Thursday, 20 February 2014

This mocking disease

It now seems to be settling into a pattern. Things get too much and the breaker switch is activated. My nerves get so high that I become more sensitive (over sensitive?) and find the ability to comprehend even the most basic of tasks limited. Tears will flow at the smallest thing and the thoughts of suicide become commonplace once more. This will also be accompanied by a certain song that will soundtrack my demise, almost like a dramatic moment in a TV show with me the sole star. The tune and images will push my emotions ever upward until I can't sift through what is real and what is my my mind magnifying my taste for the over-dramatic. What is fueling what? Me, the depression, the music? Or is it all three? Whatever. All I know is that when things reach an emotional high point I find myself approaching shut-down. If I was apiece of machinery I think I'd have a warning label that would state: Warning! Machinery is prone to shut down at points of high stress. Excerpts from the climax of Oasis' 'champagne supernova' will sound at this action!

This hating half of me has won this battle easily...

Things were starting to level out a little this last week or so. I had seen an old friend who I found out had depression and gone through a suicide attempt like me so we had a good long chat (over nine hours worth) and that had helped both of us, I think, knowing we could talk to each other about it and that, if things got bad, just by uttering, 'I'm having a bad day', we'd both know what that actually meant as opposed to most who wouldn't know or even care what those words really meant and would take it along the lines of, 'So?! So what you're having a bad day, who doesn't?! 
Having read back over some course work that was returned back to me with some pretty heavy and damning feedback, I've spun back to my usual. Phonecalls, whether receiving or taken are causing me fits of worry and making decisions, (what to eat? what to eat?!?! Jaffa cakes will do) are nigh on impossible. What I find odd and probably worrying if I wasn't already full up with worry, is that I can almost feel my black fighting its way through the anti-depressants. I was almost numb to the worry but I can feel it overwhelming me and well, I'm not sure I want to fight back. It's tiring and near impossible to push back. 
'Chin up', 'Could be worse' and the such like become nothing more than empty hollow slogans when used in the face of this. So what do I do? I don't know. Sit back and let it submerge me and hope I can get through it.

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