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Side note: I made this for an educational purpose so people can understand depression through my thoughts. It talks about topics that might trigger someone who goes through similar situations. I hope you find this beneficial and to not feel alone.
What happens when we die? What is the point of death? Can we find hope if we are irreparably broken? Can we be irreparably broken? Am I real? Is there such thing as “real”? All these questions flooding my head and thoughts following just behind running in a loop over and over again. “Calm down,” She says, not knowing that what she said made more thoughts about wondering if there is such a thing. “You’re having racing thoughts. Find something and ground yourself.” But I can’t listen to what She is telling me because I’m already thinking that I’m letting Her know I’m in a rough patch. I get these once every few months and I’m better at managing each time but do I really want to get better? A question that’s repeated over and over again in my head as I’m sitting on the yellow like the sun couch hugging a pillow covered in daisies, my favorite flower. The thing about my depression is that it comes with side effects. It’s called depression with psychotic features or depression with psychosis. When I get really depressed, I start having hallucinations but they are only visual and auditory (mostly auditory). I still don’t understand how or why I get them and I hate that I don’t understand it because I’m a know-it-all but She says it’s good to know what I don’t know. That doesn’t make any sense either but I let her be.
I continue having racing thoughts thinking that an illness, whether it be mental or physical, is meant to get treated and made better. At least that’s what I see people wanting. Someone gets cancer and they treat it with chemo, radiation, and surgeries and much more that I don’t know because I’m not an expert. My point is that it gets treated and everything possible is done to cure and recover from it but with depression and I, it’s different. On the days I experience my depression the most, the thought of wanting to get better becomes something unrealistic. I become unreal. I see myself not as one but as multiples with my depression as one part of me. “Are you with me?” She asks. I had completely forgotten I was in a session with her sitting on the yellow like the sun couch. I answer what she would like to hear and continue on trying my best to listen and not just hear what she says, after all it does help. When I’m done with the session I head back home still thinking I am more than one and today it feels like an ok way to feel. Other days I freak out and She has to explain that it’s part of the psychosis.
As I’m doing the dishes I start to think about what the nurse told me on a visit to the ER three years ago. She said that people bleed out from their arteries more likely than from their veins since it’s coming straight from the heart. That comment has fed my suicidal ideation for three years along with other things people have said. I realized that people will never be able to control what effect and how big of an effect they have on you, only you do. In this case, I’ve held that comment as close to me as possible and “the voice” knows it affects me too. “You already know what you have to do, do it.” Or “You heard what the nurse said, now do it.” Right now, it’s saying how nobody is home so it’s the right time. But I fight it back saying I can’t do that to my family. Although sometimes I just let it be and accept I can’t change it (of course I can if take medication but depression tells me otherwise).
As I lay down on my bed, ready to sleep once again as awake as I can possibly be, I think about the days where I don’t have depression and I can be a person who doesn’t have a label. That day will obviously never come because my depression is genetic and I will most likely have it the rest of my life in episodes. It can be a few months apart or years. I really don’t understand it myself but I hope for that day. And just like that I take it back because depression is the one thing has been a constant in my life. People tell me to try and get better but I can’t help to think that depression is darkness. It’s the shadows at night crippling your thoughts. The perpetual feeling of self-destruction. Yet it can be rather comforting. That’s the beautiful mystery, isn’t it?