I’m not a good person when I’m seriously depressed. I’m not good with myself and I’m not good with other people.
Perhaps it’s because you can’t give what you don’t have?
If you can’t give yourself love, respect, and acceptance; if you can’t give yourself empathy, caring, and understanding, you won’t be giving it to other people. At least not consistently.
Even if you think you are. The feelings you’re having bleed through onto other people.
I always think I’m doing a good job of faking it. I always think I’m being an excellent citizen, effects of depression notwithstanding. I may be beating myself up but I’m sure I’m treating the rest of the world like I was the reincarnated Buddha. And if not quite that well, I’m at least sure I’m mostly nice.
Reality would beg to differ. So would the people I’ve spent time with.
My behaviour has not been stellar of late. I’m short. I’m abrupt and impatient. I’m a little bit mean with my humour. I’m judgmental.
I’ve been stuck here in the pit for a bit. I was hoping for transitory but that didn’t happen. I’m tired now. And tired means moving into angry. At least for brief moments when apathy and self-pity aren’t holding sway. Suppression takes a fair bit of energy and it gets harder to maintain the longer the depression endures.
I have difficulty prioritizing when I’m like this. My head treats every thought and feeling as though they’re of equal weight and importance. Decision making becomes so difficult.
Should I spend time with my son or tidy the shelves in my room? Should I spend time with my friends working on my friendships, or organize the files on my computer? Can I just say to hell with it all and stay in bed?
And let’s not even talk about personal care decisions. At least I’m drinking lots of water.
I think about being a better person and throwing off the depression-shackles but I feel fat and worthless, so what’s the point? The eating disorder likes it when I’m depressed. I get distracted and she finds a crack and starts pushing her agenda. Apparently, we need to lose weight and tone up. We’re getting quite disgusting.
I am, perhaps, having a bad day and overdramatizing a tad. Yes, my neuroses make me a bit selfish and a problematic prioritizer. I am not, however, the reincarnation of Genghis Khan or some other equally horrible historic human.
Even if I feel like it.
Even if everyone seems a bit fatigued with my depression. Which pisses me off some too, if I’m honest.
I wish there was an app. A prioritizer who could orchestrate a productive and useful plan for each day. Currently, my own devices find me watching far too much in the way of bad television. Although I admit to enjoying Ghosts of Girlfriends Past with Matthew McConaughey, even if it crossed the line into offensive regularly.
I don’t think prioritizing well is an innate human skill. We’re too immediately attracted to the shiny. I’m also willing to do pointless things that don’t move me forward because they keep my brain from spinning violently in my head as my anxiety gets bent out of shape. Depression likes to make everything worse.
The frustrating thing is that when I’m not depressed, I’m a great prioritizer. I make the lists. I collect the checkmarks.
The notebook is so close. All I need to do is step to the left and grab it. Halfway to writing a list.
It might as well be in a different room. I’d say “on the moon” but that felt hyperbolic.
I’m not planning to write down anything that might be useful on the list, anything that might help me shatter depressions hold anyhow. It’s just minutiae that feels like productivity but isn’t. Avoidance is all.