Overheard Conversations

Today I overheard a father and his teenage daughter in a little bookshop distinctively discussing about depression. He casually said, I rephrased him, “Many of these depressed people often have a lot of humour in them, they make other people happy but they are depressed” and he continues to discuss this with the owner of the bookshop wondering in questions of “Why are they so depressed but they can be so witty? Funny isn’t it?” “What kind of depression are they having?” To which his teenage daughter answered “There’s only one type of depression, Dad, it’s depression”
I wished I had enough courage to tell him and share a little bit of what it feels like to be depressed but I didn’t think it as appropriate to discuss such a heavy topic with strangers that I didn’t even say hello to.
And here I am having that question posted every 5 seconds in my mind and I have to answer it.

Humour is our armour, disguise as happiness

It is also a goal at the end of our fight with depression

I can relate to that as people would not have guessed that I have depression because I am always that bubbly, happy, joyful, girl.
Only those who knows me really well would guess but still unsure until I confirm it. I look strong and optimistic all the time. Really, it is a show that I am trying to believe in but deep inside, I crumble and my welled up tears makes my heart a sea of mud. Humour and happiness is the sun that dries the surface of my sea of mud, until the surface cracks, no one would know that beneath this solid surface is a sea of mud.

Advertisements

Therapy: 2

Yesterday was my second session with my psychologist. Therapy is really exhausting and it needs a lot of determination. Every time I feel a little better I think to myself that I don’t need therapy because ‘Hey! Look, today I am able to handle this. I can hold myself together.’, then the next moment I feel like I am eaten by a whirlpool and is dragged to the bottom of the sea. Actually, sometimes I don’t even feel anymore. I am transforming to an inanimate living thing. I don’t know which is worse, to feel so extremely or to not feel at all. Incapability is paralyzing.

I am more receptive to this second session despite still feeling very intense at the session. I broke a rule of not getting a drink and or a cigar. I did both after my session. I had two drinks and three cigarillos. I shouldn’t but I shudder.

In yesterday’s session she reminded me on how much of a fighter I am. Despite all the shit that skipped the fan and hit me straight, I am still fighting. It is a painful fight. I feel so weak because I ended up in therapy, in that room, discussing on how to think. I feel a little insulted to have to have someone teach me to think that costs me 250 dollars per hour. I feel weak because I can’t even handle myself. I don’t know how to be happy. I need someone to tweak me so that I can be happy. Seriously, why the fuck? Why the hell? Why?

We decided to record my thoughts so that we can analyze my thoughts. But I have done that all these years, changing my thoughts, thinking in a positive manner, yet I ended up being bruised, hurt, and now I have drained almost all of my soul. Will this work? I am being skeptical. I am torn.

We will need me to plan my schedule daily. To slot in things that I used to enjoy to try and bring me back to being me. I didn’t know that I have to relearn to be myself. This is beginning to sound so ridiculous.

The hardest lesson in life is learning to be yourself again, you can’t walk away from yourself because you are always present despite being a stranger to yourself

How did I end up being like this? Maybe I have always been like this. Maybe it is normal. Maybe it is abnormal. I don’t know.

I need to befriend myself, to be gentle to myself, to acknowledge myself.

How can I be a stranger to myself when I enjoy spending time with myself, when being alone is so comfortable. It is called isolation. I am suppose to break that. I am suppose to overcome that.

My therapist told me that I need to get myself to start doing things I enjoy and slot them into my daily life that I need to relearn to be myself, I need to give myself time to do so and I cannot expect myself to be perfect at it. I have to follow my schedule despite my emotions, I cannot give in to my emotions but at the same time if I am not doing well I need to be gentle to myself because I am relearning. I feel like I am being disciplined, life feels like a drill now.

This is a mental militant. And it is no where near fun or comfortable.

Who would have thought that you need to learn to be yourself all over again? And who would have thought how tough it is? Certainly not me.

Anesthesia

Do you know what is really sad?

To be consciously sad yet clueless about the sadness itself

I don’t even know why am I crying or why do I feel so hollow and empty inside. I don’t know what makes me sad because nothing is not making me sad. I just need to breathe to be sad.

