It takes a lot of strength for me to write this. But it's much easier than explaining it to someone face-to-face, because then I don't feel as if I am burdening you with my problems. I do not feel as if I am opening up to you, pouring out my deepest darkest fears, while your thoughts remain caged in, walled behind your own personal barriers. Somehow, this is a safe space - the twilight zone in which neither you nor I can truly exist. But I need to tell this tale - if not for me, for the others who suffer similarly. Fellow depressives, you are not alone.
On Thursday night, I was standing on the platform at Finchley Road tube station, peering over the edge of the platform. I stood near the end, where the train would enter the platform at speed. It seemed so easy to just let go, to take a simple step forward and just jump. Death seemed like life - the only difference being that I would no longer have to bear the pain of the latter. But something did stop me. I believe it was thinking of the poor people who would have to clear up my remains, but honestly, it could have been anything. What I was aware of, however, was that I could not simply carry on.
For the last few weeks, perhaps since the beginning of February, I have seen myself slowly slip away from friends and family. Somehow being the constant event planner was becoming exhausting. And my empty Friday nights and weekends became more frequent. It seems as though everyone is always busy - relationships hogged everyone else's weekends, and spare week nights were by now filled quickly with exhausting work commitments. I started to distance myself from reality, escaping the way I usually do, through: comfort reading Ursula K Le Guin and other authors; watching a load of geeky films; and ultimately, using any opportunity to grasp onto any form of the non-real. I knew I was experiencing a low, but for some reason I was certain it wasn't too bad.
I don't know whether it was my action of not contacting friends, or if it was the lack of contact from friends and family that triggered off my current depressive cycle. Whatever the case, I was disconnected from the network. And I began to feel very very alone. Like someone living in plastic bubble, utterly incapable of feeling anything other than the pain of alienation. And this terrifies me.
My anxieties spread further. I could see the campaigning flaws of the 1960s showing up again in the current activist circles. We have the same arguments, the same flawed tactics, and all in all, everything is still run by a bunch of middle-class white boys who see themselves intellectually liberated from the 'common' person (while also claiming to represent them). I saw the focus of our campaigns moving away from caring about social justice towards intergenerational victimhood. Instead of showing off our strength we were now employing self-pity as our primary campaign tool.
I now wonder if we can change anything at all. If we never learn from our mistakes, will we ever be more just? Can society ever be more than a bunch of baboons trying to vie for power as it were the only banana in the world? And if the world can never change, what would my role be? Where would my purpose lie? The emptiness of everything is overbearing. The pain of nothingness unbearable.
And then there was work. Once again, I feel like I'm failing. Like I can barely hold everything together. And for about a month, I can feel my workplace become more and more tense. Yes, I was more stressed - but I don't do stress when it comes to me fulfilling my responsibilities. But the pressure was external, and for the sake of employment, I will not go into further details. But I did feel like I was failing at everything. And so went away the final straws of my self-esteem.
For me, there are few things I want from life: adventure, warmth/love (stability?) and meaning. And on Thursday night, all of those things seemed impossible. I was exhausted and feeling like a failure. I felt friendless and alone. And the world had lost meaning. Nothing was left - and me and nothing don't work well together.
I know what Nothing is because I can feel it. It's not just hopelessness, it is a physical illness. I feel deep in sorrow, and even laughing can't help me escape it. I am easily angered. I am exhausted. I cannot concentrate properly. I cry easily. And I feel like I could scream, vomit and tear all my hair out all at the same time.
I don't want to be alone with Nothing again. I need help, but the psychiatrist I turned to is more interested in bankrupting me than helping me out. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) failed me miserably. And I don't know who to turn to for professional advice.
I want to be able to love again. I want to be wanting to hug everyone again. I want to cry and make it all disappear. I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?
Monday, 12 March 2012
On Thursday Night...
On Thursday Night...
