Nothing works. My heart and life are in stasis. I make myself laugh but to be honest, I don't feel it. I don't feel joy. Or sadness really. Or anything. I feel dead inside. And shame. Shame that I am somehow so lacking that people do not want me in their lives.
This sounds dramatic. It probably is. But it's besides the point.The point is this does not mean I have had nothing to say, just that the thing I've been gathering the courage to say has remained unsaid.
I've been suffering in a deep, unshakable emptiness, trying to hide it behind humor or forced joviality. I jumped on the 'fake it to make it' train, desperate to get to a happy destination. The problem is this train is being conducted by Captain Delusion who is navigating me through a minefield of feel-good blogs and posts, each one driving my emptiness further into the core of me. The train has crashed.
I don't want to feel this way. Who does?
Before I get a stream of advice. I respectfully and warmly say that I have tried everything to change this state of affairs. To be brutally honest, the last thing I need is platitudes, quick fixes or lists of ailments others are experiencing. I know it sounds heartless; it probably is; but right now, I need help. I need to be able to crack through this hard cocoon that I`m trapped in. My jailer is firmly housed inside me. The only person who can break me out is me. That is not to say that I do not welcome others` similar experiences, struggles and victories. Those would be helpful. So would unconditional support and an acknowledgement that what I`m going through is not a topic for debate. Support can be given without advice.
What I am suffering is not clinical depression; it`s existential angst; mid-life crisis; absolute loneliness all rolled up into one huge monster of a situation. It`s just easier to call it depression. I have gone the therapy route but I haven`t found someone I feel comfortable talking to. It`s difficult to crack myself open in front of two, dispassionate eyes. Like T.S Eliot, therapists make me feel like a specimen, pinned and wriggling on the wall. I feel judgement and coldness. But it`s not them. It`s me, because it comes from within.
Even now, here, in my first step to push myself out on the ledge of admission, of confession, of an attempt to feel that finally I might be able to break out, break free and break open, I`m hesitant, very wary and ashamed.
I will hit publish. I need to. It`s the first step in dealing with this parasite feeding off my life force.
I will post this so people will know that my attempts to reach out are actual requests for help.
I`ve been taught to solve my own problems, that it`s impolite to complain or air out your `dirty laundry`. Fuck that. I`m about to be very impolite. And this is just the beginning.