Listening to the Manics album, this is my truth tell me yours, for the umpteenth time, is sometimes so comforting to me that its like slipping into a comfy housecoat, sliding into a pair of warm slippers and enjoying a nice cuppa all in one. It relaxes me and keeps me grounded better than any pill could. Well, I say that but I've yet to try heroin but hey, you get my point.
These last few days have been pretty bad. The reason? I don’t know. Moments of anger, moments of sadness, moments of tiredness all meshed into one. Every-time I think back to why I come up with no clear answer, all I can recall is it being a feeling that rains down on me and down I go. Sleep has been an odd affair lately too, a bit jittery and panicky. I've now gone back to oversleeping as well, finding it hard to get up and even harder to work up any sort of enthusiasm for anything. I’m on a higher dose again so I’m presuming this is part of the side effects but still, it doesn't tie in with the whole, ‘happy pill’ image at all.
My irritation is something I’m finding hard to control, mostly at myself it makes an already bad situation just more annoying and it can be over anything too. Being outside, walking, seeing people, silly I know and hell, even now I’m irritated by the very words I’m typing out right now. SI sort of helps but then the last bout of that has left a couple of marks that will no doubt leave scars, which was what I wanted but I am forgetting that in the cold light of day others may spot them which may being more trouble than its worth, possible embarrassment too. Thankfully I rarely show my legs off in public.
The point is I’m finding it very difficult to enjoy anything. The gym, acting, going outside. It’s all numb to me which is scary as these are the things I used to love and near live for. I buy things on Ebay, things I need by the way… for the most part, in the hope it’ll make me happy, excited, something to look forward to in the post, like a little present to myself but no, it rarely lasts.
It just all layer after layer of sweetness, like adding spoonful after spoonful of sugar to a big pot of the bitterest coffee only I can’t taste the sweet at all. All I feel inside is more akin to a dead leg, numb and unfeeling to all. I feel like the only way through it is to act and keep on acting until something happens and I return to some sort of normalcy.
Where does it all end?
If you’re interested in and want another perspective of depression then may I suggest you try Robert Enke’s biography? He was a German goalkeeper who killed himself after a battle with depression. I found it a very good but sad read and you don’t have to be a football fan to get anything out of it. I find these reads better than the, I beat depression or, I tamed the black dog type books. They say nothing to me and smack more of a depressive episode rather than someone who had or has depression.