I’m depressed but I am also unhappy. I see the two as different things.
My depression is deep-rooted, has no ups and downs, good or bad, relief or release. It is the one constant in my life. It is a vicious parasite intent on leaching my soul.
My tears are not my depression. This heavy heart is not my depression. I am sad and, from time to time, I feel indulgently sorry for myself. From time to time I allow myself to omit the ‘ indulgently ‘ and replace it with ‘ heartbreakingly’.
I find the depression easier to accept than the sadness. Depression is a mental illness, sadness is not. Mental illness is terrifyingly hard to reach – there are no obvious roots to hack away; no one fuse to extinguish; no sole defendant to prosecute, and this all makes it comfortingly not my fault.
Sadness hurts me more. Sorrow turns into melancholy, melancholy to mournfulness, mournfulness to regret, and regret to desolation. Desolation is a coin’s flick away from depression. And therein, I have negated my own reasoning for keeping sadness as a separate infliction and a more chosen nuisance.
Sadness, in my case, my life, has fed my depression. Perhaps that is the root, that was the fuse, I am the defendant ( although I am sure I did not act alone ). I refuse to believe that I was born sad, (because then there would be no way out) but I have come to contemplate that, in my very early days, I grew into a brain full of feelings for which I had not the capabilities to unscarmble, nor the safety of words for outward expression, or any perception of there being an unconditional ear to listen anyhow. Feelings became intolerable. My Being became intolerable. Fear and isolation set in.
I was recently given an earth shattering (for me) sentence for consideration. It went something along the lines of : in today’s society, feelings are held in incredibly high esteem and great value is placed upon the expression and validation of them. The point of contemplation, for me, is to ponder whether perhaps more credence needs to be given to the power of thought?
It is my thoughts that are often of Life and of desire to have one, it is my feelings that stop this from happening. My feelings sit in my stomach and power all functioning. My feelings lead me to believe I should be cowered in a corner, hidden from society, sheltered from inflicting pain, protected from feeling pain.Allowing my functioning to be driven by feeling is a dangerous path. It is in thought that my power lies. With thought I can overpower feeling. Easy it is not. I’ve spent years plagued by destructive thoughts, why now should I choose to turn to them?
I choose now as I am in a place of wanting to live. I choose now because I believe my feelings are running rampant and would take me to the grave if followed. I choose now because I am not engulfed in insanity in a way I have previously been – I can decipher healthy thought from unhealthy.
This is all very new to me. I’m not a natural believer. I’ve put in a lot of hours identifying feelings and allowing them to surface. But perhaps it is time for them to move on, to quieten down, to go a little easier on me? We’ll see.