an excruciating daily effort

“I often find myself wishing that depression was a visible thing, like a terrible rash, a wound or a swollen limb. Something you could point to and say "See? *That's* what's going on with me. I am hurting." Something that would cause your loved ones to wince in empathy at the realness of it, rather than have everybody walking on eggshells wondering if today would be a Good day or a Bad day.

Depression is invisible. It's embarrassing. It's something that's extremely difficult to talk about, especially when you most *need* to talk. It makes you sound like a broken record, and then you become afraid to speak anymore.

You feel like you're poisoning everyone around you with the black, toxic ink of negativity that's filling every cell in your body. Standing up and walking to the bathroom takes effort - forget doing laundry, making food, answering questions or smiling. Forget being a functioning member of society. Forget enjoying the "little things" in life. When you're deep in a low period, your aspirations evaporate as if they were never there. It's like every good thing you ever built your life on has suddenly been revealed as being a lie or a waste; you feel cheated - but more than that, you feel too paralysed to do anything remotely constructive.

Depression is like drowning in thick tar, and as I said, the worst part is how shameful and humiliating it is. You sense people thinking "I wish they'd just get over it!" (as some people actually say, out loud). You feel that if you could summon the courage to say how bad things really are for you, you'll be dismissed or laughed at. You worry that you'll drag other people down with you. No matter how hard you try - to be cheerful, to be consistent, to be healthy, to seek therapy, to reach out to others, to be happy - it never seems like enough. Life is an excrutiating daily effort to keep clawing out of that deep hole, hand over hand. The slightest trauma can undo months of work.

This is my experience, at least. Everyone's is different. But the thought I keep coming back to is that if this were a visible disorder, people would find it easier - both to endure it and to help someone recover from it. It would be easier to know what to do. People would feel less helpless and in the dark about it.

The greatest benefit of all would be the satisfaction of watching the wound healing, until there was barely a scar left behind."

+ Comment on: Michael Angelakos, Passion Pit Singer, Talks Bipolar Disorder


jail within jail within jail

albumorartist



I hope there's some relief writing
this you: otherwise, none. I've never felt such pain.
Day after day pain after pain how do
I count these days? It's pain to count.
Pain to have a mind.
Worst: at the moment when sleep's ease should come,
( no coming, no you. ) and thoughts are loosened,
but i don't want these thoughts.
I phone: I don't like life.
So stopping the mind up, no
life no utterance, jail within jail within
jail, what can days dates
time matter? Only this ease
of verbally sobbing out ugliness.

Kathy Acker, Time is made by humans


the pain lingers on

Aroomofpeoplewholovesme_large

I have been alone for a very long time. I'm locked up in a room and I can't get out. Because I've been locked up in this room so long whatever desires are arising in me are rampaging around everywhere as wild and fierce and monstrous as gigantic starving jungle beasts. I don't know how to talk to people, I especially have difficulty talking to you; and I'm ashamed and scared 'cause I want you so badly, Dimwit.
Blood and Guts in High School

My true place in the world, it turned out was somewhere beyond myself, and if that place was inside me, it was also unlocatable. This was the tiny hole between self and not-self, and for the first time in my life I saw this nowhere as the exact center of the world. 
The Locked Room

 


unpredictable approach

If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself but to put myself back together again. Suicide will be for me only one means of violently reconquering myself, of brutally invading my being, of anticipating the unpredictable approaches of God. By suicide, I reintroduce my design in nature, I shall for the first time give things the shape of my will.
ANTONIN ARTAUD

albumorartist



who dares to ration our relief?

Redheadinbed

You are outside life, you are above life, you have miseries which the ordinary man does not know, you exceed the normal level, and it is for this that men refuse to forgive you, you poison their peace of mind, you undermine their stability. You have irrepressible pains whose essence is to be inadaptable to any known state, indescribable in words. You have repeated and shifting pains, incurable pains, pains beyond imagining, pains which are neither of the body nor of the soul, but which partake of both. And I share your suffering, and I ask you: who dares to ration our relief? We are not going to kill ourselves just yet. In the meantime, leave us the hell alone.

Antonin Artaud

[ Starsailor: It Hurts Too Much ]

 Untitled By OhhhLordy.NSFW