When the Abnormal is the Norm

Some days are better than others, but mostly they run together in a fluid mess of… not so much bad, but not good.

It feels like at some point in depression you get so used to being sad that you only really notice how bad it is when it’s really, really bad.  There’s a phenomenon of living with pain so long that you become so numb to just how miserable you are that the moments without pain become more jarring than the ones with it, and I feel that applies just as keenly to depression.

Usually I’m triggered by something — intrusive thoughts or just a small example of things going wrong will snowball me harder than the bigger things, sometimes — and from there I’m scrambling to try to find footing and work myself through the anxiety and sadness that comes with each of these episodes.

Scenario: Former boyfriend — now good friend — and I spend all our days together.  I help him out while he’s at work and things get done because the idea of him being behind on things and having to go late into the night to keep up on MMO stuff bugs the shit out of me because, well, as mentioned, I’m kind of in love with him.  Sunday’s the free day, it’s the day where he can choose to do whatever he wants and attend to things because he’s actually able to be there. On this day he chooses to hang out with someone else.

While I consciously understand that hanging out with someone else is fine and doesn’t in any way mean that he, when given the choice, will choose someone else over me, the anxious part of me harps on that.  I realise that I’m being ridiculous, I realise these feelings are beyond ludicrous, and yet still I am hindered by them.  The anxiety’s still here, and still I want to cry my eyes out (while trying very hard not to because my father might pop in at any moment and he would definitely ask why I was crying.)

People always tell me I should get distance in these situations.  They don’t understand why people are friends with people they used to date, and I think that’s absolutely fucking stupid — pardon my French.  It’s idiotic to think that just because the kissing part of your relationship is done that you’re done being around someone.  If I loved them enough for it to make me want to cry at the loss, then I love them enough to make the effort to be friends.

This isn’t an issue of proximity, or trying to stay close, or even being fiends; it’s my emotions and their imbalance and how sometimes things just go south and I run with a scenario like a child who just stole a cookie.  I want to hide behind a pillar and devour it until my sadness is sated, even though I know it’ll make me sick.

I’ve digressed from my original point, but it still stands… I’m not sure how to feel that I’m so used to being sad that even these moments tend to pass without me even speaking them to much of anyone for the most part, or the second I admit them to someone I feel guilty for putting my sadness and drama on them and immediately force it into the pit of my stomach and let it form a stone or something to drag me down further.  I’d rather suffer than make others deal with my nonsense, and that’s just as destructive.

Depression is some nonsense, I really should do something about it.