I am in this very weird conundrum. I am on medication that helps me get out of bed and gives me the energy my depression was sucking away. I actually feel joy for the first time this entire year. My anxiety is on the low, with only a panic attack once a month (and usually for predictable reasons). Yet, my body still is in shelter mode.
I realized this when I was lying stark awake, anxious out of my mind the first day of winter break at my parent’s house. I was anxious because I had nothing to be anxious about, but my brain convinced me that there was something I had to be anxious about. I was anxious about not being anxious. How the actual fuck does that work? Then, I started getting exhausted again and my brain immediately started gravitating back toward the intense depression (its more on a mild scale now) but my chemistry was just fine. It threw out suggestions of suicide but I in no way felt suicidal.
What the hell brain??
I talked to my mom about this and she said that my brain hasn’t gotten accustomed to being okay because I was in such a detrimental mental state for so long. The idea of being genuinely happy and relaxed was something my brain and my body hadn’t felt for nearly an entire year. Once the horrendous feelings were being subdued, it was like taking away the drug from the addict. I think I’m going through mental illness withdrawals.
Is that a thing?
Does this happen to anyone else?
It’s been….it’s been a while. I have drafts upon drafts of things I wanted to put on this blog but never had the confidence to press publish. My reasons for not doing so were grounded and personal, mainly because they were either so depressing or suicidal or a combination of both, I was worried that posting them would do more harm than good for other people around me.
I know I’m not alone when I say 2016 was a horrendous year for. Multiple celebrities I looked up to have passed; the US president-elect is the stuff of my nightmares; I reached such a low point in my depression that when I couldn’t tell if I was getting better or not, my mom hugged me and said, “You’re back with us again.” I very seriously attempted suicide. Got my letter written and everything. I’ve never felt more alone, but somehow I also have never felt more supported in my life. It’s interesting how depression fucks things up like that.
I have not stopped thanking people who have helped me during this steaming shit pile that is this year. For the sake of their privacy, I will not disclose who, but for those who are Facebook friends with me, you have seen that status expressing my gracious amount of thanks and I have never stopped feeling unbelievably thankful.
I don’t want to say that 2017 is going to be better because I thought 2015 was a steaming pile of shit and then it got about a million times worse in 2016. I have no idea what 2017 is going to be like. I don’t even want to hope 2017 is going to be better because I have had my hopes dashed so many times this year that I’ve given up. I’m not going to say “New year, new me” because honestly, I’m new everyday.
Instead I’m going to live a day at a time. Yes I am scared of this year because my mind no longer believes things will get better, but instead lives in a constant state of fear of what will get worse (I’m working on it). I can’t be scared if I’m living in this exact moment. Nothing can hurt me in this present moment. The past can’t hurt me, the future can’t hurt me. Yes the present can, but I will deal with it a moment at a time.
I feel like that’s all I can do. No promises, no resolutions, just taking one day at a time.