Of Depression and Understanding

Having a mental illness is tough. It's something that has been stigmatized for a long, long time. Part of the reason that suffering from illnesses like depression or anxiety is so hard is that it is impossible to convey that feeling to someone who hasn't experienced it. "Normal" people who function in their day to day and can do things like getting out of bed in the morning or talking to their insurance company to clarify coverage. They have a hard time understanding what it's like to fight your own brain. To sit there and know perfectly well that getting up and experiencing the day would be much more fulfilling and worthwhile, but to have your brain actively SCREAM at you that NO! Getting up and dealing with people would just cause you more hardship than anything, and what's the point anyway...

I've been struggling with this over the past year.

A lot.

I had a steady handle on my anxiety and my depression for a long while. I lived on my own with my boyfriend at the time. Paid all my bills. And went to work even when I felt like death.

Life felt like it started to crumble when my 6-year long relationship ended.

The initial break-up was tough because we had been on rocky terrain for years. Neither of us wanting to admit that the other had different relationship goals in mind and that we were just using each other for the company.

About a month and a half after I broke up with Peter, who is still a good friend after everything, I got into another relationship with a guy that I thought was a real winner. He and I had been friends online for about 3 years. We met through a mutual friend and got along rather well. It seemed like a GREAT match.

Then the roller coaster that was the past ten months occurred. He isolated me from pretty much all of my friends. Made enemies with everyone I held most dear.

Peter moved out about a month after me and this guy got together.

I was alone in my apartment. I went to work and came home. I never saw anyone. I never spoke to anyone. Locke, the guy, was really my only form of contact with the outside world unless I was explicitly approached by people. It caused me to go through a brief stint where I would drink wine until I was significantly tipsy so that I could sleep easily at night.

He acted so kindly and understanding for my anxieties because he too had them. But, if I wasn't immediately responsive to things from him, he yelled. He would call me selfish and heartless. He told me that I lacked empathy and wasn't good at comforting people because everything that I said came off callous and conceited. He claimed I was wishy-washy and couldn't remember things. And if I ever mentioned my friends, the people who had been there for me through so much, the people I had formed meaningful bonds with, there would be an angry rant about how these people are not who they seem to be. How I was foolish for trusting these people who had never once hurt me or caused me to cry.

He even went so far as to convince me that my previous relationship was abusive. But, the thing is, Peter wasn't abusive. He's a good friend. And he's a bit of an indecisive git who struggles with confidence, but that's basically most people at our age. He's one of my best friends. I value him greatly and don't regret our time together. We both learned a lot from one another.

Locke would freak out anytime I mentioned Peter. Whether it was a memory or a Facebook post. I had a forgotten picture of the two of us on Facebook that caused a four-hour fight. And if I every hung out with Peter, the fight would be multiple days long.

I once recorded him during a fight. I could only get into 3 minutes of it before I started panicking.

During the course of our relationship, I started to have consistent panic attacks, chronic illness, back pain, and massive insomnia. I was put on anti-depressants for the first time in my life. I was having freakout breakdown sobbing fits at least 4 times a week. And I felt I could tell no one. I was missing work. Struggling to pay bills. And all the while, he was telling me that it would be okay. One day I could just stay home and he would take care of me. That I would be okay. If I ever snapped at him, like normal people are wont to do, he would launch into an infuriated, yelling tirade about how he didn't deserve to be treated like that. About how I was a mean person. That I was being abusive.

He tried multiple times to get me to move down with him because I was struggling to pay my rent. He told me that I could just live with him. I didn't have to work or anything. All I needed was to move down to Arizona.

If I ever brought up that I don't know anyone in Arizona and that if something happened to the relationship, I would be stuck in a place with no one to support me, he would backlash. He would argue with me that it would be the same if he moved here to live with me. That if I moved there, I would at least have his family to fall back on because they wouldn't leave me stranded like that. But, if he were here, he would have no one, but he would still be willing to do it for me. Because I was important. And that maybe I didn't care enough because I wouldn't do that for him.

If we ever talked about moving or changes or anything like that, I would mention that uprooting my life like that would be tough for me. I have established roots here. I have a therapist, my family, my job, my friends. He would fire back that I'm selfish and uncompromising. "Everything has to be your way. You're not willing to compromise. Relationships are a compromise."

