A B C Depression

[kuangning]

i wake up every morning
jumping at whistles come rain or shine
my spirit, it goes through the motions
they need a number to identify

when i look out on the horizon
i see far beyond this place called home
every time i try to explain it
i end up feeling so alone

you don't want to walk in my shoes
beneath all this envy green
i'm varsity blue
varsity blue...

i try to shake my daily routine
i gotta escape from their watchful eyes
'cause i'm not sure if this is about me
or if they're reliving glory days gone by

you don't want to walk in my shoes
beneath all this envy green
i'm varsity blue
varsity blue...

if i let your games ruin our relation
we build the foundation of the
pedestal they put us on
and if you can, try to understand me
because sooner or later this will all be gone

you don't want to walk in my shoes
beneath all this envy green
i'm varsity blue
varsity blue...



Somebody said, yesterday, in response to that last post, that the thing that worried her about my sentiments and my way of handling it was that she didn't know if I ever said specifically that I was feeling suicidal, or if I take the assumption that it's obvious no-one cares, and run with that. She knows my answer, and so do you all. It's not just my answer, it's practically the only answer. Who ever says, "I'm feeling suicidal"? Even making it clear that you're depressed bring torrents of... what? Either people tiptoe around you, until just watching them makes you want to scream, or you get the "get over it, just snap out of it already" response. Because, as someone said, "worrying about you is exhausting." And it is, it really is, and you know that. Or you get "help." Pretty little pills for this, another for the side effects of the first pills, therapy that never touches what's really wrong because what's wrong has nothing to do with you and your therapist and everything to do with you and all the people who are looking to your therapist to fix you. And after enough of that, you learn. You get the idea, unless you're truly stupid or totally beyond help anyway, and you figure out how to short-circuit that train of thought in your mind. You smile when it's called for. The pills help with that - they make it easy to be peppy, even when you never have been before. They help you hide.

What don't they do? They don't touch what's really wrong. They don't reach deep enough. They change your surface mood, make it easier to keep going even though the real damage isn't gone. You're still fucking well broken. You just have enough top coats applied to fake it. And while you're faking it, you know why you have to fake it. Would anyone break down in tears if they could help it? Fuck no. Why not? Because it makes other people uncomfortable. It makes them look at you differently, they treat you differently. It's a clear indication that there's something more wrong, and people don't want to look at what's wrong or weak or broken. More than that? You need more than anything to not be seen as defective. You have to be stronger than the rest, even, because that way you earn the real help you get - the true respect, the real acknowledgement, the times when someone looks at you and you know they really see you and truly hear you - those are the things that fill in the cracks. And they're exactly what you won't get while everyone around you is in panic mode, trying to fix you or save you from yourself.

There's one exception to that, of course - someone who's like you will understand. Of course, someone who's like you will never hear you say just how close to the edge you are. Why would you do that to them? The absolute last thing you want to be is the trigger that pushes them to the edge too. "is there anything I can do to help?" "no." "would you tell me if there were?" "probably not." Why? Because I'm not going to take you into the spiral with me. I won't lie (to most people, anyway) if asked the direct question. But I won't volunteer the information. Expecting me to, or anyone else, for that matter, is asking too much. If you know someone who's depressive, and if you give a damn, and if you're ready and willing to know when they're crashing, it's your business to notice or to ask. If you don't, that's no shame, but then you don't have to ask later why they didn't tell you. Because now you know.

Comments

[kaolinfire.livejournal.com]

because in explaining it, perhaps you can understand it better yourself?

I've been to an edge and stared over it for a few years, never quite finding the right time to jump.

Later in life, I danced there with a friend, holding hands. When one would start to fall, the other would go with -- and in that added responsibility, keeping each from truly losing it.

These days, I like to look over the cliff and think about things, but I can't imagine the force that would trick me over it.