A chapter from the book I’m working on describing my immense, insurmountable and endless depression.
Every Little Bit Hurts
Every little bit hurts
Every little bit hurts
Every night I cry
Every night I sigh
Every night I wonder why
You treat me cold
Yet you won’t let me go
Every little hurt counts
Every little hurt counts
Brenda Holloway – Every Little Bit Hurts
Every single day when i wake, i wake with an abject feeling of terror, swiftly followed by a crushing depression at how i got in this state.
Not long ago i woke feeling hopeful at what the day would bring via email, text or social media message. Now i wait in dread at anything that may come my way, as it is all horrible. Stress and torment has moved into my mind and i cannot shake it, no matter what i do! I struggle to eat, to think, to breathe, to not worry that i am dying from some yet to be found ailments. My mind has turned on me and it wants me dead. The only clear and true thought i have is to kill my self and by doing so, end my torture.
Anyone who has never experienced deep, dark and desperate depression have missed out on a part of the human experience that no one who had not experienced envies anyone having. You can say you are depressed and people will obligingly say the correct thing, but no matter what is said or done, the deep despair remains. It is ever present, like a ghost who tortures you all day and night.
When manic i thought the dog would talk to me, well actually I believed the dog was conversing with me and furthermore, understanding my wild ramblings. I used to wake at 5am and get on the sofa and there he would join me to discuss my current fantasy. Nowadays, however, he slumps on me, in what i perceive as a deep depression. He looks up, sad and morose and i can barely be bothered to stroke him, let alone have a deep conversation! I wonder if he senses my state. Can he tell how utterly hopeless i feel? If he can? does he wonder how to help? I feel I neglect him as i now neglect my own well being. I feel utterly worthless and that it is my only job to hide my suicidal tendencies and cavernous depression.
That is the thing with depression. It is like a long boring, depressing bad trip, interspersed with abject terror and anxiety. The depths are huge and endless, you feel you may actually die from a heart palpitation or stroke. All the while knowing that depression is not done with you just yet and that no such relief is going to occur. It is like every moment has been specifically crafted to torture you at that exact instance.
The weight and worry financial worries and all the serious things in life bear on me is intolerable in this state. Trying to organise schooling for my son has turned into a daily torment. I deregistered him when the covid19 pandemic hit and his school’s only mitigations were government backed, and I didn’t trust that. Ive home schooled him for 18 months and he needs to be back in school now. Can i organise it? Can i fuck! It worries me constantly. It is these things that are sent to maybe drive me mad.
So much gets left to my partner Gemma, i feel awful not helping share the load but have nothing left to give. I wonder how she puts up with me and my arrogance lets me believe i hide how bad i feel really. I wish I wasn’t like this and i could find the way out of this current state.
My attempts to think my way out of depression are futile and irritating. I feel the frustration of someone who can’t complete a Rubik’s cube or a gambler who keeps losing a bet. I feel it will be solved by divine intervention or a stroke of luck. I berate and tell myself how lazy and expectant i am. That i have no backbone and that anything in life takes effort. But what if life itself is a huge fucking effort for you?
My teeth hurt as much as my mind tortures me daily. In tory lead Britain in 2021 you cannot find a dentist and they seem even more sparse than mental health services. So here i sit daily with an all encompassing depression and teeth that hurt. I phone people and email them too, all the while begging for more help.
Its soul crushing to be so utterly dependent on other people for | health and financial matters. The feeling of dejection and hopelessness is compounded with every call or email. How did i end up so pathetic and worthless? When was the actual moment i lost control of everything? This is assuming i ever had any control whatsoever.
The world seems dissatisfied and disappointed with me and my pathetic state. Its as if everything is telling me to just give up and go away. I have zero belief in my worth, but carry on asking for help even though i feel I don’t deserve it. As Robbie Williams so beautifully puts it I don’t wanna die but I ain’t keen on living either
Depression doesn’t start with you hating yourself, it starts with hating other humans generally. You work back to hating you after ending up hating every damn thing humans are and have created. The world gets smaller and smaller in regard to the things you love and crammed with things you hate and they seem to hate you right back.
I had an assessment today, a strange and awkward zoom assessment. A covid infected assessment, these strange times create strange experiences. The assessment was with a woman hell bent on defending the system and telling me what I wasn’t suffering from! A truly soul wrenching experience. Grateful on one hand and pissed off that i have to, on the other.
Sat watching this stranger draw on all her training so she could look like she actually gave a shit, all the while sat in the comfort of her beautiful house. As i say; soul destroying. Her dead eyes made me sad and angry at once, her medical manner made me want ‘to plan my own suicide’.
Fascinating question ‘are you planning your own suicide? What does someone mean when they ask this? So they mean like a business plan or plans for a party? It invokes lists and spreadsheets and all manner of hideous paperwork. I haven’t as much ‘planned’ but obsessed over the end of the person Stuart. Life would be lighter and sweeter for all concerned, surely?
A reality without me in it oftentimes feels how it should be. Like I’m a mistake or a glitch in the plan. Would it be better for me never to have existed? Or am i at this point because of my existence and experiences? It is a conundrum that baffles most depressed people assume. Whether their very existence betroths them to misery for the entirety of life or whether existence itself makes you want to die.
Every day feels like a challenge of insurmountable effort. Everything is as it was but I feel more and more depressed and distant. Food and tv are consumed but never savoured. Sleep leaves you feeling more tired and exhausted. All the things that normally work to abate the feelings are failing and as a result you feel a big fat failure.