The Great Depression
It’s been a few years now since a doc told me I may be having a major depressive episode and that I should look into it and read more about it. Doing so has made me realize that I am very different from the majority of people I’ve run across who may be suffering with it themselves. I’m finding that I feel a bit cheated.
I see people crying, whining, sharing, and getting it all out, but for reasons internal and external I’m never allowed to do so myself. I’m more interested in saving others than I am in saving myself, and far too often has letting it all out brought accusations that I’m at fault for my feelings, or that I will drag everyone down with me. Why do we have to be ashamed and hide it and run around with masks on? Oh, thats because depression either scares people or they look down on you and don’t want it in their in life. I’d like it out of mine, too.
I feel cheated because other people have ups and downs and I don’t. My depression is constant and never-ending. I wish I had moments where I could find something to enjoy or a taste of happiness to stick with me for a while. I never want to end it all, but I look forward to the end whatever it may be. I look forward to an end to the boredom and lack of meaning and purpose. I have no reasons to end it all, but also none to go on.
I feel cheated because I don’t get suicidal. If you aren’t throwing yourself out windows people don’t really seem to pay attention or take it seriously. I’d like to think that a lifetime of depression was serious business, but when set next to those in dire straits it just doesn’t seem to compare. I’m stable and never in a crises. Thats where all the attention seems to go.
Somehow I don’t think that the answer to depression is to live with it and keep your mouth shut, but it seems to be what I do. I think eventually I’ll run out of defensive to keep a lifetime of denial and repression at bay, then I’ll be in for a world of pain. I can almost feel it coming. As scary as it sounds, a friend once told me thats the start of the healing journey. It’ll be nice to feel something, even if it starts out feeling bad. I’ll just keep telling myself that.
Judgement Day
There seems to be no shortage of people in the world to pass judgment on other people. I find it odd that I could manage to forgive a sociopath for her atrocities, but can’t seem to find it for those who supported her and spread the word that I was deserving of the abuse or that I brought it on myself. Its hard to know that the amount of time I invested in somebody’s recovery, the triumphs, and tribulations, all went unnoticed. Its not like I wanted recognition, but I can’t think of a more serious crime than blaming the victim in an abusive relationship.
Not a day went by that my rights were not violated in some sadistic way. Not a day passed where I felt loved. I received nothing but cruelty, threats and slander in return for the love I invested in somebodies healing and happiness. It was always just a nice pleasant surprise when somebody stopped by and told me they regretted they didn’t get to spend time with the abuser in my life, and that I had no right to stand up to the abuse. Am I really supposed to feel bad that somebody missed out on having a sociopath in their life? Screw that.
Seriously, do shizophrenics have these problems? When they see herds of buffalo walking across the hallway do their friends send over zookeepers or ranchers and pat themselves on the back for being supportive?
Thanks for stopping by…
The Guiltless
There’s a reason the neighbours always say that the sociopath next door seemed like such a nice person. Scratch that, there are probably several reasons. For starters, they don’t go around being openly sociopathic, and secondly us normal people are more than willing to make excuses for them. In my five year stint with a person with high sociopathic traits, it hardly crossed my mind that the pain and suffering I was enduring was being caused intentionally.
When I first started seeing my ex told me she loved me, that she wanted a serious relationship, and that there were no other men in her life. She made me think she spent her days at home, alone, bored, and online. It was a rough time for me, and I was very specific about what I was looking for and what I wasn’t, and was reluctant because for those very specific reason to get involved with anybody. She assured me it wouldn’t be a problem, and coaxed my doubts away.
My father had just passed away, suspiciously, and strangely on my birthday. I didn’t want to trade a decent friendship for something else. I didn’t want to waste my emotions on a fling. I most importantly didn’t want to be lied to, or led on, over and over, like I had been in the past. In retrospect, I wasn’t sharing my vulnerable side in hopes to avoid unnecessary heartache, what I was doing was giving a sociopath explicit instructions on how to hurt me in the worst possible ways. My fears were now on her to do list.
It soon became apparent that everything she told me had been a lie. She wasn’t alone, she wasn’t at home, and she had been living with another guy. There was a New Year’s party approaching and she told me I should come. The only problem was, I knew the other guy would be coming too, as did she. I explained my reservations about it, and she comforted me and let me know I had nothing to worry about. She told me she liked me, and didn’t like the other guy at all. Only one problem though, I’m not that stupid.
If she’d lie to me, she’d lie to him. I had no doubts she was telling him the same story, but I had no idea why. I assumed many things, but the strongest one in my mind is that she fell for him after she “fell” for me, and was ashamed, embarrassed, or perhaps afraid to tell me. You know, perhaps she was trying to avoid hurting me, as opposed to doing it on purpose? That’s called wishful thinking. The reason I couldn’t resolve the situation was because she didn’t want it resolved. The things I was trying to avoid were her high priority goals. It was her goal to confuse, belittle, and attack the esteem of others.
One thing I hadn’t considered was that her intended victim wasn’t me but the other man, and unfortunately, that turned out to be the case. Several lies later she had me convinced of his horrible crimes that would make him deserving of such treatment, which led to five more years of narcissistic abuse. Five years of her lying to justify her own treatment of me. Five years, and a million stories like this one. The five year relationship from hell. Everyone always asks me why I stayed with her so long, and I never have an answer.
Numb
As I grow older, I grow more numb. My twisted psyche seems to think that feeling good is every bit as dangerous as feeling bad. My emotions are kept far from me, and I live my life like an inactive observer. I watch the world from behind my brick walls and very little gets in or out. Not only do I not share it with others, I can’t even seem share it with myself. I just watch the clock tick by awaiting the day it’ll all be over. I see happy people living their lives and I seriously wonder, how is that possible? It just seems so foreign to me. If I were happy I just might go insane from the unfamiliarity of it. I think I might find happiness disgusting. Blech! Its so much safer in the comfort zone.
My own worst enemy
Despite my less than perfect childhood and a horribly abusive ex girlfriend, the reality of my life may be that I am my own worst enemy. Is that irony? I may be my worst abuser. The others are long gone and in the past, but I seem to be relentless and unforgiving when it comes to beating myself up. How can you not resent yourself more for that? Perhaps the hardest part of it all is forgiving and loving yourself.