This is painfully true.

Sometimes saying I have a headache is simply easier than:

“You know what? I’m not OK. I feel so, so low and nothing is working. I hate myself. I feel stupid, nobody loves me, nobody understands and at this moment in time, it doesn’t feel like anything will ever get better. I feel guilty for feeling like this. I feel so alone.”

Why It’s Easier to Say I Have a ‘Headache’ Than Say I’m Depressed

I’m not a robot. I still experience happiness — but it’s fleeting. I’ll laugh hard over a joke or smile through an entire episode of my favorite show, but as soon as it’s over, I’ll snap right back to my sadness.

It’s like the happy moment never happened at all. Like it was wiped from my brain as soon as it ended.

It’s almost scary when I find others who describe exactly how I feel. When I was in the deepest part of my latest depressive episode, this is exactly how I felt. Especially the snapping back… Except it wasn’t really sadness, it was just nothingness. One second I’d be laughing at my dog being a weirdo, and then it would stop abruptly and I’d immediately be back to feeling nothing.

When You Don’t Have Enough Energy to Hate How Depression Makes You Feel

Just because it looks like I’m always doing well doesn’t mean I am.

I’ve developed a natural defence mechanism (not intentionally, it just happens) where I basically hide everything I truly feel. When it starts spilling out, that’s a good indicator that it’s really bad because probably only 5% of how I REALLY feel actually comes out to see the light of day. The other 95% is boiling inside me, building, creating stress out of nothing and causing so much anguish that I feel like I’m going to burst, but I never do. Instead, it leads to unhealthy coping mechanisms for release. Course when depression leads me to feeling nothing at all, that’s a whole different can of worms.

Having severe depression doesn’t mean I look severe.

Just because I don’t look depressed doesn’t mean I’m not. And just because I, and my life, don’t resemble the idea you have in your head about what “severe depression” must be, doesn’t change the reality of having it.

This is something my counsellor said to me a lot when I was in my deepest depressive state. My life looks good on paper, yet I’m still unhappy.

Pills don’t make me happy, period. No matter how happy I am, it is never because of the medication I take. Medication is a life vest, but I still have to do the swimming. Medication can not make you happy. It simply can’t.

That’s also not at all how antidepressants work. They don’t make you happy. They adjust how the chemicals in your brain work, to ease depressive symptoms and help get you back to, somewhat, “normal.” In truth, a lot of people say they make their emotions feel flat. They help to get you out of the pit of despair but that’s all they do. They can’t create happiness for you out of nothing. They just get you to the point where you’re able to find happiness on your own because when you’re trapped in the blackness of depression, happiness is nowhere to be seen. Not to mention, simply making you happy wouldn’t solve a thing.

19 Problems Only Happy People With Depression Understand

Chester’s suicide has been weighing very heavy on my heart since I heard on Thursday evening. I haven’t been able to go more than 10 minutes without his pain popping into my thoughts. This letter from the band makes it even more difficult to comprehend because he seemed to be in a good place leading up to this.

Linkin Park is one of my favourite bands, and Chester had one of the most incredible voices out there. I’ve always felt a deep connection to their lyrics and I learned recently that Chester’s depression effected him in a very similar way mine effects me. The most dangerous place to be is inside our own heads. Having been very suicidal just a few days before this happened (moreso than my normal passive suicidal thoughts) I can’t help but wonder if that’s what ultimately took his life, being stuck in his own mind for too long during a time that was very difficult but he never expressed it outwardly. When I’m really struggling, I know I don’t show it. I don’t intentionally try to hide it, it’s just a natural defense mechanism, combined with growing up being taught to keep my feelings to myself.

Linkin Park’s original Instagram post…
My repost…

Video: Chester Bennington's cry for HELP! Linkin Park | Waking Up Dad

Today was hard.

I struggled to keep myself from crying at work. I couldn’t think. I don’t feel like I accomplished anything. Course, that’s how I’ve been feeling nearly every day for the past several months. Today was particularly difficult. We had a developer meeting, going over details of a new feature of our software, and I had a very hard time sitting still (course my ADHD doesn’t help, but when my depression is also bad, nothing helps) and I found myself trying to catch up several times because I zoned out and then suddenly something specific was being discussed and I missed the beginning and felt lost.

I had a follow-up (which is basically the only kind of appointment I ever have because my depression is not going away) with my doctor this morning. I had a hard time telling him how I was feeling. I don’t think the depth of my depression right now came across properly. It never does. Course I did finally tell him, not at my last appointment, but the one before, that I’m not good at saying how bad it really is. He remembered last time because he did bring it up. I’m not sure if he thought of that this time though. I didn’t tell him everything that was going on. I always chicken out or can’t find the right words. That’s a whole other story that I need to properly write about, but I can’t seem to concentrate long enough to actually do it.

I just watched this video and I started crying all over again. I related to this so much. I’ve always felt like I’m worse when I’m alone. I am not nice to myself. When I am around other people, it’s pretty easy for me to be present, in the moment, most of the time (when things are particularly bad, like right now, it’s not so easy at all) but then when I’m alone, it’s like the entire world is crashing down on me. He describes it so well.

