The weather in my mind: I’m floating, everything is quiet. I love clouds, I love them. On the other hand, there’s nobody left in this world. I’m alone and I’m slowly falling down to nothingness. Even the things that seem to be there are only imaginary. It is not a world imposed on me, as any interruption from real life is intercepted by huge striking lightning. I want to float quietly into a spiral of self destruction. I often feel like I don’t know how to live in the real world. For weeks it has been like that. The real world is too heavy and undesirable. Maybe I am a fictional character who accidentally crossed a barrier and is lost trying to cling on a world that doesn’t exist.
I know I’m not that deluded. I have been off medication for weeks, I am depressed. It’s not a shock. Depression sometimes is seductive, it lures you in. Not only I cannot live in the real world; I don’t want to. Why try then?
There are lots of things I’ve been meaning to blog about but haven’t. One of them is: When is it counterproductive to keep pretending you’re not a victim of something? Trying to pretend you’re not tied up with cuffs won’t set you free any faster. Acknowledging cuffs are keeping you from moving is a step into finding the keys to get out (certainly a step ahead of pretending they’re not real). I think having depression is like having invisible cuffs. You don’t move and you shift between feeling like the idiot who can’t move although they have no restrains at all, and realising the cuffs are indeed there but not being able to get rid of them. In between, you also wonder why the hell you have them in the first place. And you also wonder what the big deal is; you can just stay prisoner. You probably brought this on yourself.
As always, I took it personal, but when I first thought of the question it was actually about something else, say domestic abuse. When looked from the outside, you can’t believe someone would tolerate such thing. They also hide it, and in some cases, they defend their partner, and get mad at anyone trying to intervene arguing it is a private matter. Why don’t these people just break free? They must like being treated like that.
Going personal again, I don’t have direct experiences with domestic abuse, but I do with peer abuse. Bullying. As a kid. I recently told my mom about this, kind of carelessly, and she was shocked. Then I remembered: I would not let people know it. It was the ultimate secret because to me it was my fault. Being bullied meant I lacked some sort of strength to fight back; it meant I lacked wit to use words as a weapon; it meant I was in a situation that was out of my control, but it should have been in my control. It meant I was inadequate in many, many ways, and there was nobody responsible but me. I never told my teachers or parents just like I wouldn’t confess the worst of the mischiefs. It was MY fault, and humiliating to the bone. So I swallowed it up, letting myself being constantly beaten up (more psychologically than physically), because at least I was taking control this way. It is easier to blame the problem on something you can potentially control -yourself- than to do it on external influences.
Somehow the problem extended to my early teens, when I was a master on smiling at the person who had just hurt me, laugh it off and get it out of my chest later alone, preferably in the bathroom, where nobody could realise how much it affected me, unleashing a cascade of attempts to gain control that were mainly based on self guilt. I powered guilt in order to get control. “If it is my fault then the ball is on my court. And it IS my fault, otherwise why are so many people able to get away with it? I mean, even my own younger brother gets to step on me, so it definitely must be my flaw. It’s also an incredibly humiliating flaw and I must keep it secret.”
I am almost 22 years old and I can’t say I’m quite over it. I keep on downplaying it -“yeah I have always been a nerd and introverted and stuff so people picked on me all the time. HAha.” Yes, the ball is on my court. I don’t know why I obsess on the ball being on my court now, when I can rationalise that it was not. (or was it?) That it was a situation out of my control. But it is utterly ridiculous to claim to be a victim of something.