The other night, I was smiling over a bowl *ahem...tub...* of ice cream, chatting with the sibling. Just scooping spoon after spoon of cold, creamy goodness into my mouth.
"You gonna eat the rest of that ice cream?" the sib asks, skepticism and harsh scorn on her face as she peered into the tub of HEB Buttered Pecan ice cream I had under my chin.
"Yes..." spoon midway to my mouth. Self doubt filling me and I could already feel the self-defensive me rise to the surface.
"Why? You know it's wrong...why are you doing it?" I'm feeling chagrined and shameful yet defiant and stubborn.
"I don't know!" I reply. Short, unforgiving, and non-apologetic. The sib leaves and I sit there with my tub of ice cream. Weak sauce! Why am I eating this worthless, emptybowl tub of ice cream?!? What is wrong with me? And I thought of all the bad, bad things I'd eaten during the week. Oreos, two donuts, oreos, more ice cream, fast food....empty food.
It seems I've been feeling a little self-destructive lately. I haven't run in a while, I'm not eating well, I lay awake at night with a million thoughts racing while sleep skips it's merry way out of my world. Sometimes I stand at my window at night and stare out, wishing I could just drive away. Drive far away, lie under the stars, and fade into nothing while gazing at the universe above.
There are times when I'm in-expressively depressed and I just float. A co-worker struck up a conversation on depression. Depression is a choice. This co-worker was adamant about this, believed it. Yes, I choose to go from being wonderfully elated and happy one minute to dragging one foot in front of the other, sad and lonely and depressed. I want these nightmares and fears haunting me with no one to really talk to about them....no one that wouldn't think, geeeeezzzzzz, this one's gone off the deep end! At some point, yes, you have to get up, gather yourself, and just walk. And make an effort to just BE happy. It's a process for some people, though.
Depression is not just about being sad and down. It's losing faith in people because so many have hurt you. It's losing zest for life because you've been beaten so much at everything. It's expecting the worst because that's all that has ever happened to you. It's having enough traumatizing events in your life occur that you feel like all of life is disheartening, and traumatic and you're just waiting for the next kick in the arse. I wanted to yell at this person, "Ever have a loved one die in your arms after seven minutes of CPR?" It's not feeling good enough. It's feeling worthless because someone made you feel like dirt and scum.
The thing is people walk around with their assumptions about depression, talking up a storm about how it can be this and that; and you can do this and that to control it... to get over it. And all along, there's a person next to them suffering from clinical or chronic depression and they wouldn't even know it. Yes, please tell me how depression is a choice. But yes. I did make some choices. Hopefully, it'll help.
"You gonna eat the rest of that ice cream?" the sib asks, skepticism and harsh scorn on her face as she peered into the tub of HEB Buttered Pecan ice cream I had under my chin.
"Yes..." spoon midway to my mouth. Self doubt filling me and I could already feel the self-defensive me rise to the surface.
"Why? You know it's wrong...why are you doing it?" I'm feeling chagrined and shameful yet defiant and stubborn.
"I don't know!" I reply. Short, unforgiving, and non-apologetic. The sib leaves and I sit there with my tub of ice cream. Weak sauce! Why am I eating this worthless, empty
It seems I've been feeling a little self-destructive lately. I haven't run in a while, I'm not eating well, I lay awake at night with a million thoughts racing while sleep skips it's merry way out of my world. Sometimes I stand at my window at night and stare out, wishing I could just drive away. Drive far away, lie under the stars, and fade into nothing while gazing at the universe above.
There are times when I'm in-expressively depressed and I just float. A co-worker struck up a conversation on depression. Depression is a choice. This co-worker was adamant about this, believed it. Yes, I choose to go from being wonderfully elated and happy one minute to dragging one foot in front of the other, sad and lonely and depressed. I want these nightmares and fears haunting me with no one to really talk to about them....no one that wouldn't think, geeeeezzzzzz, this one's gone off the deep end! At some point, yes, you have to get up, gather yourself, and just walk. And make an effort to just BE happy. It's a process for some people, though.
Depression is not just about being sad and down. It's losing faith in people because so many have hurt you. It's losing zest for life because you've been beaten so much at everything. It's expecting the worst because that's all that has ever happened to you. It's having enough traumatizing events in your life occur that you feel like all of life is disheartening, and traumatic and you're just waiting for the next kick in the arse. I wanted to yell at this person, "Ever have a loved one die in your arms after seven minutes of CPR?" It's not feeling good enough. It's feeling worthless because someone made you feel like dirt and scum.
The thing is people walk around with their assumptions about depression, talking up a storm about how it can be this and that; and you can do this and that to control it... to get over it. And all along, there's a person next to them suffering from clinical or chronic depression and they wouldn't even know it. Yes, please tell me how depression is a choice. But yes. I did make some choices. Hopefully, it'll help.
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