Most days I am numb, I am slowly becoming incapable of feeling, I feel so fake within me. I am so confused that I don’t even know what I am feeling. I feel like I am feeling nothing. I laugh but I am not happy, I cry but I am not particularly sad. I am slowly not feeling. As if emotions are dead. I am indifferent. That’s right, that’s what I am becoming or perhaps became.

I tried eating all my favourite food or food that I would enjoy but I realize that nothing tastes good to me. I am slowly not bothered about eating as I cannot taste the flavours in them. I am slowly but surely feeling that I am not hungry and eating is like a chore. So I began to stuff myself with food but I almost always ends up feeling sick and throw up.

I cannot seem to find flavours in a lot of things, in life. I am either dazing or numbing. Anesthesia, that’s what it is. A full form flesh with heartbeat of nothingness. That’s what I have become. I don’t even know how to feel about this. It feels like I am getting better because I am not particularly sad but not happy as well, just that nothingness. I don’t even know how to react while writing this down. Perhaps it is my wish coming through, as I wished that I couldn’t feel when I was sad.

I can’t seem to find that familiarity of feelings, emotions, connections, and that same flavours that I once had. It lingers about somewhere near me but I can’t seem to grasp it. Is this even depression? Because I honestly feel that it is all in my head under that skull.

Maybe it is sad to live in the memory of feelings and emotions under this spell of anesthesia. Maybe it is what it is, but what is this?

Therapy: 1

First therapy in 10 years. I am my own record breaker, not the good kind of boast.

After fighting depression on my own after my last counseling 10 years ago and going back to seeking help from someone besides myself, feels like the greatest defeat. Acknowledging that all my efforts and strength and hard work had crashed and crumbled before me. That was intense.

I felt well in the morning and yesterday was better than most of the other days in the past weeks. I tried to slide off from the appointment because it would really signify my defeat. I managed well for so many years, I fought through so much difficulties and I always managed to pick myself up and walk on. I was so sure that I can fight this one, I was reluctant, and I wanted to turn around and walk away. It hit me, I felt that pang of pain again right there at the red light. All the reflections started appearing.

I know that lately it has been bad when it starts affecting me physically, my motor movements are rigid, my heartbeat is Ferrari, my find is nothing but a big cloud of floating fluff, I cried for 2 seconds and remained numb for 200.

As I was about halfway to the hospital, the intensity increases, the nearer I was the more intense it became. Walking to the registration and saying that I am there to see the psychologist is so heartbreaking. That feeling of defeat is so intense as I walked through the walkway and it got real when I get into her clinic, filling those forms.

She started talking, telling me how it will be like an interview to get to know me better and understand my situation. I broke those tears and the more I speak the more I cried, the more intense it became. Having to tell her everything and have her questions answered was like breaking all the shell, wall, and grid leaving me raw at my worst.

Before ending today’s session my psychologist suggested that we try CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy), deep breathing, and a guided relaxation therapy. She told me to relax as I have the tendency of muscle tension.

After the therapy I went for a movie and was holding up with occasional tears, as I walked out of the cinema to my car, it was all hell broke loose. I couldn’t stop crying and breathing got really hard, that feeling of vulnerability and raw is magnified and focused. I had to throw up, my head was pounding, my heart was racing, my airway narrowed, and my tears wouldn’t stop. I tried the deep breathing, it was challenging, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, it was probably 50 sets of short breaths when it was meant to be 10 deep breaths. The people outside of the toilet cubicle only made it worse and I was waiting for them to leave so that I can come out and no one would witness this mess. They left, I rushed out, washed my face, and held it in until I reached my car. By then, I was numb.

I drove off to another place to meet a close friend and I briefly told her about the therapy but we both didn’t get into details. That numbness lasted until now. It was all too much for me to handle in a day. I  wanted to know what are the types of depression I am facing but I was too afraid to ask my psychologist because I know that I couldn’t manage. In 2 weeks, I hope I am better prepared to know.

And Clinical Psychologist is a very intimidating term so as Psychiatrist.