I wasn’t sure how to start this update. I’ve been wanting to write a post for the last week or so. This blog, whether posting in text or in viog format, has been a therapeutic tool for me and an outlet to let others know how I’m doing. I wish I had a better outcome to report, but my depression and anxiety levels have only increased since my last update. A sense of helplessness has taken up residence again. I’m finding it harder and harder to see what “normal” or “better” even looks like anymore. They seem like such foreign concepts. I feel like I’m just going through the motions and those motions are minimal at that. I miss the sense of optimism. What little bit that used to be there seems to be drained dry. The snowball that is depression grows at such a sneakily fast pace.
Over the last 15 months I’ve been to four different facilities, looking for answers, comfort, and a path forward. I look at that stat and it only makes me more depressed. What does it take, why have they failed? Why have I failed? Intellectually I know it’s not that simple—recovery is not a zero sum game. Of course, the rational mind isn’t driving this car, it’s been relegated to the trunk. Depression is evil that way. Letting your rational mind come along for the ride so that it can see the irrationality taking control. Making it watch as my depression and anxiety rise for no apparent reason. Depression is the bully that rubs your nose in it. Saying, “See, you know the world is out there, but I’ve buried you so far under this stack of fear, sadness, and hopelessness you’ll never get to it.”
I guess it’s a good thing that I can see what it’s doing to me. I can see that it’s irrational. However, it’s also completely demoralizing to know that I can acknowledge this parasite and not have a clue how to destroy it. It’s said that ignorance is bliss, and while that may be true for Trump voters, for those of us living in the real world it’s dangerous. If I couldn’t tell the difference between the rational and irrational I may be at peace with one extreme or the other, but it wouldn’t be living. Not in any true sense of the word. So, I keep moving on. I keep riding in the trunk, knowing I don’t have to be there, but having no idea how to get out and take control of the wheel. A paradox of depressing proportions.