By the time my anxiety was so bad that I was missing most of my work days, I had gone to visit him for his birthday. His entire family took instantly to me. They fawned over me and thought I was lovely. But, I felt disenchanted. I was forcing myself to keep up the facade because I told myself that I'd invested so much time and I didn't want to be seen as a fool who was wrong. Who got together with someone she met online and it turned out badly. I didn't want to be another statistic. I already felt like I was because of everything that happened with Anthony. I felt like I was tarnished goods and this was as good as it was going to get. How could anyone really want a girl with such low self-esteem? Someone who is afraid of physical intimacy because of what happened to her.

If you were to look at my google search history from June through July, you would be concerned. I was on anti-depressants and muscle relaxers for my back. There are several google searches for the side effects of mixing these medications with alcohol. And I felt helpless because I didn't feel like I could tell anyone about it. I didn't want to hear people tell me how it was obvious and that I was being foolish. I didn't want to be committed and under constant watch because people thought I was going to off myself. I didn't want to be that person.

About a week before I was set to move out of my apartment and back in with my parents due to a rent increase that I could in no way afford, he called me to tell me that he was going to move up here and live in his car for a while. He also said that he might get a job at my work. And that his mum was going to help him do all of this because she wanted to see us succeed.

I had a panic attack at work. I went to see my mum after work because I didn't know what to do. I knew I couldn't deal him being here. Every time he had come to visit me, I had an intense negative reaction.

My mum said that I should call for a two-week break and then cut all contact with him to see how things go. It would leave me time to focus on my move and get my head clear.

He did not like that idea. Nor did he like the fact that I hung up on him and refused to answer any calls, texts, or messages. My mum was worried he was going to show up on my doorstep. I didn't sleep well again until I moved into my mum's house.

Over the course of those weeks, he sent me a package. I refused to open it. It was a belated birthday gift. The last day of the break, he called me late in the day. I felt sick to my stomach talking to him. I knew this had to end.

After we broke up, he called me back twice to demand answers. He told me that I wasn't giving him a chance. That he stood by me with my flaws and anxieties, but I'm just giving up on him. I snapped at him, telling him that this was for me. He was not respecting my decision. And that I needed to leave for my mental health.

I haven't spoken to him since.


Since then I've struggled with residual anxiety and depression. Most of my days go by fairly smoothly, but recently my mum has been showing concern for me.

I WANT TO CLARIFY THAT THE NEXT PORTION OF MY BLOG IS NOT MEANT TO VILIFY OR CRUCIFY ANYONE. I AM MERELY SPEAKING THROUGH THE GOGGLES OF DEPRESSION.
It seems asinine that this clarification needs to be made because I very much love my mother. I do not in any way think that she is working against me. All my thoughts and opinions that follow are purely me speaking from the perspective of my anxiety and the isolation I've been feeling.

This brings me back to my point about people not understanding. From the moment that I moved in with my mum, I've felt like I'm not wanted in the home. I feel like I've lost my independence that I struggled so hard to get. I feel like I've made absolutely no progress in my life. In fact, I feel like I'm worse off than I was before because I cannot seem to function in my day to day.

I'm currently writing this blog post on my laptop in my closet because I don't want my mum to come into my room and see me in bed again. I don't want her to ask me if it's all a facade because I can't make it to work, but I was able to see my friends on my day off. I don't want her to see me as I know she already does. Lazy. Unmotivated. Loser.

This is how I view the situation. I feel like I'm a letdown to my parents because I am no longer an independent, functioning member of society. I'm afraid of being seen as a failure. I'm afraid of seeing the disdain in people's eyes. I'm afraid of letting everyone down. Especially my parents because I feel like they expect so much more from me. And because my symptoms are all mental, I don't look like anything but a loser. A deadbeat.

I can't explain my emotions and my anxieties any better than I already have. I can't bring her into my head and make her feel the utter loneliness, bitterness, shame, guilt, blankness. She's very much a fixer. If there is an obvious solution to the problem, she doesn't hesitate in taking it. She wants to help people. And she wants to do it now. Because that's how she operates. She doesn't understand how people can be in abusive relationships. She doesn't understand why people have difficulties just going out and fixing their problems like she does.

I feel isolated in this house, just like I did in my apartment. I feel like I'm drowning. My insomnia is back. I have no appetite. I'm struggling to make it to work. And this is in part because I don't feel like I have control of my life. I don't feel like I can explain myself to anyone and have them understand what I'm feeling without being seen as a lost cause.

And it's taken me a long time to admit that it's gotten this bad. Because I didn't want to be another statistic. I didn't want to be a failure.

But, I guess I've already become one...