Everyday Is a Battle

After two nights of no sleep, I slept last night for 10hours, I didn’t even hear the dog get on the bed this morning. You would think that sleeping for that long would make someone feel better. It doesn’t.

I am fed up, of being fed up. Sick of feeling like I have a fucking great big black cloud hanging over my head. Sick of forcing myself to get out of bed. Forcing myself to walk the dog, and do whatever I should be doing. The voice in my head tells me I’m lazy and bone idle (another one from Dad) but I know its not that, its not that simple.

When you have depression you feel it, I mean REALLY FEEL IT. I can go from hero to zero in an hour and I’m stuck with it for days, sometimes weeks. My mood crashed about 6 days ago and I am yet to feel it lift. I just want to sit and do nothing, go no where and speak to no one, even though I know that doesn’t help.
Today I have forced myself to walk the dog and have sorted my kitchen cupboards, and have lots of shit to take the charity shop, but then its having the energy to take it to the charity shop. Its one battle after another, and it never bloody ends.

I don’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t feel this way. I guess when I was a kid and life was good and simple, but even then I would get frustrated, I would bite myself so hard in pure anger. Its only recently I realised that is now classed as a form of self harm. I first remember doing that when I was around 6 years old. Shocking really if you think about it. But the anger and frustration inside me was more than I could bare. It was almost as if my body took whatever emotion I was feeling and put it into overdrive. That is still the case.

Before my hysterectomy it was the same, worse. I remember standing behind someone with a knife in my hand and wondering what would happen if I plunged it into their back. Would I kill them? Would I get away with it? Of course I didn’t do it, but that’s the sort of bullshit that fills my head. The sort of darkness I live with every single damn day. Sometimes I wonder if I would be better off dead. Would I be at peace? Its a good job we don’t know what lies on the other side because I know if I was guaranteed peace, I wouldn’t hesitate in taking it.

After I had my daughter the depression really took a hold of me. I couldn’t fight it anymore and everyone saw me for what I really was. A miserable, negative, sadistic, sad old bitch. I drank A LOT. I even smoked for a while. Had I been able to get hold of drugs, I would have done them too, the fact I had a small person relying on me was irrelevant. People I turned too for help ignored me.
My Father never knew. He was from the ‘pull yourself together’ era
My Mother wasn’t interested. She was dealing with my sister (as bloody always) she even told a friend that I was ‘putting it on’ and that ‘she doesn’t need therapy’
My husband tried to support me, he stood by me but he has no concept of empathy, no concept of what to do and when. Often I would cry and he would just stare at me or, completely ignore me.
My daughter was too young to understand, and friends? I had none, I still don’t.
That isn’t me sounding pathetic, I genuinely don’t have any friends, none that I see anyway. I had two, but now I only have one and she’s over 150miles away.
The rest of my family are scattered right across the world. So I was then, and still am alone. Totally and utterly alone with my head and what’s inside it. Stuck inside my own living hell, and now? Now I’m too far gone to get out and fight it. Not only do I now have depression, I have anxiety with it too.
Unable to face the outside world alone. Scared to face strangers in the street, convinced they are laughing at me and taking the piss out of me. And if for some reason someone laughs, and I have the slightest inkling its aimed at me, I will run and won’t stop until I’m safe in my house again.

Its a battle to get up. A battle to go out. A battle to live, and a battle to stay alive. And I fucking hate it!

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