(no subject)
I'm just gonna say it, and I don't care who's sick of hearing about it.
Robin Williams' death is kicking me right in the gut.
I can't pay attention to anything, and when people make me laugh, I'm laughing too hard.
And it's not because I was a super fan. Yes, I appreciated his work and marvel at his acting, but it was a casual appreciation. I was just watching The Birdcage Sunday night, and just really paying attention to how his face worked throughout the movie. Brilliant.
It's the depression link. For some reason... maybe because it took so long to get diagnosed, or because no one believed me for so long, or because I'm drawn to other people who can understand that I'm not just faking it... I feel like there's some kind of familiar bond between those of us who have depression tagging along for the ride.
Not to say we all suffer the same, or feel the same, but it's like the Corvette Wave to me- an understanding that you're not broken or bent, that it's not ok, and that we don't expect it to be ok all the time. That we know when to love, when to back off, when to answer the phone, and when to call yours 800 times to make sure you're ok.
Yeah, I've thought of killing myself. More frequently now that I'm older, because each year that slips by means I've been meaningless that much longer, and all the optimism I felt as a kid is draining right the hell out of me.
It's not that I'm unhappy with my life. I have amazing friends. I have a significant other who is absolutely... as close to perfect as a relationship can get. I go on adventures regularly. I am surrounded by fantastic critters- if you had told me at 21 that I would start riding again, find my heart horse, and have an opportunity to buy the horse I stalked online, I would've raised an eyebrow and asked you if you needed help, because you were clearly doing far more drugs than I was at the time.
Yeah, my job sucks, I don't get paid enough, my body is deteriorating faster than I can keep up with mentally, and I weigh more than I ever have. I've got fucking fleas.
I can actually live with all of that.
I just can't live with the mental consequences of all that.
I hate knowing I'm useless and sometimes brain dead and make more mistakes that more people call out and I worry about stuff I shouldn't worry about and I spend too much of my friends' time forcing them to care about me, when really, I'm just a chubby potato of a person with no discernible skills or worth. When people are telling me nice things, I want to shout at them that they're really being stupid, that they're wasting their time. That it's just breath and they can stop caring.
And when they finally do, I think, "good. They don't need this."
And feel so alone.
It's what I want, but not what I really want. I just don't want the guilt over making people have feelings about me.
At the same time, I have so many feelings for other people. Like I said earlier, it's like an instant bond to know someone else has problems in their brain wiring. I don't even know what to call it. "Mental illness" sounds like something you'll recover from, and when you're just chemically incorrect, it's not likely you'll be "fixed." Plus, you can't "fix" something that's not "broken," in my humble opinion. I'm not sick, I'm not broken, I'm just put together differently, and I have to find a different path to self-appreciation and self-esteem and understanding everything about the world and myself. I have to be gentle to myself when others would push, and push myself when others would rest, and really, when you break it down like that, it makes me
NO MORE DIFFERENT THAN ANYONE ELSE IN THIS WORLD.
And when I look at other people who are struggling or suffering and trying to cope and understand what's going on in their mind and body and heart with depression and anxiety and the whole spectrum of conditions listed in the 300s of the ICD-9 codes and otherwise, I see me, and I want to gently let them know all the things I would tell myself, if only I would listen to myself.
To be honest, it makes me come off a lot nuttier than I am.
But when you're afraid to look in the mirror, you train your eyes to look elsewhere, and you start accidentally seeing yourself all over the place. I just want to find a way to reach myself, and reassure myself, and furthermore, do everything in my power to keep anyone from ever feeling like I have, ever again.
Which is straight up impossible.
First off, no one will ever feel exactly like I have ever felt. There may be similar factors and shared experiences, but nothing is ever exactly the same twice in the world of emotions. Second, I can't stop other people's brains. I can't go in there and do the tinkering necessary to help them flash forward over this suffering to the point where things are back to baseline. I want to, but I'm not *actually* a wizard.
I can't really fix a lot, really. None of us can. We can make changes, sure- change a ripped seam to a sewn one. Change a broken fence to a mended fence. Change the oil. Change the bedsheets. Change our medications. Change our doctors. Change our minds.
So when I hear that a member of the family has fallen... has been unable to climb out of the trenches... it just hits me particularly hard. Knowing that I've sat in that place where, instead of putting on a movie and gone to bed, I've put a handful of pills in my mouth and taken a few shots and found myself surprised to wake up in the morning. It's almost a "that could be me," but more of a "I've seen that sunset" sort of feeling.
Every time I've come back from the brink, I've been a bit relieved. Mostly shocked, but relieved. 'Cos I didn't succeed. And the next day goes on, and something magical happens, and I think, "wow, if I'd really done it, I wouldn't have been here for this." Those moments never sustain me when I'm on the brink, but when I come back, they fill me with guilt and regret.
I've probably said enough things that don't matter, but I had the need to sort things out for myself, so I came here. I'll never touch as many lives as Robin Williams, but that doesn't mean I don't want to be there for someone who needs it, no matter how they are. Just like I appreciate the many, many people who have been there for me. So much love.
