march 29 2018

Words don’t convey the reality of depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts.

I could say I feel a constant weight on my chest, the weight of my life, but it would not truly describe the actual physical pain, the actual physical ache that comes with deep despair. I could say, when I am at work I avert my eyes whenever they briefly make contact with a coworker’s, even tho my coworkers are on the whole quite hospitable and amiable. I cannot come close to truly capturing the shame and self-hatred I feel in these moments. The way my blood pounds in my veins, the way my fists clench when I consider how despicable and how disgusting I am.

Around other people I feel ugly, worthless, monstrous, and vile. Maybe it sounds dramatic, maybe it sounds “how could you truly think that of yourself?”, but I often feel like I am evil too. I often perceive myself to be a liar and a fraud and a two-face. This is inextricably tied in with my sexuality; being closed about being queer fosters unimaginable feelings of separation and fraudulence within me. I am so exhausted; the energy it takes to come out, the psychological bracing for rejection that always happens beforehand, I cannot muster it here in severe suicidal depression. But I feel I must come out. A voice inside spouts endless abuse when I am not true to who I am. It’s terrible abuse. Rightly so, I would be called a sociopath if I were to direct what I think about myself to anyone else.

The days have been getting warmer and longer. Blue skies pervade. People at work are people at work: they talk about their own goings-on, relate to each other, laugh, have drama with each other, make up. People are, on average, not unkind.

I have a family that I know loves me. I have at least a handful of friends who have stated before that they care about me. I am told that I am intelligent, and attuned to the needs of others, and that my conversations with others leave them feeling both affirmed and considering lots of things they hadn’t thought about before.

I am aware of all of this.

Yet, I am in the grip of bloody jaws. I am worried. I feel I am about to annihilate, either myself, or my relationships with others. Both would be a kind of death for me.

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know what to do.

I feel like a monster. I think I should probably stop taking up space.