second day. I read that in order to make changes you had to start small. I set myself two goals for Day One; 30 mins of exercise and to clean our bedroom. Check and check! I walked Barney then did a huge overhaul of my things – Clothes, shoes, bags, old bed covers – Anything that I held in my hands and wasn’t absolutely positive I wanted to keep. I’m an excessively sentimental person and keep hold of pretty much everything. However, this time I was brutal. Dress I wore once that my mum gave me after a fight? Charity bag. T-Shirts from Primark I kept just to wear to bed? – Charity bag. Scraggly old skirt I bought in a sale three summers ago and never wore? Charity bag. All in all, two bin sacks of clothes, four pairs of shoes and a few handbags. I hoovered under the bed and found places for everything; anything that didn’t have a place, didn’t have a purpose.
I was really proud of myself. Boyfriend was proud too. I felt great. Motivated. The air felt cleaner. These tasks were simple and productive, I genuinely felt like the 90 days was going to be a breeze.
The second day was a Saturday. We had had a few drinks the night before and, well honestly I was hungover. Ever tried to be motivated with a hangover? It’s not ideal. I spent most of the day in bed, either asleep or watching Pretty Little Liars on my iPad. This I didn’t really regret – I love bed – But when Boyfriend left to go to a leaving party, I started to feel down. I reflected on my day and it felt wasted. The more I thought about it the worse I felt. I couldn’t even go two days in a row being a better person. Barney hadn’t been walked, so I just about forced myself to get up, put on jogging bottoms (didn’t change my bed t-shirt) and take him outside. He dragged me down the street and I dragged him home, after being out for about 15 minutes. I felt worse when I came back. I should have went with Boyfriend. I should have got up earlier. Should have got dressed. Made a meal instead of snacking all day. Should have taken Barney out till he was so tired he was the one looking forward to going home. Should have done the washing. Should have tidied the kitchen. Should have hung up the laundry. Should stop feeling so sorry for myself.
Depression is a bad thing, but you can’t argue it’s not a great word. It sounds like something sinking, or being overwhelmed and suffocated. That’s how it feels too.
The reason I failed on the second day is because I let this feeling get the better of me. I indulged in it. It’s a lot easier to give up than to try, especially when you’re on your own. If depression was a person he would say “You don’t deserve me.” How dare I call myself depressed when there’s so many people who have it worse off than me? What right do I have to be unhappy? How can I, who has everything I need and want, possibly feel so low I can’t even take my dog for a walk?
Then the guilt sets in, and guilt is depressions most loyal friend.
The truth is I’ve been struggling with this cycle for a number of years. The guilt, the depression. It scares me. Terrifies me. It can come at anytime, and it effects everyone around me. There’s no rock bottom, but a number of them more embarrassing than the last. I pushed away the people who meant the most to me, because it was easier to give up than to try and explain. How do you tell someone you haven’t kept in contact because you’re sad? How do you explain that you’re angry at them, even though they’ve done nothing wrong? How can the actions I’ve taken and the pain I’ve caused be down to a chemical imbalance in my brain?
I’ve read a lot on the subject of depression and mental health disorders. I’m no expert, but I know that 1 in 4 people will suffer a mental health problem. I’ve noticed a rise in media sources encouraging others to shake off the stigma of depression and get help. Tell someone, do something. Shake off the fear and take the first step.
Yes, you will ALWAYS get the person who tells you to “Just cheer up”, or the doctor who looks at you with a blank face and says “Well do you have any hobbies to keep you busy?” No you ass-clown, I don’t enjoy them anymore, I’m fucking depressed.
I’ve had this conversation with a doctor (didn’t call her an ass-clown) and it was difficult. I don’t think she understood, but it’s not really her job to. I’m sure in that moment she would have rather looked at an ingrown toenail than my tear-stained, pleading face. But she knew who could help, and referred me on to another team. This is the 5th time I’ve been referred to a counselling service.
The reason I’m being so honest is because this time, I feel it might work. The little rays of sunshine in my life get stronger every day, and I’ve realized that all pain is temporary. I picture those who still have hope for me, because if I dwell too much on the people I have let down, there’s no escaping depression. I fear the feeling of failure, but even if I don’t manage to do 90 ‘good’ days in a row, why shouldn’t it be an accomplishment to do one day? One day will bleed into the next, and the next. If I slip up I start again. I could look back on a month and see I had 15 good days out of 30. That’s half my time spent being the person I want to be. That’s reason in itself to try harder in the new month.
mollysbook 