So true, I know my friends really care but when I actually try to talk to them about it they don’t want to hear it. Maybe they don’t understand and get uncomfortable because they don’t know how to reply to what I say? I don’t know, so that’s why I dont bring it up anymore.
What can you tell someone you care about. Oh every thing is the matter, I exist and that’s a problem in itself. And make their love and care feel inadequate?
I opened up once to a longtime close friend (10+ years) and finally told him more details about how despondent I always was, about what it was really like to want to die all the time. But instead of being supportive, (and despite my warning him that it was intense and him saying it was okay to tell him anyway), he got angry, YELLED at me for scaring him, and I ended up crying and apologizing. He said straight up that he never wants to hear me say anything like it again. I even had to lie and say I’d never THINK that way again just so that he wouldn’t stop talking to me or drop me as a friend. At the time I didn’t think it was an abusive thing or intended that way on his part – just him not thinking about what he was really asking for…but now that I look back at it, it was kind of fucked up how he handled me extending that trust to him.
The worst part (or maybe for the best) is that it taught me to never again take friends or family (or anyone) seriously when they say they want to hear what it’s REALLY like. They can’t handle it. Ever. Even if they say they won’t judge you. Even if they seem like the steeled, emotionally sturdy, seen-it-all-so-whats-one-more-bad-thing type, like my friend. If you let them see a glimpse into the landscape of your mind, it WILL rattle them, and if you’re lucky they won’t run away screaming from the get-go.
Heck, thanks to literal laws, I can’t even say how I really feel to my therapist, because she’d be obligated to commit me just for using certain words, whether or not I’m an actual risk, just to keep her own license.
The reality of the chronically depressed is like having a door slammed in your face at every turn. And people think they’re being kind when they beckon you to a doorway, but then slam it in your face themselves when you get too close – which of course makes it even worse. 🙁
Once in a blue moon I’ll be able to have a no-holds-barred morbid conversation with another depressed friend, where we don’t jump at each others’ “I wanna die” comments (and other gruesome but serious topics). It’s a bit of a fresh approach to things, despite how messed up we’d sound to anyone eavesdropping. But the relief is fleeting, as always.
I wish there was some real way to express it while alone. Writing and art don’t quite open the tap even halfway for me, though god knows I’ve tried. And either way, most of the time I’m afraid to let it out creatively in the first place, because I KNOW what comes out is just going to make me feel worse. The art/writing itself becomes a liable proof of how fucked up I am, and because it’s real I can’t stamp it safely back down in my thoughts. It spirals from there into an endless series of “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t” hypothetical scenarios, which usually culminate in an anxiety attack or mental crash of some kind.
A support group can be helpful for many people. After decades of hiding my illness from others and hiding from it myself I finally went to a support group at the encouragement of my sister. It took an enormous weight off to be able to talk openly about what is going on in my head with other people who really understood what I was going through. Nothing you say about your feelings is at all shocking or disturbing because they have felt the same. Sometimes they have practical advice on what has helped them, and sometimes it is just someone willing to listen without judgement and tell you they understand because they have been there too, or they are still there and are struggling right there with you.
I don’t know where you are, but here in the U.S. we have NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) that has local chapters that run support groups. I am sure there is something similar in many other countries. If you try it and decide it isn’t for you, the only thing you lose is a couple hours of your time. Also, in my experience, just the act of actively seeking help is helpful.
being an introvert and under chronic depression it’s both a bliss and a curse … i do not really talk much with anyone and it bring me a little relief i hate to talk and i like more to write and read, and that in itself helps me to keep the hell i’m living within myself without the need to make others suffer with me … after all they are too good to be cursed by the same curse i carry with me ….. being alive.
Or when you do try and talk, no one gets it. At all.
So true, I know my friends really care but when I actually try to talk to them about it they don’t want to hear it. Maybe they don’t understand and get uncomfortable because they don’t know how to reply to what I say? I don’t know, so that’s why I dont bring it up anymore.
