Saturday, October 7, 2017

How it Feels To Live Like This

My Own Mind Is My Own Enemy

   I have lived with depression for as long as I can remember. I have woken up time after time with the feeling that my world should have ended ages ago and yet I still live. I have had the best days of my life ruined by my mind racing with doubts and my insecurities digging into my heart and lungs. I have lived with my mind telling me that all your compliments are not real and you all just want something from me. I have lived with staring at potential dangerous things and letting my mind wonder how fast it could end my life if I let it.  
   I battle my with my mind everyday.
   Have I done something about it? Have I gotten help for it? Did I know there is programs out there that can help me? Yes, yes, and yes. It isn't something that you pay cash for and sit through a few classes, pop in some anti depressants and I am all good gracious. I wish it worked that way, but it really didn't. 
  The mental health care that was provided to me was either a temporary fix or just made things worse. I was at the mercy of these people that gave me promises that "everything is going to be okay" and I trusted that this was going to work. I had people tell me that all this worked for them and I should give it a go. 
   In all honesty, I felt like I was broken. I felt like nothing in this world was going to work for me, I was just a defect and nothing could do anything about it. I tried every little thing that I could to break from this "Self Pity Cycle" and everything that every doctor suggested and every other depression  overcomer said worked for them and nothing worked for me. 
   I have been like this since as long as I can remember and I learned my own nick-nack tricks that could give me a quick fix from it. I learned that reading, painting, and writing fixed my mood after a good session, but it never helped with my mood for the rest of the day. It was one of those hour boosters that helped me distract myself from what I was actually hiding inside. These distractions were indeed distractions and nothing more. It was not a cure it was not something that helped a person like me. 
  For mild cases of depression it is said that a walk in the park, breathing the fresh air and talking to loved ones on the regular worked. I also heard that having someone to talk to helps and have friend dates work but not for me. I tried sleeping more, sleeping less, eating more, eating less, exercising more, and having a rest...none of it worked. I have tried therapy and getting down to the "root of the problem" and it didn't go at all too well. I ended up blaming other people for what I felt and it was indeed not that. I came to the conclusion that the root of the problem was my dopamine levels and I should just be put on medication hoping that anti depressants would save me from myself. I took them for about a year, changing the meds and doses and I weened off of them eventually because I found myself taking more than I thought possible. I was getting way too dependent on them and it scared me. 
   I have had positive people in my life that influenced me to do better and to think positive and it worked for a day or two but my head always twisted the idea. I found that being alone made things worse because I had to sit in an empty room alone with my thoughts that drove me to make suicide letters and to say goodbye to loved ones against my will.  I have several notebooks with letters of me pleading to the ones I loved to not take my death so heavy and to tell Samantha that I am sorry and that this was no one's fault but my own...
   It is scary...to actually find these things while I try to clean up the room a bit. It is haunting. I find myself ripping them and throwing them away, but I always write more and more. 
   

Why do I feel this way?

   I have no clue why I feel this way. I don't know why I feel the need to bring others down. I hate that about myself the most. That I feel sorry for myself and I hate my life. I have read about other people's lives and how much worse they have it...but it is sickening to think that it doesn't change the way I feel. I would read about the Holocaust, child trafficking, abused children, and all that sad stuff and it didn't change the way I feel about myself and life.  
   It made me feel like an entitled asshole. How could I feel sorry for myself while there is starving people in the world? Where there is women who don't have the right to speak up? Where there are people being murdered?  It made me feel worse and worse, but I kept reading about these things. 
It started when I was in the fifth grade when I got sick of reading Junie B Jones and Goosebumps for a while and needed to read about something that related to my life. I found myself picking up "The Child Called It" by Dave Pelzer and started reading that from start to finish. I read it in class one day and I remember having my fifth grade teacher stop teaching and tell me, "Norma! How can you read such a story!?! That is such a sad book! You shouldn't be reading that!" She gave me a sad look and kept teaching. I can say that was the first time someone in school ever acknowledged my hurt. Her name was Mrs. Rahal and I will never forget the kindness she gave me. 
   I dated back my reasons I felt like this to that day. I didn't realize how poor I was. How being beaten by your mother wasn't normal. Having to be verbally abused wasn't normal. Taking up on adult responsibilities wasn't normal....that most of the things I dealt with at my young age wasn't normal. I knew nothing about this until she called me to stay one day after school. She asked if I could hand her my back pack and to sit down next to her desk. She took out a purple back pack and gave it to me and told me it was a gift. That a person like me shouldn't be walking around with my ratted bag and that I should have a proper back pack. I remember taking this negatively. I remember shaking my head and saying that it was okay and that I don't deserve it. She looked at me confused and she kept insisting that I take it and it made my anxiety skyrocket. I was shaking in my seat trying to explain to her why I cannot accept her gift. She asked me personal questions and it all led up to my mother. It lead to the way she made me feel everyday and how I didn't blame her. It lead to the way people bullied me at school all the time because I didn't really care for new trends and didn't bother to keep up with them. I was lead to believe that I was being hurt by others because I let them take advantage of me. She gave me the warmest hug I have ever had in my life at the time and I cried my little heart out. Never did I know such kindness. Especially from a teacher. I remember thanking her for the backpack and gave her another hug goodbye and doing the best that I could to cheer up for her. 

Since Then...

