I ‘m Trying…

For those of you that live with depression and anxiety you know the fight to live some semblance of a normal life. How hard you fight to just… live. It is soul crushing exhausting. When each breath feel ragged and you can cry for hours with not even a small sense of relief.  When the pain is so great and everything is so bleak and dark the only way out is dying. And again, I’m not going to. I can’t do that to the people that love me. It’s not the legacy I want to leave my kids.  I hate this lot that I have been given. When I am not in a depressive episode I do so well. What happens to my brain between there and here?  Is it the Butterfly Effect?  Is it all the small insignificant changes that in of themselves go unnoticed? Or is it a straw that breaks the camels back? And does it really matter? Actually, it does matter. Because knowing what causes it might be able to ebb the oncoming wave. For a while anyway. 

I just know that I am so very tired.  Each muscle in my body pays the price. My nervous system is on high alert.  The best description of how I feel for sometimes weeks at a time is that feeling when your child goes missing for just a moment and then she is found again hiding behind a rack of clothes. Except I don’t get that feeling of finding what is lost. It’s just this high alert. Heart pounding. A sense of doom. Fear. Panic rising and difficulty breathing. My hands and feet turn to ice.  I get headaches and my entire body is tense for days or weeks at a time.  As I’ve mentioned before, I know how this started. The first 6 years of my life were fight, flight or freeze. But I’m not angry at him anymore.  That book of anger, hurt and resentment has been put on the shelf. Those feelings serve no purpose. But I am still left with a never ending sense of a foreboding. A foreboding that something bad is going to happen to my children, my family. A sense of foreboding that something is going to happen to all of you and the rest of the planet.  And the utter powerlessness of it all. I know this is not normal. I know this because when I am well I see clearly. But right now it is muddled. It’s something I can’t explain. The best explanation is being in the darkest and stormiest of nights out in the ocean and your little raft is being tossed and turned and flipped around. And you know and remember sunny days when all is calm and beautiful. It doesn’t make that storm any easier. 

And so, as I always do in times like these, I will take to my bed. I will go to sleep and get away from this monster for a time.  My purpose for writing this is that maybe one person will read this. Today, tomorrow, next year and feel some sense of connectedness. That he or she is not alone. Because I know I’m not. I’m not alone. 

23 thoughts on “I ‘m Trying…

  1. I’m sure your words are helping people. That feeling of not being the only one is very important. Take care, have a good restorative sleep. -Jenn

  2. I understand pretty much every single word Birdie. I’m thankful that it’s not as heavy on me right now, but I’ve been there and will be there again.

    Thanks for sharing tonight. Much love from me. Xx

  3. Thanks for your words Birdie. I have been there myself and understand completely and it sucks. I hope it passes soon. I wanted to tell you that your bedroom changes are remarkable, really pretty and I know a lot of work. My sister is visiting and it’s been stressful and I haven’t had a chance. I pray you can sink into that pretty bed and find solace under your grandma’s quilt. Love Joanne

  4. I don’t understand but I’m glad you will sleep and I wish for you a lighter heart when you wake, a much better tomorrow💜

  5. Oh birdie, I feel so helpless to do anything. I wish I could change this for you. Again I really hear a lot of ptsd symptoms here. Forgiveness is a huge part of healing and I hear that you have given that and let go….but the scars need tending to Love. Give yourself that gentle care.

  6. Thankyou …I understand completely … Many years of extreme panic attacks (2007) and a feeling of dread often.

  7. You absolutely explained how it feels. And it’s horrible.
    Have you talked to the person you were going to see for awhile? You need some help with this one, Birdie. We ARE here and we do understand but sometimes, you just need some on-the-ground/right-now help.
    You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.

  8. Birdie, you are not alone,. Sometimes all you can do is take to your bed and hope for a good sleep without disturbing dreams. Wishing you rest and peace.

  9. That is darn right you’re not alone.
    I’m not diagnosing or anything like that but so many things you say there remind me of how I felt before I got diagnosed with bi-polar by a psychiatric nurse practitioner, they are the best. Not SW’s or psychiatrist’s . They never helped me.
    The impending doom, the little boat, the tenseness, the crying for days and the cyclical nature of it. That was me, too. We may put those feelings of anger, etc. away, but our body doesn’t. And it doesn’t have to be genetic, often it is caused by past trauma, it can trigger all of it. My med’s changed my life. God knows it is not a cure, but a big, big partner in the managing of this disorder.
    Perhaps you’ve already seen someone about this, but if I were you, I’d try again.
    Just a thought, Birdie, because you are very important to me and so very worthy of having some peace from this.
    Love you.

  10. Nope you most certainly are not alone. I got up today and sat around for awhile and then promptly went back to bed until late in the afternoon. That bone deep tiredness that nothing can shake makes life so hard.

  11. I’m sorry you have to go through this, Birdie.

    PS: I’m leaving this comment from the tablet. The other one from the computer. Trying to see if it makes a difference because my comments just aren’t getting through.

  12. Interestning. On the tablet, it readys that my comment is awaiting moderation but when I post from the desk top, I don’t see this. Be curious to see if the desk top one makes it through.

  13. You put those feelings into words so well Birdie. That feeling of losing your child, yes, it’s just like that. Sheer horror and panic then exhaustion or numbing. You’re not alone and thank you for being here and giving a voice to so many who cannot find the words to explain or to understand.

Comments are closed.