I can’t remember a time when depression wasn’t an issue. A time where even when things were going my way, I did not feel like everything was about to go tits up at any moment. I don’t know if there ever was such a time.
Kids are cruel, but we can be far crueller to ourselves than anyone else could ever manage. I’ve always been the fat kid. I’ve tried to be the funny kid, or the reliable kid, or the best friend kid, but when I look in the mirror, I see the fat kid. The kid who can’t do a chin-up in gym class, the kid who finishes dead last in every race, the kid who would chug ipecac if he thought it would get him out of Track and Field Day (AKA: Just look at how much worse you are at everything day), or worse yet, a long distance run.
That image, that kid, is all I can see when the depression takes hold. It’s like being 10 years old again, and standing there at the end of the day, watching my friends with all their ribbons boarding the buses.
It hurts. A pain I can barely describe. It hurts everywhere, and I’m sure I don’t do as good a job hiding it as I hope.
When it comes on, I try to pour myself into whatever I’m doing, to fill my mind with a single task, and ignore the feeling of hopelessness.
I’ve tried helping others. I’ve tried helping myself.
Lately, I’ve been having more and more episodes, combined with Panic Attacks that leave me shaking, and unable to function beyond continuing to breath.
I take meds, they worked for awhile, but haven’t seemed to help much recently.
I had hoped putting these thoughts and feelings down would help, and I promised I would publish this note, but all I can think is that it is a nail in the coffin of my job hunt. No employer wants to hire a broken employee.
My mind is full of thoughts of drink, alcohol, which seemed at one time to work, to clear my head, and give me at least a few hours of false confidence. Does that make me an alcoholic even though I rarely drink?
Does it really get better for everyone?