Random train of thought blog entry about the past week:
I love my friends to bits. I love my family and I’m willing to die for them. I’d do whatever I can do for them. They love and care for me, but they just don’t understand. They just don’t get it.
They don’t know what it’s like being trapped in your own thoughts, clawing your way out til your fingernails are coming apart and bleeding. They don’t know what it’s like being a slave to the emotions, even the simplest ones, that overwhelms you. They don’t know what it’s like wanting to scream “STOP IT” when you’re alone in a crowded room. They don’t know what it’s like to always think about the ending, even though you know damn well that’s never the option.
Our friends and family – those we were born with and were raised with and spent our adult lives with – the ones closest to us, don’t get it. Not unless they’re going through the same shitstorm that those like me go through every single day. No matter how much we let them see us in our fragile states, no matter how much we make them understand, no matter how much we show them, they won’t get it.
They think that we’re exaggerating what we feel. That we’re romanticizing depression. That we like ourselves like this so we choose to be like this. That it’s all a state of mind. That it’s easy to just snap out of it. That we can learn how to balance our thoughts and emotions.
We exaggerate what we feel out of our own volition. We don’t exaggerate what we feel because we want to. Our feelings get exaggerated – amplified – by the thoughts that we have a difficult time controlling.
We don’t romanticize depression. If there are those who do that, fuck you. Depression is a dangerous illness and should never be romanticized. I don’t know, maybe the reason why people think we’re romanticizing it is because most of those who have it are artists – writers, musicians, painters, etc – and we release what we are going through via our craft. It’s our way of describing how we feel.
We don’t like ourselves like this. We don’t want the mental and emotional torment. We’re not fans of the thousands of voices in our heads that contradicts each other every chance they get.
Yes, it is, in a way, a state of mind. Ours, however, are fractured.
If we can snap out of it just like that, we would. Oh, we would.
We can learn how to balance what we think and what we feel, but not on our own. Not without support. And if those around us don’t really comprehend what we’re going through, then how can they support us the way the right way? (don’t ask me what the right way is because I won’t be able to give you an answer.)
I like to think that I do my part in helping those like me. I reach out and talk them off of the figurative ledge. We’re the only ones who understand each other. Those in the gutter looking up above the stars. Those broken ones who just need to talk to someone who gets it. Those who are tired of lying to ourselves and everyone by saying “I’m ok” to the question “How are you?”
The mind is a fickle little bastard. Complicated. Both rational and irrational at the same time. I’ve been saying “I’m ok” all these years that maybe I’ve convinced myself that I am, even though I’m far from it. It’s like I’ve been pretending all these years that I’ve subconsciously mastered the art of feigning a smile even though all I want to do is scream “HELP ME!”
“He doesn’t get it…”
“Because he’s positive and doesn’t have depression, which is why we love him and we need him.”
Leave it to someone who’s going through the same shit to make me feel better while I’m having a massive breakdown inside my parked car in front of our house late at night. There was a moment before the breakdown when I resented my friends, hence the breakdown, but I can’t really blame them. They don’t understand. It still stung, though. I even blurted out “can you please at least try to pretend to understand?” Maybe they will, maybe they won’t. But we do need them. We need them for their voices other than the ones in our own heads. We need them as the antithesis for our disposition. We need them for the love. Though they don’t know what it’s like, they do love us.
At the end of the day, when we’re all alone in bed at night, drowning in our thoughts and crying ourselves to sleep, that’s what we all need.