“I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.” ~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
On my left arm I have these four small, circular scars. They used to be dark and noticeable and in the six years since these marks were made, they’ve long faded to the point where I don’t notice them. But for the first days, weeks and months they were made – self inflicted, of course – and quickly covered with Neosporin and a bandaid. There were long sleeve shirts during a warm DC spring and when they were finally healed enough, my mother demanded that I purchase makeup so that I could don my fanciest dress to an Ellis Island ball. People think that they’re chicken pox scars. I had the chicken pox with no residual effects. No these are cigarette burns. The kind you get when you are walking around Spring Valley alone. You smoke your Marlboro Light down to the very end and pause for a beat before holding your breath and pressing the burning end of a butt down on your flesh. It never hurt probably because I had spent months feeling nothing but complete despair. So I suppose I was relieved to feel something? I don’t know.
What I do know is that in the years since burning myself in order to feel something. And a brief digression to see these words written in a Word document and to realize that I am totally one of Those People, well, that is a shock in and of itself; regardless in the years that have passed there have been therapists and medication and coping mechanisms. They say that it’s ok to feel sad at times but I know the difference between feeling genuinely sad and an intense struggle against yourself as your head says, “Fuck it. I can’t do this anymore”. It’s isolating. You want to reach out and have someone help and yet to put your finger on exactly what is wrong is next to impossible. Because it’s nothing and everything bothering me. This feeling that I’m not doing something right and I don’t know how to fix it and so I wallow.
I thought writing right now, in my office, with The Feeling hanging over my head, nudging me on would force me to come up with the words of what this feels like. How everything seems impossible and the struggle not to look forward to the end of the week but to just get through the damn day. It’s terrifying. It’s isolating. It’s as if there is no way to stop It. I knew this is what would happen; when you are diagnosed with something that actively takes you through a roller coaster of emotions because that is what Bipolar Disorder does. One day you can do anything! And days later it’s a struggle to do one thing.
I don’t know why I’m telling you about this. Perhaps if I get it out I’ll feel better? It’s not pity I’m looking for. It’s just…sometimes you feel that you need to say something. Anything. And this is one of those times.
36 Comments
Heather…I’m delurking to say thank you. It takes great courage to be nakedly honest about such personal, private things…and it is of great help to others who suffer, to those who think they are abnormal and weird and screwed. I’ve suffered from depression and addiction and it is such a lonely place. Talking about it in an open forum, in my opinion, can only help. **Hug from a stranger**
My hands and arms are freckled with tiny burn scars. I never had the balls to put a cigarette out on myself, but I would get my lighter really hot by keeping the flame burning until I couldn’t keep my thumb on the button anymore, then I’d press the metal into my skin.
I wish I could say it’s been a long time since I’ve done this.
I’m telling you this because I know how hard it is to admit, and I’m glad that you did, and I want you to know you’re not alone.
“the difference between feeling genuinely sad and an intense struggle against yourself as your head says, “Fuck it. I can’t do this anymore”. It’s isolating. You want to reach out and have someone help and yet to put your finger on exactly what is wrong is next to impossible. Because it’s nothing and everything bothering me. This feeling that I’m not doing something right and I don’t know how to fix it and so I wallow.”
My god, Heather. You just described what I go through every time I feel myself sinking into the pit of depression. To a T. It’s like you’re in my head because I was just thinking about how well I’ve been doing on my new meds and yet today I find myself completely unable to focus or get forward momentum. Despite deadlines and responsibilities. Despite everything, I sit here, paralyzed. Twittering because 140 character thoughts are all I can muster. And I remembered I hadn’t taken my pill yet and I wondered if it’s really that easy. One late dose and I’m back to *this*? Ugh! Really?
I don’t mean to hijack your post here. Just wanted to let you know you aren’t alone. And to thank you for putting into words what I can never do for myself.
Re: your tweet about this post. I don’t think that your words are failing you. I think they are saving you. I’m so glad that you wrote this, because I’m sure it was really hard to do. Writing when the despair is beating down helps keep the door open. And then the hands reach in and pull you through. Heave! Ho! Love.
I think your words are perfect. This was hard to write, no doubt…good for you. Getting it out is half the battle.
Have been on what for me is the downward slope these past two months, it’s such a bitch.
Pity in no way applies here, just solidarity, although I know I can’t know exactly how you feel. Never burned, just…other things.
For what it’s worth I think you get to see your friends this weekend and I hope that that is a bright spot, truly I do. I want very much for you to feel better.
You put that feeling into words so perfectly. All I had ever come up with is “sad,” which is such a small, insignificant and inappropriate word compared to what I’d be feeling. Thank you.
And I really, really, really hope this passes quickly for you.
Wow. I’m so sorry. And I hope someone you know and love and trust is bugging the shit out of you, making sure you’re OK.
My gut hurts for you with a memory of a depression that I am always fearful will just *boom* come back, just like it does every time.
I hope you find some light soon.
It’s often the most talented people who struggle with their emotions most.
I wish I didn’t know exactly what you mean, but I do. Not in this very moment, but you never forget. I think part of what happens when you sink back down is that you remember with all the little parts of you that just want to be content. Forget happy. Just not miserable would be an improvement. **hugs**
I applaud you for having the courage to share this with the world. I have no doubt that by talking so openly about what you’re going through, you are not only helping yourself, but helping others as well. Hope the dark cloud clears soon. Sending love through the interwebs. xoxoxoxoxo
I envy your strength and courage. I don’t know if you can see them now, the way you’re feeling, but I can.
