Hurting

Is this really my life? Is this it? This mundane, noxious day to day survival?

I'm reminded of what a dear friend told me, something she'd heard or read. Depression lies. It tells you you're worthless, that you have no purpose. That no one loves you. That you'll never amount to anything and that your life just isn't important enough to go on.

I know depression lies. I know that. I know my life is overall quite good. I have a lovely apartment that I was able to get through charitable means, that still amazes me. I have a car I love and gets me around safely, even if it is an ugly old clunker. I have an amazing loyal cat who brings me so much joy and who I love more than anything. I have a group of dear friends who have given me the shirts off their backs time and time again, and who have shown me so much love I feel like my heart is going to burst, and I am so very grateful. I have enough food and water. I have my brother here who has never been anything but patient and kind to me. I know for all intents and purposes I have a great life. I. Know. That. I have no reason to feel my life is worthless.

But I do. Every damn day is a fight for survival. And you know what? I'm sick of it. I'm angry. I hate this so much. Why do I feel like this? Why has it gotten so bad these past few years? Why won't it go away? I have done and am doing everything I can think of to lift this depression, but it isn't working. Why is it so resistant to help? This isn't fair. I hate it. Is this seriously my life? Because I'm sick of living it. Why do I continue to take my medication daily? What is it doing? Why do I bother getting out of bed? With everything I know, and it seems no matter how much love is shown me, I feel worthless and that this life is just a stupid joke and I'm ready for it to be done.

 

What do I do? What do I change? How else am I supposed to challenge my thoughts and find a new way to think? I'm exhausted. I feel stupid. I feel like people are going to give up on me because of this illness. I feel so yucky inside, every day. It makes no sense. With all the patience and love shown me from countless good and kind people, why doesn't this demon go away? I just can't believe this is my life. It's no life. It makes no sense.

I am hurting today.

Boredom

It's like watching paint dry. It's so dull. Depression is very, very boring. More than anything right now, I am bored. And yet I've been sitting here staring at these few sentences for over an hour now, not able to focus enough to finish my thoughts. Depression sucks. I can't focus on reading, though I have many books I want to read. My mind just goes numb. It says no when I want it to say yes. Dr. Van Meter and I talked about this, about the boredom that comes with depression. He suggested I do something meaningful, like volunteer somewhere once a week or so. Something to add meaning and value to my life. But it's overwhelming. My mind hits the stop button when I think of having to have this commitment once a week. I don't know if I can do it. But I want to do something. Anything besides lay on the couch and stare into space for hours on end. I get asked what I do. Surely you must do something. Must I? Because I don't. I don't have the energy or the willpower to do anything. So I sit and stare. I sleep. Not at night, but I sleep off and on throughout the day. Some days I'm only awake for four hours a day. I sleep a lot. It passes time. Back to doing something to bring meaning to my life... The thought is scary. It's hard to understand that I literally can't. I can't move. I barely function enough to survive. I just can't. And no amount of telling me to just do it is going to change that. It's like I'm broken. It's hard to explain and unless you've been there it's also hard to understand. I get that. What to do, what to do? I've been in contact with the library. I might try volunteering there for a couple hours a week. It seems quiet and low stress. Perhaps I can manage. But, I don't know. Dr. Van Meter also upped my Wellbutrin to 300 mg, but I've only been on it for three days. Way too soon to tell if it'll help and give me the energy necessary to get out of the apartment. I hate being depressed. I hate it so much. I hate how it feeds and bleeds into all aspects of life. I have no energy, I'm bored yet can't concentrate on doing anything to lift that boredom. So I sit and stew, and get more depressed. Then my life seems pointless and I start thinking of death and it just spirals downhill so quickly. I think that's why sleep has been so effective lately. I don't sit and ruminate. It serves a function, or I wouldn't do it. I don't know. I don't feel horrible, but I am horribly depressed. So I sit and twiddle my thumbs. It's all I can do.