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Sunday, April 13, 2003 @ 5:35 PM
You May Want to Skip This Entry
I was trying to explain to my mother what depression is like, because it's so hard to for her to understand why my brother acts the way he does. And I was trying to explain to her the irrelevance of circumstances. I said, "I'm always vaguely aware that I'm not upset because bad things aren't happening to me, I'm upset because I'm reacting badly to everything."
And I want to tell you, I'm hardly ever upset because of something that you say, or something you write, or something that you do, or something that you didn't say, or didn't write, or didn't do, or didn't do enough. You could say something one day, and it would make me laugh, say the same thing the next day, and it would make me burst into tears and hate my life. That's the nature of the disease that I keep so well hidden, the disease people don't even seem to know I have. Most of the time, I can't even speak without wanting to apologize for myself, for the way I am.
I was trying to tell my mother how guilty I felt because I got better, and Will didn't. But I realized, it's not that I got better. I never escaped this little hurricane. I still lie in bed at night and feel as though my lungs are going to collapse in on themselves and I'll suffocate on my own self-inflicted loneliness and carefully cultivated cynicism. I still feel like everyone I know and love gets together when I'm not around to say how they feel annoyed by and sorry for me. I still look in the mirror and hate everything I see.
And I want to tell you, I haven't gotten over this. Sometimes I'm happy, but I forget all the details as they pass by. Sometimes I'm not happy, but I act like I am, and then I start to become disturbed by how good I've gotten at deceiving. Sometimes I'm sad, and I cry, and I wanted to tell you that's when I feel the most like myself. I haven't recovered, and it's doubtful that I ever will. I just got better at not doing anything drastic. I still feel like killing myself sometimes. It seems strange to say, because I don't feel that way now. That's what it's like. You feel something and you can barely remember feeling anything else. But the first thousand times have given me a sense of the pattern, and I have an understanding of myself and the way I feel. I know that what I feel is going to change again, because it always does.
Events are irrelevant. You can't control my reactions, and neither can I. All I can do is acknowledge what I'm feeling, and wait it out. Wait for it to change. And know - not think, not hope, but know - that it will. This is as close as I come to faith. This is as close as I come to sanity.
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