Once again, I have taken a sizable break from blogging after I promised! PROMISED! that I wouldn’t. Of course I have an excuse and it is, as always, a really good one. Or do I mean bad one? I’m not sure anymore.
What it comes down to is that I’m depressed. For a long time I fought against that idea because, pfft, I can’t be depressed. I don’t FEEL sad. I mean, sure, I can’t get out of bed. I don’t want to do anything or see anyone. I have no energy and sleep for fourteen hours a day. But I’m not depressed because I don’t FEEL depressed. I don’t FEEL anything.
Therein lay the rub. My Vulcan aspirations were finally realised; I had bludgeoned my emotions into submission. They began to atrophy from disuse and I looked forward to the day that they withered and died completely. But the nothing that settled into place grew and grew until it was unbearable. Like the numbness when your foot falls asleep, except over my whole body. Walking through the world without being part of it. Completely, utterly removed. Nothing making sense. I fantasised about nuclear war, asteroids, biological terrorism. Anything that would kill me AND everyone I knew so that they wouldn’t have to pick up the pieces. Anything so that I wouldn’t have to wake up the next day.
I faked all of my interactions. I am very good at this. A charming, engaging exterior masking what was essentially a black hole in the shape of a girl. And my mask was perfect. I even tried to trick myself. I started to believe that if I could smile hard enough or laugh loud enough, maybe it would be real. Maybe I’d feel it.
But I didn’t.
My mother realised something was wrong and forced me to talk about it. She’s so attuned to emotions that it’s hard for me to understand at the best of times, and this was extra difficult. Admitting that something was wrong, something that I wasn’t strong or capable enough to fix on my own, was like admitting that I was a failure. That I was broken. That I was helpless, hopeless.
I had an appointment with a psychiatrist the next day.
That was almost a month ago. I’m on Zoloft now and I see my shrink once a week. Bloodtests showed that my depression is running concurrent with a serious Vitamin D deficiency, which I’m taking serious supplements to correct. The Zoloft was hard to adjust to. The first week I was nauseous and dizzy almost to the point of being unable to function, but that went away. The only side-effect that I’m still dealing with is the crazy dreams, but since they don’t make me feel sick I can totally handle them.
I’m doing things again. I’m seeing friends. I’m dating. I’m working. And it seems like with every tentative step I take back into the world, the road rises up to meet me. Amazing things are happening, and for the first time in well over a year I feel like they’re happening TO me, not around me.
I’ve been saying that I’m going to be okay for a long time now. Longer than I’ve been keeping this blog, even, and it just never quite happened. But now it’s going to happen. Things are going to turn around for sure.
I know it. I feel it. I can’t lose.