Hugs and love to you. I’ve read your blog for a while now… 2 years? And I always love what you have to say, even when it’s raw and hurts. You nailed it today with “it’s nothing and everything.” That’s exactly it. My husband has been battling depression since his father died (and before that, really), and it’s been so painful to watch from this vantage point. I wish it were as easy as just being able to pull him out of it, but I’ve been the person sitting in that pit looking up at all the worried people looking down, and it’s just not. that. simple.
But know that you have lots and lots of people — those you know and those you don’t — reaching hands out to help you find your way. Much love and many prayers for you.
Totally hear you, totally understand where you’re coming from, Heather. I have a whitish scar across my forearm from oh, maybe 6 years ago from a pair of really sharp scissors. For me, it wasn’t about feeling something, it was about letting out the rage and pain that was in my head onto *myself* rather than someone else. Back then, I was diagnosed as bipolar, now it’s severe depression with generalized anxiety disorder, which is sort of like splitting hairs if you ask me. Either way you look at it, my mind decides to rebel at the most inconvenient moments.
Anyway, I appreciate you posting these things. Not only do I believe it is healthy for you, but it helps to give me the courage I’ve been trying to muster for *years* to write about the struggle.
You nailed it.
The same passage Jill mentioned: “They say that it’s ok to feel sad at times but I know the difference between feeling genuinely sad and an intense struggle against yourself as your head says, “Fuck it. I can’t do this anymore”. It’s isolating. You want to reach out and have someone help and yet to put your finger on exactly what is wrong is next to impossible. Because it’s nothing and everything bothering me. This feeling that I’m not doing something right and I don’t know how to fix it and so I wallow.”
THAT is depression. That is what people who have never had depression don’t get. It becomes you against yourself. The lies depression tells you. The lies that it’s not worth it, that you’re not worth it. Remember, THEY ARE LIES. You are worth the effort. We need you just as you are.
I totally understand, which I think you know. And you are brave to share this. I know it couldn’t have been easy. And I hope that writing it out, and having people tell you that you aren’t alone will help you get through it. I know it did for me. Sometimes just putting it out there and letting the world see what you’re struggling with is what you need to get through it.
I have read your blog for years. I don’t remember if I’ve ever commented. But I wrote a post today, and someone named “Lee” said I wasn’t alone and linked me to this. I’m glad I read it. I’m glad I know that right now, right this very moment, I’m not the only one feeling this way. And while it’s moronic to say you are lucky you were diagnosed (because who wants this as a diagnosis), it’s even more moronic that I never have because I’m too afraid of the result.
Lots to digest…
Not only does depression run rampant in my family, but my younger sister is Bipolar. She literally will cycle multiple times a day- making it very difficult to medicate. She is on so many different pills- some very strong stuff! Sadly, it took her many years before she was diagnosed (it took an overdose of Tylenol to finally get everyone’s attention)and a couple more to find the right doctor who understands the disease and the medications. While everyday is a struggle in some way for her, she is doing so much better.
I hope you find yourself feeling better ASAP.
What Torrie said. There is so much good here Heather, with you. Really.
I feel the same way; sad, lost, isolated and wondering what the hell is wrong. I thank you for your honesty; and the ability to put into words what I am feeling too.
We are all in this together.
Such courage and strength you have. This was a beautiful and raw post. Thank you for sharing.
My FIL has bipolar disorder so I know the struggles. But being on the outside is absolutley different, of course.
Hugs and love to you.
thank you for sharing this. it was.. well raw and so very honest. i can’t say i know completely how it is what you went through but i think we’ve all had our deepest lows and felt alone. this made me feel like we’re not alone in what we feel – that we all to some degree reach that place that feels so lonely and impossible to come out of.
Say whatever you need to. You know I will always be listening and cheering you on.
I call it falling. I feel myself start to fall, going over the edge, into the deep darkness that is so, so hard to climb out of. I know where you are, and you aren’t alone there. Hugs.
No pity here, just understanding.
Heather,
I know that I don’t know you. I know that I couldn’t possibly know you just because I read this blog. That being said, the part of you I feel as if I know, I love. I hope that sounds the way I mean it. You are such a lovely young woman. Having been where you are and unfortunately, sure that I will be there again, I say stay encouraged. You are loved, wanted, needed, and admired by family, friends, and strangers alike. Life is a sucky right now but it won’t always be. Hold on.
So it’s been a while since I’ve come ’round these parts, and well, just Fuck. No pity here, just some empathy, because YES. My goodness, Yes.
Also, if you need help, please don’t be afraid to get it. Because oh lord it sucks, and I know, and I’m actually dragging both me and the husband into therapy as soon as a different issue in our lives gets solved a little.
I would say that things will get better, which is what I tell myself, but the results vary. For you? I will just say that you’re wonderful. And I can see that without having met you. Be well.
I’m thinking good thoughts for you–
Am bipolar too. Hang in there. Take your meds. Keep writing. We are here for you. ** Hugs **
Am bipolar too. Hang in there. Take your meds. Keep writing. We are here for you. ** Hugs **
Perhaps we need a good festival? I swear there is something about the changing of the seasons that does a number on my mood.
I’m co-signing what LetterB said.
But these here are from me: I love you with a passion.
Just one reader reaching out and sending you a flotation device… Today is bad, but tomorrow could be better. You CAN do anything. Hang in there and know we’re here for you–you’re not alone.
hello love. When are you going to come see me?
Heather,
I, too, am delurking to say I sincerely hate that you struggle with this…I genuinely care…and I totally understand.
xo
I’m a lurker and have never felt compelled to comment on any blog, ever, but this speaks to me. Thank you for so beautifully and accurately articulating this thing called depression, bipolar disorder. It’s helpful to know that someone else understands.