So much love.
Robin Williams' death is kicking me right in the gut.
I can't pay attention to anything, and when people make me laugh, I'm laughing too hard.
And it's not because I was a super fan. Yes, I appreciated his work and marvel at his acting, but it was a casual appreciation. I was just watching The Birdcage Sunday night, and just really paying attention to how his face worked throughout the movie. Brilliant.
It's the depression link. For some reason... maybe because it took so long to get diagnosed, or because no one believed me for so long, or because I'm drawn to other people who can understand that I'm not just faking it... I feel like there's some kind of familiar bond between those of us who have depression tagging along for the ride.
Not to say we all suffer the same, or feel the same, but it's like the Corvette Wave to me- an understanding that you're not broken or bent, that it's not ok, and that we don't expect it to be ok all the time. That we know when to love, when to back off, when to answer the phone, and when to call yours 800 times to make sure you're ok.
Yeah, I've thought of killing myself. More frequently now that I'm older, because each year that slips by means I've been meaningless that much longer, and all the optimism I felt as a kid is draining right the hell out of me.
It's not that I'm unhappy with my life. I have amazing friends. I have a significant other who is absolutely... as close to perfect as a relationship can get. I go on adventures regularly. I am surrounded by fantastic critters- if you had told me at 21 that I would start riding again, find my heart horse, and have an opportunity to buy the horse I stalked online, I would've raised an eyebrow and asked you if you needed help, because you were clearly doing far more drugs than I was at the time.
Yeah, my job sucks, I don't get paid enough, my body is deteriorating faster than I can keep up with mentally, and I weigh more than I ever have. I've got fucking fleas.
I can actually live with all of that.
I just can't live with the mental consequences of all that.
I hate knowing I'm useless and sometimes brain dead and make more mistakes that more people call out and I worry about stuff I shouldn't worry about and I spend too much of my friends' time forcing them to care about me, when really, I'm just a chubby potato of a person with no discernible skills or worth. When people are telling me nice things, I want to shout at them that they're really being stupid, that they're wasting their time. That it's just breath and they can stop caring.
And when they finally do, I think, "good. They don't need this."
And feel so alone.
It's what I want, but not what I really want. I just don't want the guilt over making people have feelings about me.
At the same time, I have so many feelings for other people. Like I said earlier, it's like an instant bond to know someone else has problems in their brain wiring. I don't even know what to call it. "Mental illness" sounds like something you'll recover from, and when you're just chemically incorrect, it's not likely you'll be "fixed." Plus, you can't "fix" something that's not "broken," in my humble opinion. I'm not sick, I'm not broken, I'm just put together differently, and I have to find a different path to self-appreciation and self-esteem and understanding everything about the world and myself. I have to be gentle to myself when others would push, and push myself when others would rest, and really, when you break it down like that, it makes me
NO MORE DIFFERENT THAN ANYONE ELSE IN THIS WORLD.
And when I look at other people who are struggling or suffering and trying to cope and understand what's going on in their mind and body and heart with depression and anxiety and the whole spectrum of conditions listed in the 300s of the ICD-9 codes and otherwise, I see me, and I want to gently let them know all the things I would tell myself, if only I would listen to myself.
To be honest, it makes me come off a lot nuttier than I am.
But when you're afraid to look in the mirror, you train your eyes to look elsewhere, and you start accidentally seeing yourself all over the place. I just want to find a way to reach myself, and reassure myself, and furthermore, do everything in my power to keep anyone from ever feeling like I have, ever again.
Which is straight up impossible.
First off, no one will ever feel exactly like I have ever felt. There may be similar factors and shared experiences, but nothing is ever exactly the same twice in the world of emotions. Second, I can't stop other people's brains. I can't go in there and do the tinkering necessary to help them flash forward over this suffering to the point where things are back to baseline. I want to, but I'm not *actually* a wizard.
I can't really fix a lot, really. None of us can. We can make changes, sure- change a ripped seam to a sewn one. Change a broken fence to a mended fence. Change the oil. Change the bedsheets. Change our medications. Change our doctors. Change our minds.
So when I hear that a member of the family has fallen... has been unable to climb out of the trenches... it just hits me particularly hard. Knowing that I've sat in that place where, instead of putting on a movie and gone to bed, I've put a handful of pills in my mouth and taken a few shots and found myself surprised to wake up in the morning. It's almost a "that could be me," but more of a "I've seen that sunset" sort of feeling.
Every time I've come back from the brink, I've been a bit relieved. Mostly shocked, but relieved. 'Cos I didn't succeed. And the next day goes on, and something magical happens, and I think, "wow, if I'd really done it, I wouldn't have been here for this." Those moments never sustain me when I'm on the brink, but when I come back, they fill me with guilt and regret.
I've probably said enough things that don't matter, but I had the need to sort things out for myself, so I came here. I'll never touch as many lives as Robin Williams, but that doesn't mean I don't want to be there for someone who needs it, no matter how they are. Just like I appreciate the many, many people who have been there for me. So much love.
So much love.