“You Did This to Yourself”
hole.
The depression slump that swallows you whole. The kind that makes you doubt your abilities to look after yourself in a way some might call the bare minimum. It is a grave dug out for you, all the while everyone around you keeps repeating that you were the one who willingly clawed your way into the dirt six feet under.
I wish I could count all the times I have been told I’m the one responsible for my own misery, but I’ve always been bad with numbers. People who have the fortune of not being in my shoes have always had the strongest opinions on whether I’m the one to blame or not, to the point that it has almost started to amuse me as years have gone on. Why is it that people feel the strongest about things that have nothing to do with themselves or their experiences? It’s fascinating.
Depression continues to be the illness that affects my ability to cope with everyday tasks the most. It’s the condition my medical team is constantly keeping tabs on, and for a good reason. Because my depression is deep, a slumber of sorts, a deep hole I slip into without noticing it myself at all. Depression turns my suicidal fantasies into concrete plans and written out letters for my loved ones when they find me. I’m on strong antidepressants with very high doses, but they haven’t been helping me in the way they’re supposed to for quite some time now. Getting out of bed is still a struggle, no matter how many tablets and capsules I down my throat with my trusted energy drinks and coffee.
I have done everything I’m able to make things better for myself. Every time things get completely out of control, I’m voluntarily entering the hospital grounds once more. I ask for different medication, for bigger doses. I keep track of the three necessities – sleep, eating, exercise – to make sure no one has reason to blame me. But still, they always find a way around it.
They throw you a rope to haul yourself out of the hole, but every time you reach out for it, they pull the rope an inch away from you, not too much to completely destroy your self-confidence but just enough to make you despair under the pressure of public performance and scrutiny. It’s an endless loop, one made that much worse by their screaming voices telling you you’re not trying hard enough, when you don’t have anything left to give out of.
I have been beat up so many times, both when I’ve been trying to make it and when I’ve just wanted to give up on everything, that I do not really know how or why people can still expect me to perform for them. Human beings all have a level of tolerance; for pain, for bullshit, for failure. When your life has been filled with struggles and hardships, how are you supposed to keep your head held up high? Sure, there are people who are capable of that, absolutely. But those outliers don’t define the rest.
Some might argue depression is a rational reaction to trauma, abuse, discrimination, oppression, financial struggles, and other life hardships. I’m not one to say anything definite on that matter, but what I do agree with is the notion that no human is meant to deal with constant struggles and then make it out of them not phased at all. It is an unrealistic expectation and standard that has been placed upon us. We need to give ourselves and fellow human beings on this planet more grace and understanding. But pushing those struggling even deeper into the holes of depression by making them feel guilty is not the way to go.
Let me extend my hand out to you, instead.
From the soil,
ichigonya