@rexxwolfe http://t.co/LPWGEVfjEk THIS 1000 x THIS! :3
What can you tell someone you care about. Oh every thing is the matter, I exist and that’s a problem in itself. And make their love and care feel inadequate?
I told people I thought were my friends…they instantly kicked me out of their lives and tried to get my boyfriend to leave me. Classy.
This is me! I’ve been wanting to talk desperately but I physically cannot produce the words.
I opened up once to a longtime close friend (10+ years) and finally told him more details about how despondent I always was, about what it was really like to want to die all the time. But instead of being supportive, (and despite my warning him that it was intense and him saying it was okay to tell him anyway), he got angry, YELLED at me for scaring him, and I ended up crying and apologizing. He said straight up that he never wants to hear me say anything like it again. I even had to lie and say I’d never THINK that way again just so that he wouldn’t stop talking to me or drop me as a friend. At the time I didn’t think it was an abusive thing or intended that way on his part – just him not thinking about what he was really asking for…but now that I look back at it, it was kind of fucked up how he handled me extending that trust to him.
The worst part (or maybe for the best) is that it taught me to never again take friends or family (or anyone) seriously when they say they want to hear what it’s REALLY like. They can’t handle it. Ever. Even if they say they won’t judge you. Even if they seem like the steeled, emotionally sturdy, seen-it-all-so-whats-one-more-bad-thing type, like my friend. If you let them see a glimpse into the landscape of your mind, it WILL rattle them, and if you’re lucky they won’t run away screaming from the get-go.
Heck, thanks to literal laws, I can’t even say how I really feel to my therapist, because she’d be obligated to commit me just for using certain words, whether or not I’m an actual risk, just to keep her own license.
The reality of the chronically depressed is like having a door slammed in your face at every turn. And people think they’re being kind when they beckon you to a doorway, but then slam it in your face themselves when you get too close – which of course makes it even worse. 🙁
This is very true. One of the things I learned early was too shut up about how I feel. And it makes you feel even more fucked up and abnormal.
Once in a blue moon I’ll be able to have a no-holds-barred morbid conversation with another depressed friend, where we don’t jump at each others’ “I wanna die” comments (and other gruesome but serious topics). It’s a bit of a fresh approach to things, despite how messed up we’d sound to anyone eavesdropping. But the relief is fleeting, as always.
I wish there was some real way to express it while alone. Writing and art don’t quite open the tap even halfway for me, though god knows I’ve tried. And either way, most of the time I’m afraid to let it out creatively in the first place, because I KNOW what comes out is just going to make me feel worse. The art/writing itself becomes a liable proof of how fucked up I am, and because it’s real I can’t stamp it safely back down in my thoughts. It spirals from there into an endless series of “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t” hypothetical scenarios, which usually culminate in an anxiety attack or mental crash of some kind.
A support group can be helpful for many people. After decades of hiding my illness from others and hiding from it myself I finally went to a support group at the encouragement of my sister. It took an enormous weight off to be able to talk openly about what is going on in my head with other people who really understood what I was going through. Nothing you say about your feelings is at all shocking or disturbing because they have felt the same. Sometimes they have practical advice on what has helped them, and sometimes it is just someone willing to listen without judgement and tell you they understand because they have been there too, or they are still there and are struggling right there with you.
I don’t know where you are, but here in the U.S. we have NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) that has local chapters that run support groups. I am sure there is something similar in many other countries. If you try it and decide it isn’t for you, the only thing you lose is a couple hours of your time. Also, in my experience, just the act of actively seeking help is helpful.
How are these comics so damn relatable?
I have depression :/
being an introvert and under chronic depression it’s both a bliss and a curse …
i do not really talk much with anyone and it bring me a little relief i hate to talk and i like more to write and read,
and that in itself helps me to keep the hell i’m living within myself without the need to make others suffer with me …
after all they are too good to be cursed by the same curse i carry with me ….. being alive.