   I kept going on through middle school believing that things could change and that I just needed to guard myself a lot more. I have always found a way to keep my hurt hidden. I always found a way to pretend that I was a laughing cheerful girl with no worries, but inside I was dying. My whole life I always felt this rotting hole inside of me that kept getting sicker and sicker as time went on. I had teachers notice and took me aside and gave me their words of wisdom or a shoulder to cry on. While my classmates went out to eat or hang out with their friends during break, I sat in a classroom letting my tears out and confiding in my teachers. I remember feeling like no one my age would understand my hurt. It wasn't relevant to them. They always told me their story about how hurt they were and completely ignored mine. But as a person who felt remotely the same way I held myself together and gave as much as I could of myself to help them through their difficult time. 
   All of that drained me and I remember feeling empty in public and hurt when I was at home. (I won't explain what happened at home yet because I don't want to share about it at the moment...but I will later if I ever get brave enough to do it.) I would go throughout my day hearing  people out and giving them encouragement and fake laughing at all their jokes. Jokes were on thing I was bad at and would awkwardly give it a go and I could never get it right!  I was just that, I then realized. I was awkward. I slowly stopped talking to the group of friends I had and moved to a whole different one. I went from being okay to a bit crazy...but that's another story.

How It never Left

The depression never left me. I sit here today feeling like this at this very moment. Not because I want you to feel bad for me, not because I want the attention, but because I just do. I find it easy to share about the way I feel because it made me feel better reading about other people's struggles. It made me feel like I wasn't crazy and it was something some people just go through. It was normal and it happens. 
I let it win from time to time because I have no energy left to fight the negativity going on in my head. I have been keeping busy with other things that doesn't involve so many people to keep myself from infecting others with my sad/sour mood. I found it easier to just remove myself from others to maintain the good relationship I have with them. 
Take it from me when I say this...as a person who has listened to most of your problems all these years, it gets a bit tiring to keep trying to build you back up over and over again after trying multiple times. I wish I could be the person to help. I wish I could be the person to take your hurt away, but I have no energy to help myself. I bet others feel the same about me and I don't want to bother other's with my problems. I don't want to become too much to deal with so I secluded myself for now and focusing on fixing myself instead of relying on other's to do it for me. I have not tried that yet, I haven't taken a break from life since I was seven years old. I can see why people take vacations. A break is needed from all of the normal and to just jump into something new. 
 I don't know how that will all go. I don't know how it would help me, but I have hope. That is one thing that depression hasn't finished off. It hasn't taken all of my hope. How I know that?
I am not dead yet.
I feel that there is still a chance to save myself from my own head. I know there is a cure from feeling like the world hates you. That you hate you. And hating life itself. 

What I hope you get out of this?

I don't want to speak for others when I say this, but I hope you know I am trying to better myself and not letting myself rot away. I want you to know that I don't expect you to feel sorry for me nor do I want you to. I just want you to know that DEPRESSION IS REAL. It isn't a "bump on the road" and "a rut". I am not just sad...this is my day to day life. This is EVERYDAY. I battle with my head EVERYDAY. It is hard, it gets frustrating, it gets nasty, it get out of hand, and it isn't pretty. It isn't a cry for help, it is my damn head being stupid. It is me getting in the way of me. Like a dark infections entity is inside of me refusing to let me feel Life's pleasures. That is why some don't understand that the littlest things mean a BIG deal to me.
  Getting out of bed, doing my hair, getting dressed, and making breakfast is the most simplest pleasure I enjoy. It makes me feel alive and that I actually am not worthless and I can do the simplest tasks. It makes me feel like I accomplished something, maybe I didn't do laundry and I didn't finish all the dishes, but I did something! To wake up and wash my face and look in the mirror...that is already the days accomplishment. Why? Because there are days where I don't want to get out of bed or see the light of day. Or when I went to work I didn't have myself put together right and it threw me off completely. I would then find myself crying in the bathroom or in the corner of the kitchen trying to catch my breath to keep going. I use self talk everyday to keep me from running home to go under the covers on my bed. 
  Just because I laugh and try to make things seem better than they really are doesn't mean I am faking this. Who would want to fake feeling horrible? It doesn't mean that when I post a picture of me smiling saying it is the best day of my life that I am not depressed anymore. It doesn't mean that I am getting better, it just means I can hide it better. Just because you see me laughing my head off at a lame joke that I am in a good mood. It may mean that I just found your joke funny and that is the one thing my mind let slip in to make me feel that burst of joy. 
And one last thing! NOT EVERYONE'S DEPRESSION IS THE SAME! We are all battling a different battle. Different Mind = Different Battle, it's that simple. What helped Julie might not help Erin. What helped Candy might not work on Lizz. It is the way things are. So don't come over and talk to me like you know what will help and that I am being a baby and I don't want to get over it...you have no idea how any people have said that to me and other's that I have talked to. 

How can you help me?

Well, for now? I think there is nothing someone can do for me right now but to just be understanding. To give me space when I ask for it and to give me company when I ask for it. To just know it is okay and people feel this way. To not treat me any different and I enjoy all of your friendships. And if we hang out, don't bring up my sad crap and leave it for some other time when I want to bring it up because I want to forget about that and enjoy time with you. 
  And for those of you that feel the same way or fighting a different but similar battle, you can always send your story here at normaackerstories@gmail.com. You can send what you have gone through and your hardships and the way you overcame those if you did. Or you can explain how you are still battling and what you want to share with the world also. 
Because going through depression alone isn't easy...it is hard to even walk into a room without feeling the heaviness. 
Because Depression is real...and we need to do more about it instead of throwing people in mental institutions with no real intentions to curing the problem. 


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