It takes a lot of strength for me to write this. But it's much easier than explaining it to someone face-to-face, because then I don't feel as if I am burdening you with my problems. I do not feel as if I am opening up to you, pouring out my deepest darkest fears, while your thoughts remain caged in, walled behind your own personal barriers. Somehow, this is a safe space - the twilight zone in which neither you nor I can truly exist. But I need to tell this tale - if not for me, for the others who suffer similarly. Fellow depressives, you are not alone.
On Thursday night, I was standing on the platform at Finchley Road tube station, peering over the edge of the platform. I stood near the end, where the train would enter the platform at speed. It seemed so easy to just let go, to take a simple step forward and just jump. Death seemed like life - the only difference being that I would no longer have to bear the pain of the latter. But something did stop me. I believe it was thinking of the poor people who would have to clear up my remains, but honestly, it could have been anything. What I was aware of, however, was that I could not simply carry on.
For the last few weeks, perhaps since the beginning of February, I have seen myself slowly slip away from friends and family. Somehow being the constant event planner was becoming exhausting. And my empty Friday nights and weekends became more frequent. It seems as though everyone is always busy - relationships hogged everyone else's weekends, and spare week nights were by now filled quickly with exhausting work commitments. I started to distance myself from reality, escaping the way I usually do, through: comfort reading Ursula K Le Guin and other authors; watching a load of geeky films; and ultimately, using any opportunity to grasp onto any form of the non-real. I knew I was experiencing a low, but for some reason I was certain it wasn't too bad.
I don't know whether it was my action of not contacting friends, or if it was the lack of contact from friends and family that triggered off my current depressive cycle. Whatever the case, I was disconnected from the network. And I began to feel very very alone. Like someone living in plastic bubble, utterly incapable of feeling anything other than the pain of alienation. And this terrifies me.
My anxieties spread further. I could see the campaigning flaws of the 1960s showing up again in the current activist circles. We have the same arguments, the same flawed tactics, and all in all, everything is still run by a bunch of middle-class white boys who see themselves intellectually liberated from the 'common' person (while also claiming to represent them). I saw the focus of our campaigns moving away from caring about social justice towards intergenerational victimhood. Instead of showing off our strength we were now employing self-pity as our primary campaign tool.
I now wonder if we can change anything at all. If we never learn from our mistakes, will we ever be more just? Can society ever be more than a bunch of baboons trying to vie for power as it were the only banana in the world? And if the world can never change, what would my role be? Where would my purpose lie? The emptiness of everything is overbearing. The pain of nothingness unbearable.
And then there was work. Once again, I feel like I'm failing. Like I can barely hold everything together. And for about a month, I can feel my workplace become more and more tense. Yes, I was more stressed - but I don't do stress when it comes to me fulfilling my responsibilities. But the pressure was external, and for the sake of employment, I will not go into further details. But I did feel like I was failing at everything. And so went away the final straws of my self-esteem.
For me, there are few things I want from life: adventure, warmth/love (stability?) and meaning. And on Thursday night, all of those things seemed impossible. I was exhausted and feeling like a failure. I felt friendless and alone. And the world had lost meaning. Nothing was left - and me and nothing don't work well together.
I know what Nothing is because I can feel it. It's not just hopelessness, it is a physical illness. I feel deep in sorrow, and even laughing can't help me escape it. I am easily angered. I am exhausted. I cannot concentrate properly. I cry easily. And I feel like I could scream, vomit and tear all my hair out all at the same time.
I don't want to be alone with Nothing again. I need help, but the psychiatrist I turned to is more interested in bankrupting me than helping me out. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) failed me miserably. And I don't know who to turn to for professional advice.
I want to be able to love again. I want to be wanting to hug everyone again. I want to cry and make it all disappear. I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?
Thursday, 23 February 2012
Happiness: the BIG lie
Has society really ever improved? Is there any way to really make the world a better place? Or is there a hidden balance that makes everyone mostly miserable?
Tell me please: are you happy?
