Recently I've heard a couple people discussing the topic of the "privileged" (upper/middle class, 1st world country dwellers, whatever you want to call us) and their depression, and how we have no right to be depressed because of all we have. It makes many of us feel incredibly guilty when we DO get depressed because there's people out there living in war-torn villages or starving or dying of horrific diseases we get vaccinated against or just having a super crappy time in general and yet here we are sitting in our homes with electricity and clean water and jobs and money
and yet we spend half the day contemplating how pleasant it would be to just drop dead.
I wonder sometimes if it is this lifestyle that saps some of us of the will to live. We have been given too much and no longer know how to appreciate the things that matter. So those things we take for granted--food, shelter, health--have no meaning anymore.
So yeah I know I shouldn't be depressed because I have so much while so many others have feckall, but that does not negate the fact that I am indeed depressed.
No one likes feeling depressed.
Hyperbole & a Half did a pretty good post about how it can just sneak up on you, lodge itself firmly in your brain, and by the time you've realized it's there, 'tis too late--you're pretty much suicidal already and so deep in your hermit-hood you can't see any way out of it, and you don't even WANT to get out.
I no longer see a way out of this. I don't even remember how it started. I've never felt so suicidal in my life. But since I feel like I'm in hell already, I'm too chickenshite to off myself in case there really is a hell and it somehow sucks worse than how I feel right now. Even heaven scares me because I don't want an afterlife of any kind, at all.
My shrink wants me to meditate. My doctor gives me anti-anxiety medication. My mother tells me I'm ridiculous. My sister tells me things will get better.* I don't talk to my father about this because as far as Daddy Dearest is concerned, I am The Stupid One, so there's just no point.
I realized recently that all these things have been piling up for months and months and months, like this giant boiling cauldron of depression and suicidal thoughts and anxiety and RAGE. I feel like I'm shut in a room that's getting smaller and smaller and smaller and there's no doors or windows by which to escape.
Know what happens when you take that magic potion and throw in a bunch of xanax every day?
You get the mental shitestorm, but your feelings of caring about having or not having that mental shitestorm go away.
So basically, you embrace the anger and depression instead, and you lose the ability to feel anxious because xanax is awesome like that.
I feel like I'm two seconds away from going on a killing spree. All the time.
I spend huge chunks of time every day fantasizing about throwing some stuff and my cat into the car and just driving driving driving until I'm so far away from home there is no possibility of being recognized or found, and then I'll just disappear. Take on a new name and start a new life as a different person.
Because running away solves everything, right?
But the xanax keeps me from homicide and suicide and running away. I think.
I am teetering on an edge. Hanging by a thread. Each day is just a little harder than the last. Part of me wants to just let go and fall. Go as crazy as I feel and get locked up and sedated and left to rot in the loony bin.
I'm sorry for being such a debbie downer today. Everything just looks so bleak and I have nowhere else to vent all of this.
*Seriously the next person in my family who tells me "things will get better" gets stabbed in all their major organs in alphabetical order with a blunt machete.