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People Like Us

I was talking with a good friend (to say that is ridiculously amazing progress for me btw) about this site and what I believe he could add to it that may be of even more help. He has (so far) untreatable depression. Seeing life from his eyes feels desperate. It feels empty with little pieces of things with little or fleeting meaning. He obsesses over long-gone relationships. Sometimes I think that is all he has to feel. Nothing else has a “feeling” good or bad. Things just are. Empty and meaningless. Grey with no form. I know this feeling very well. He is overly empathetic and unable to not be. I love him. I wish he loved him.

The point is, I know that fucking feeling. Depression is a feeling although my Doctors might fight me on that. It envelops a lot of shit. It covers a lot of fucked up feelings. And is the Boogey Man that comes to grab my hand and to lead me to the darkness and then to the end.

I feel empty, meaningless. I feel like I need something to make me feel something better. But I have nothing to do that with. I’m an alcoholic, so no drink. I am an addict, so no benzo’s. No sex, because, well I’ll keep that to myself. I have NOTHING. Medication may stabilize me a bit, but for the most part of the day it is a war. That is not an understatement.

Listen to the voice(s) in your head for a moment. What do they say? Are they quiet? Benign? OR do they speak loudly? Do they say bad things to you?

Mine say bad things like all day every day. And my job and part of my recovery (ongoing-deep sigh) is to speak back to them. To challenge them and retort with truth. EVERY MOMENT OF EVERYDAY. This is what it is like for people like us, me and my good friend. We must battle every moment of every day to keep our heads just above water. Let me tell ya, it’s fucking exhausting. A little secret? Sometimes I just let them go at me. I get too tired to stand up every second. I just roll over on my belly. Those times are the really bad days. Those are the days when I really miss being able to drink it away, smoke it away, fuck it away. Those are the days when my anger gets lit. My entitlement as a human being is questioned until the tears fall hard and fast. Not gentle, you know, like in the movies? They tear down my face. They embarrass me. They fucking piss me off. They make me think thoughts of self-harm. Just make it end. Just make it go away…

I’m very busy learning and practicing new skills these days. Such as, when the tears are tearing down my face and I am unable to get them to stop, I may reach out to my husband (bless his heart). I may find a harmless distraction such as playing a game on my phone. I’m learning how to do the next best thing regardless of how I feel. Sometimes I get very frustrated. It seems I want to sit in my puddle of shit for some reason. I guess it can be overwhelming, overtaking, the darkness pulls you deep and you don’t think you can get out. But you can. I am learning how to do that. Puddle of shit-do the dishes instead. Puddle of shit-grab your phone and begin to play. It is much harder than that. To do the next right thing seems like is unreachable for the most part. I remember at first, in recovery, wanting very much to punch my Therapist in the face when he said it. But here I am practicing as hard as I fucking can. I’m battling this very moment and have been all day. In and out of the dreaded shit pool. Writing helps me. So here I am practicing as hard as I can. Someone or something, help me please. This moment is too painful to sit in. Let me go…

That is what it’s like to be people like us…

~Annie G

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