Waiting for today...: Birthday Blues, Stigma & Me

Friday, October 30

Birthday Blues, Stigma & Me

It’s been a rough three days.  Depression has been heavy… crushing.  I only worked one day in the last seven so boy did I have big plans!  But nothing that would overtake me.  I convinced myself that if I did nothing else, I would wash my hair and tidy the kitchen.  

Pipe dreaming.  
I barely left couch.  

Terrible stomach issues left me feeling useless and fatigued-on-top-of-fatigue.  Soon worthlessness and guilt crippled me.  Powerlessness snuffed out all desires to do anything about it so I said “f*** it” and binged on sleep, low budget horror flicks and cartoons.  

I disappeared into distraction.

And there came the parade of birthday wishes that ushered in a pulsating anxiety shaking me from what I made my comfort.   Between social media and phone calls I wanted to bury my head in the ground in hopes they would all just go away.   And just to complicate matters, because I’m a glutton for punishment, I allowed myself to be cornered into a tug-of-war: on one end my needs, on the other the dubious wants of a friend who has also felt the weight of depression.  

I thought to myself “what type of s*** is this?”
But I won that war.

Meanwhile, days have passed and the parade continues.  Stragglers.  Shouldn’t I be happy? Grateful, at least?  But depression and anxiety have made their home: using up the toilet paper and eating all the food.  I’ve been squeezed out… again.  There’s hardly any room left and now it’s home to work and back again… and back again.  

The moral of this sad and pathetic excuse for a telling is that mental illness on its own is ruinous.  But it is the stigma that tells them to close up their bowels of compassion and redirect blame to us.  It then manipulates us to turn on ourselves.  To give up and retreat. Helplessly choosing suffer alone instead, muted and restrained in the dark.  To slowly deteriorate into obsolescence.  Or to fall into swift tragedy.