Wednesday, 24 June 2015

Depression Lies

The little beast sits on your chest and pretends to be your friend, looking out for you, nourishing you, but it is in fact feeding you lie after lie.  It has an answer for every rebuttal because it does not need to live in the world of fact.  At first, it feeds you what you need, a little soul pablum, and then it feeds you what you think you need, a little mind candy.  But soon enough, it's dosing you with poison.
No one cares about your stupid crafts.
No one reads these posts.
Your voice isn't worth listening to.
You're not a good writer, so why are you even bothering?
And you listen.  And you stop.  Ideas come, but you don't act because it likely wasn't a good idea anyway.  Maybe, you tell yourself, when I feel more like writing and feel more brilliant, I'll get back to writing.  Spoiler alert >>>>>
With depression, you never feel like it.  IF you feel at all, it's certainly not a get up and go kind of feeling.  It's certainly not a, hey, let's open up and expose our vulnerability kind of feeling.  It's actually easier not to feel at all.  Bottle that shit up, lock it down, stick a smile on your face, laugh at every joke.  But it's not in the eyes, if you really look, it doesn't reach the eyes.  Maybe that's why I still don't have crow's feet.
This winter was a tough one.  There was no reprieve.  It was relentless and ugly.  I had a bad fall, and I'm still recovering from the resultant injury, still in pretty constant pain.  The world has seemed to be a particularly gross place this winter/spring too.  Perhaps I'm just feeling it more, the world's psychic pain is hitting me harder at the moment.  But the gross people, and the gross things they are doing and those gross things being justified and excused away by other, sometimes grosser people. 
And in some ways, being someone with mental health issues is harder, the stigma larger, even though as a society we're trying to talk about it more and normalise it.  But then you have folks blaming mental health issues for acts of terror and murder, and how does that make talking about it easier and safer?
Anyway, I don't feel like writing.  I don't have any answers or solutions to gross.  I'm not looking for any external validation, because as I've said, the beast doesn't work in fact.  I am however, going to write because we all must be warriors against the gross.  We have to fight the exhaustion and the despair.  We have to push back against the cynicism and anger and find the love and the patience to continue to fight.
Say no to gross.
And say yes to summer, finally.