Never written a blog before but what the hell, I have nothing to lose I guess.
If my writing seems disjointed, messy, nonsensical I apologise but depression is all of these things isn't it?
I don't like myself very much, in fact even reading over those last couple of lines I think I sound like an idiot. I feel like an idiot to be honest.
The last 3 years I haven't felt like myself. I've felt more and more awkward, I've developed a genuine fear of being in social situations in particular one on one situations, to the point where I have ignored old friends asking to meet for coffee. I even ignored my own very caring sister when she text me 3 days ago asking for a catch up. See - I'm a mega selfish idiot. and yet again reading over this blog so far I just cringe at how pathetic I have become.
I was popular, confident, fun once upon a time.... I just stopped for a second as a friend just text me asking if I'm free to meet up this week. My reaction?
A) disappointment that it wasn't my boyfriend texting
B) increased heart rate and panic followed by my brain racing to decide if its better to ignore the message or make an excuse etc. The idea of actually agreeing to see this girl is not likely. Most likely I will formulate some situation where I see her in a group situation. Maybe Zumba. Actually I've just remembered I'm on night shifts most of this week. PHEW. (how pathetic)
I miss actually wanting to see people, I genuinely like the girl that text me, and my sister but I cant handle seeing people anymore. I have forced myself to do this a few times recently and this is what happens:
We meet up, I think of all the subjects we have to talk about and start working my way through them. As I talk I ponder over how self-involved I must seem, I wonder if I'm talking too much, I say something then mentally kick myself as it comes out as condescending/selfish/snobby. I decide to turn the conversation to the other person so I quickly change subjects and ask them something about their life. I notice a look from the other person that I interpret as them thinking I'm acting odd.
As the other person talks I nod along, then I wonder if I'm nodding too much, I wonder if other (normal) people nod this much. I try to focus back on the person talking. I wonder if they notice how unnatural I am being. I hear someone on the table across from us laughing out loud and I realise we haven't laughed yet. I feel so much envy of the laughing couple. I respond to my friend in some way the best I can then cringe internally as the subject dries up and I'm convinced it must be because of how I responded. I see the awkward look on my friends face and try to convince myself there is nothing wrong with silence (as everyone always tells me) so instead we either sit in silence and I wonder why we aren't laughing like normal 20 something's over a cocktail/coffee or I cave in and bring up another subject, and so the cycle continues.
This is why I will not be meeting up with this girl for coffee. Which makes me very sad.
To be honest things have taken a sudden severe turn in the last few weeks. They got worse ever since I went to my very lovely GP for help who quite rightly I'm sure diagnosed me with moderate depression and has referred me for CBT. It like I've been this way for 3 years odd but now someone else has actually confirmed I am depressed I've opened the doors to let this define me.
I AM A MODERATELY DEPRESSED PERSON.
If I wake up and immediately cry then take 2 hours to drag myself out of bed this is ok... because I'm = moderately depressed
If I stop seeing friends and find myself becoming more and more of a hermit in my new flat this is ok... because I'm = moderately depressed.
If I hate myself for how much of a selfish, self involved, boring, pathetic, lazy, bitter twisted person I am this is ok... because I'm = moderately depressed.
You get the gist.
Bit long this blog isn't it.
One part of me would love this to be the moment my life turns around, the moment that the person in the film who has lost all hope discovers they can paint/street dance/buy a zoo and that life suddenly burns bright with colour again.
But I doubt it. In real life I will write this blog. No one will read it or care and I will forget all about this, only to remember a few years in the future about that time I "had a blog"
After all this is what I do. I did kickboxing, that was gonna change my life, Till I couldn't be bothered to go anymore. I joined a pole dancing class (yes really. for fitness) Suddenly I saw a future of a tiny me wowing crowds and friends with my amazing flexibility and grace, defying gravity on my pole. This was going to be the thing that saved me. In reality I had the grace of an elephant and one drunken night, even roundhouse kicked a girl in the face - breaking her nose, trying to show her how to go upside down on a pole in a busy club.
I once lived in Hong Kong / the Caribbean / worked with elephants in Sri Lanka.
These are all things I did, things that made me happy but things I will mention now in the belief that it makes me a more interesting person, and maybe even to incite a bit of envy into others, because that means I have a life worth envying. But envying me isn't going to make you like me.
Tomorrow I will go to work to deliver babies in the labour ward. A good, caring, wholesome job. Does that make you like me? I would rather stay in bed then get up at 1pm to watch some comedy central.
Being depressed.... its like you are watching yourself become this watered down, black and white, restricted version of the real you that you know is inside, but you don't know the security code for the cell she is locked in. So you hide from everyone until you get the code because lets be honest, friends and family don't and wont understand.
Being around a depressed person, after a while, once you have realised you don't have the code to free them either become a thankless task. I wouldn't want to be around a depressed person either.
Or maybe the real me inside escaped a long time ago and once I finally get that code Ill open the cell to discover it was empty all along.
That's enough. I sound self indulgent now.
And the title of this blog? It because I am considering joining the Samaritans. I would like to be a good person. I would like to stop someone from ending their life and I would like to be there in their hour of need. The fact I am also depressed is either genius or again another self indulgent way to find my cell code.