Side note: I’m not sure why the uploader of this video titled it as being a cry for help, because that’s not at all how it comes across. It simply sounds, to me anyway, like he’s describing his depression. Either way, it’s a good video.

💔

Around the time I kind of, unintentionally, stopped posting on here, this happened, and it hit me really hard. A lot harder than I expected.

What We’re Reminded of After Amy Bleuel’s Passing

Why Amy Bleuel’s Death Does Not Invalidate Her Message

When I first heard about Amy’s passing, wasn’t able to find the right words to express how I feel about it. I still haven’t. I probably never will.

I’m still in the middle of my own battle. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wanted to give up. I’ve lost count of how many times I came right up to the edge. The fact I’m still here is not a feat of strength, by any means. In all honesty, fear is the only thing that has prevented me from stepping off the edge and completely giving up on life. Fear is the reason I’m still here. Fear of failure. Fear of missing out of the things I used to dream about. Problem is, the longer I keep going, the further away those dreams seem to be, they feel less achievable than they used to be.

The fact that Amy wasn’t able to hold on, especially after all the work she’s done for the mental health community is absolutely heart breaking, especially as someone who has come so close myself. To be honest, I’m still having a difficult time even comprehending it, even though I didn’t know her. It certainly doesn’t invalidate her message. It’s more a reminder of the fact that this stuff, this pain, the struggle, it doesn’t just go away. Even when someone looks fine on the outside, it doesn’t mean they are.

Even though we may be mental health activists, even though we put our stories out there hoping to inspire other, even though we are comforted by being a part of a community where we share common struggles, we are still battling.

I don’t want to to be here.

I want it to end.

I don’t want to kill myself. I don’t really want to die. I just don’t want to exist.

I’m so sick of feeling like shit all the time. I hate feeling like a failure at life, like I’ve never accomplished anything.

Whenever I feel like I’m making progress, something happens that sets me back and feels like the world is crashing down around me.

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I just wanted to write a quick post because I can’t properly explain myself on Twitter. As much as I want to, I will more than likely not be staying up all night tonight.

I didn’t push my fundraising for One Brave Night this year as much as I did last year, mainly because the last couple weeks have been really difficult.

As I’ve written on here before, the past few months haven’t been easy. I’ve gone through what has been the most severe depressive episode I have ever experienced. It came on gradually, starting some time in May or June. I didn’t realize it was happening until sometime in July. I initially thought it was just a bit of a down period, which is totally normal, but it just kept getting worse, peaking in September.

While things have started getting better over the past few months, I’m still struggling, especially with my motivation and energy.

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You may not remember this. It was probably an insignificant interaction from your perspective, but I remember it like it was yesterday and I’ll probably never forget it. We no longer work together and because of the horrible place I was falling into, I was never able to properly thank you for what you did that day.

I don’t remember specifically what day, or month for that matter, this happened, I just remember that I was having a bad morning. I don’t remember all the details of what led up to this, but I am sure I cried heavily in the shower while getting ready for work.

As I walked the short distance from my car to our office building, I was dreading going to work. I wanted more than to call in sick and go home and cry. Not for any particular reason. My body just wanted to cry.

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I know I’m going to feel really guilty if I let #BellLetsTalk day go by without actually talking about my current state of mental health.

Last year, I had no problem being open about my experiences and where I was at because, this time last year, I was feeling pretty okay. I wasn’t great. I’m not really even sure what great feels like. Although, in comparison to whew I am now, I was pretty close to good, of not great.

That’s kind of a errors way to say it I guess, but this time last year, I was writing lots about how I watched feeling and it came pretty easily. Right now, in this particular moment, it is not easy. Not even a little bit.

Back in about May or June of 2016, something changed. It happened so gradually though that I didn’t realize it was happening until sometime in July. I kept thinking, oh, its just one of those down periods they always say happens, even after you’ve been on antidepressants for a whole. It’ll pass. I’d had days where that was totally the case and it always did pass. But this time it didn’t.

This time, there was no trigger. This time, nothing I did could bring me joy. This time, I find myself not having emotional reactions to anything. This time, I was legitimately scared that I really might try to kill myself because I didn’t feel like there was anything to live for. I was a failure at everything I touched. I began driving recklessly because I literally didn’t give a shit about my life anymore, and I secretly hoped singing bad would happen, but I couldn’t bring myself to cause it intentionally.

The peak hit in September, the night before World Suicide Prevention Day. I began actually believing there was no way out and I need to go to the hospital. But I still had trouble admitting it to myself, let alone to anyone else, to asking my parents took take care of my dog so I could check in to treatment somewhere was out of the question.

Thankfully I trust my doctor enough that I tried to get in to see him right away. I had to wait because he was on vacation. That was probably the first two weeks of my life, doing to get in to work and stay focused and pretend like nothing was wrong.

