If you have ever lived in the fear-shame-hate-disgust tail-chasing spiral that is a seething depression, you know that there are moments of despair.
Moments where you are not sure if you ever lived outside of the spiral, you start to think maybe you were born there. Maybe this is where you will die. These moments wrap around you like a blanket but with all the comfort of a cactus. Once the needles settle in, the pain becomes normal. You get used to it. And you know that pulling them out would casue pain, whereas sitting where you are is the devil you know.
Sometimes, (if you are lost in the fog that is forgetting who you are), you stare off into space.
This can be one of the only useful things about a depression. Since you are devoid of the ability to track time, you can mosey through the spiral at your own pace. If there is a break in the action, you can always peek through the thinning layers and find yourself thinking about things the way a counselor might lead you to your own answers.
I thought to myself:
I am afraid.
What of? it asks.
Well, of not being good enough.
Good enough for what?
As good as others who have gone before me and who have done what I hope to do.
Why do you think they are better?
Because they got it done.
Maybe they were afraid.
Maybe. But they did it.
Well they had more resources. They did it earlier, it was easier, cheaper.
So? You could make the changes and do the things necessary to make it happen. You are resourceful.
I just never have any time....Wait...well...because I fill it......with things...to busy myself...so I can't attempt this...because I am afraid to fail....
I shut that show down with the practiced hand of someone who knows just how dangerous that line of thinking can be. Its hard to keep pushing yourself up when the other half of you pulls down.
One of my arms rows the boat one direction and the other arm rows the opposite. The spiral stops sometimes, but only because I'm at war with myself. I can see the entire thing in action- I am afraid (fear) I am not good enough (shame) this is impossible (hate) Other people can do this and I can't (disgust). I can't face this kind of change (fear again). And around we go.
The taste of giving in must be what heroin feels like to an addict. It is desirable beyond compare. The reason I do not give in is that I cannot breathe, and I keep pulling up for air. Each time, it takes a bit more away from the grip. The spiral is not won with heroics, it is won with survival. If I could live without breathing, I would still perish.