Has anyone else had that feeling where everything you used to do seems to belong to a different person and a different life?
That’s what’s going on with me these days. Even writing and music seem to be part of another woman’s life, a part of a self I forgot. Sometimes I can recapture it for a moment, but it doesn’t last. I know this is depression, and really bad depression at that. It’s worse than it’s ever been, and that’s saying something.
I tried to get help last month, but the therapist I was placed with kept going on about how I wasn’t doing enough to change my circumstances…kept throwing all these advice things at me like I’m supposed to just magically have the energy to do it all now that someone else has told me what to do. Sorry, dude, that just ain’t flying. Also I don’t like being subtly blamed and guilted for having this numbness and nothingness in my head. Pardon my French, but fuck that. I got enough negative shit in my head without someone else adding to the pile. I tried being my own therapist for a few weeks after that, since I’m often called on to help others through their crises, and I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it. But alas, my words don’t work on me; they’re just hollow advice that reeks of desperation and clutching at straws. It was a long shot but at least I tried.
Even though I hate the thought of it, I think it might be time to try medication. I’ve tried modifying my behavior, but it never produces any long term change…I always end up numb and empty again no matter what I try, and I’ve tried a lot of stuff over the last three decades. If I have to take a daily pill to be functioning again, so be it–I already take a daily pill to keep from bleeding to death, so I guess it’s not that big a deal. (Part of me wants to feel shame at needing meds to survive, but I’m just too damned tired for shame anymore.). I just want my life back–maybe I don’t have to chase all the different lives I’ve led over the years, but I do want to finish my books, get them edited and published, and progress more in my vocal training. I also hope to be married sometime this year, but I have to survive that long first. (we’re waiting on some hopefully good news coming through soon, so I’m pretty sure the anxiety of waiting is making the depression temporarily worse. Doesn’t make it easier to slog through every day though.)