A few months and several medication changes later, I am feeling a lot better, but still not where I was this time last year. I’m still finding my emotions are very numbed out, but some of the things that normally bring me joy are beginning to feel good again. Not every day, but most days. Yesterday actually happened to be a pretty decent day. But today I feel like shit again. I’m not suicidal like I was s few months ago, but I still find myself wishing, sometimes, that I could just die so I wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore, but I’m thinking significantly less often about different ways to kill myself. So there’s that.

I still feel hopeless most days but not too the extreme that I had been.

My doctor and I are currently exploring the idea that I might had Attention Deficit Disorder. We bit 190% sure yet, but I’ve been taking s stimulant for over a week now and have experienced significant improvement in my choice function and my ability to stay focused at work. Only problem is, he started me of on a low dose, short acting drug that wears off after 5 hours. But if it helps, he’ll give me a longer lasting one.

Anyway, I’m literally falling asleep on my phone right now and sooner or later there’s going to be a bunch of randon characters across the screen and I don’t think I want that since this post is probably already horribly written because I’m struggling so hard to form my thoughts into different sentences, on top of dosing of every few seconds.

Maybe I’ll add to and edit this post later when I’m more awake. I guess that’s all for now.

What we already feel in the midst of an anxiety attack is a loss of control of our emotions, our thoughts, our being. Every word that wants to come out cyclones into a monstrous torrent of incoherent thoughts. Only a few words ring clear through that garbled mess, and for me, they’re not pretty. Dramatic, stupid, monster, b*itch. Those are the only words I can make out when an attack comes on me.

It is not an understatement for me to say in those moments when my mind shuts down and my emotions break loose that I genuinely feel like I’d rather die than for the person on the receiving end of this meltdown to see me like this.

The other element to my panic is imagining situations that aren’t real. I mean, that is usually what causes the outburst in the first place, am I right fellow anxious friends? For me it is an imagined situation where I have disappointed someone again, and I am getting ready to receive an onslaught of hateful speech from a loved one for how insignificant I am and how I just can’t get anything right. They don’t love me anymore so what the heck, just leave already.

I did not wake up asking the universe to flip on its axis and catapult an ocean of emotions down my throat. I too am trying to figure out how to understand what is happening.

So what do you say to your loved one with anxiety when they scream, “I can’t take this anymore!” A hug. The best thing you can do is hold them in a tight embrace and say, “Everything is going to be OK. I am here for you. We will get through this.” Because really, the reason all of this is happening is because your loved one is feeling immense pressure to measure up. Whether it be your standards or ones they have placed upon themselves (usually the latter), all they need to hear from you is that they do measure up, there is nothing to worry about, and things are going to be just fine.

Read the full article: The One Word Your Partner With Anxiety Doesn’t Need to Hear by Sarah Wallace, Contributor, on The Mighty


This is something I can definitely relate to.

Growing up, I had meltdowns exactly like this at least once a week. They were less frequent during the summer, but during the school year it happened all the time. Thankfully, it was usually only at home and my parents, usually my dad, were on the other side of it. Because at that time we didn’t know I had anxiety, it was usually made worse by my dad’s agitated, angry response to my irrational thought processes.

The good news is, now that I know this is caused by my anxiety and depression, I am usually able to feel when it’s coming and can work my way out of it. Sometimes it does still get the better of me, but most of the time I can take control of it.

The socially acceptable thing to say right now is “Happy New Year,” but I can’t say it and feel like I mean it.

My depression is still actively numbing my emotions and causing anhedonia. It doesn’t matter how many things I try to do that normally cause me pleasure or joy. I’m still lacking motivation for literally everything, unable to follow a normal sleep schedule, easily overwhelmed, and I have no energy.

Scrolling through Facebook yesterday was stressful, seeing all these positive posts of peoples’ wishes for 2017, and all I could think was, how the hell are you people so excited for the new year? I honestly couldn’t care less.

I’m not a big fan of the holidays to begin with. Probably because there’s so much pressure to be positive, happy and hopeful, and I’ve never really been able to feel the “appropriate” feelings about the holidays. That certainly contributes to my general displeasure with Christmas and New Years, however that’s not really what the problem was this year.

Even spending the evening on Christmas day with several members of my family from my dad’s side, with all the goofing around and games and everything, I was unable to truly feel the emotions that fit the situation. I was able to laugh, as a result of my body’s reflex to some of the things that were going on, but I really didn’t feel it. I just wanted to go alone into a quiet room and lie on the floor alone.

In a way, that’s kind of how it actually felt. You know when there’s stuff going on in a house, but you’re in another room with the door closed and you can only hear the voices and laughs muffled through the door or the vent in the room, but you can’t really make out what’s being said, the context of the laughter. It’s sort of like you’re numbed to what’s going on elsewhere in the house. That’s exactly how I felt, even though I was in fact in the room with everyone the entire time, sometimes only inches away from the laughter, yet I couldn’t feel that joy that everyone else was experiencing.

Anyways, I guess I’m really only writing because I feel like I need to acknowledge the holidays, but I can only be honest about how I’m feeling. I can’t write positive things when I can’t feel them. I’m not trying to be negative, I’m simply incapable of feeling positive right now.