Don’t fucking 302 Me.

30. Probably my most difficult year.

Every year has it’s ups and downs, but 30 really put me through the ringer mentally, and some days definitely still suck a lot, but here I am writing again (begrudgingly, thank you autorenew lmao) and trying to pull myself from a sometimes crippling depression. This isn’t a give me sympathy post – I’m good- everyone struggles, just tryin to shed some light.

Depression comes in all forms, so what it looks like for you, may not be how someone else struggles with it. I’ve dealt with this since I was a kid, some days I’m cool, but then there are days were I am just plain old miserable, and barely want to move or function- i’d rather lay in bed and do nothing, feel nothing.

The details don’t really matter at this point, there are a ton of deeply personal things I went through this year, some were reasons I steered clear of writing, while others just left me all over numb.

Right before I turned 30 I think I got a little manic.. no, I mean I definitely did, and I’m not technically bipolar (as far as I know), I think it’s been tucked deeply beneath many years of addiction, or maybe I’m just baseline depressed and then when I’m happy it feels like mania? I don’t fucking know, all I know is I felt on top of the world one day and then boom, I’m on vacation in Florida, everything feels heavy and I can’t stop crying. For no fucking reason. Like the world saw me smile and was like, “lol bitch, you thought.”

It was really bad for a while – I’d have random bouts of tears, sometimes with reason and sometimes completely unprovoked. I am someone who never wants to be seen crying about what matters so I often cry on my way home from work or when I’m alone. I’ve probably filled my car with so many tears it could be like that scene in Alice in wonderland where she’s about to just drown in her tears. (So dramatic).

I cry about a lot, I wonder if I’m enough for Riley, why this person I love is constantly lying to me, I beat myself up – you fucking loser. I cry about not getting into school, idiot, shit thats just out of my control. I cry because I’m being a bitch and I don’t mean to be, or because I’m frustrated, stressed, alone and it feels like no one is fucking listening to me or they’re listening but not hearing me- I could list a million reasons. But it just got to be this overwhelming amount of sadness weighing me down, and right under it, this cute little ball of anger patiently waiting, ready to come out and release hell on earth.

Now, dont get me wrong, I was not holed up in a dark room crying every day, there were days and weeks and months where I felt okay, sometimes even so good that I thought oh hmm this is weird, is this happiness or mania? (Idk still lol) But then there were a handful of weeks where I felt like I was drowning – I’d wake up and there would be this brief moment when I opened my eyes where it felt like I had been underwater for hours and was coming up for a breath of air only to realize as I inhaled, that all the air in the world wouldn’t save me if I couldn’t figure out how to swim.

Basically I woke up and was like, mother fucker I have to do this all over again. And I just really didn’t want to be here, (please put your 302papers away) I don’t mean in a suicidal way, I’ve just always been that way- I get tired of the world and stuff, like it’s too heavy for my soul. At times it feels foreign, like it isn’t where I belong. Is that borderline of me? Oh god. Delete. Delete.

Blah blah blah it goes on for weeks, It was to the point where I had no idea what was wrong with me only that I didn’t feel right. When i had tried everything I could think of, I asked for a psychiatrist recommendation. To preface this, Im very weird about psych meds, I don’t want them unless I absolutely NEED them, 1 because some psychiatrists are med happy and like to just prescribe any new “godsend” pill they’ve gotten from those annoying med sales people, and 2 most of them don’t fucking listen to you. SSRIs even in a very low dose have also had a tendency to make me feel like I just smoked an 8 ball of crack and like I am creepy crawling through my own skin. So whoopty doo, I go to my appointment and my new psychiatrist, after listening to my concerns ever so carefully, still prescribed an ssri and despite not being an active heroin user, also tried to prescribe me the wonder drug vivitrol. WUT. Bye bitch.

Kidding.

I decided that I am NOT a doctor which is something I’ve heard all my life- but sorry bro’s and hoes, I know my body best. So against my better judgment, I decided that instead of waiting a day to take my meds, I should just start them on my birthday. (I am a plethora of great ideas). Giggity goo!!

So.. this is how 30 started. Please know I hate snow.

It snowed. A ton.

All I wanted to do was go to the gym and work out some of my anger, hurt, whatever – that didn’t happen. Meds started to kick in and as the day progressed I could feel my jaw clenching and teeth grinding. I barely wanted to talk, I was riddled with anxiety and sooooo uncomfortable. When I say I felt like I was crawling through my skin- I mean that 1000%. I had some people over for dinner and I honest to god couldn’t wait for them to fucking leave, I didn’t want to interact with anyone, I just wanted to find a way to rip the already absorbed medicine from my stomach and start the day over.

The next day I felt a little better, like bitch that was close, maybe you’re not that bad after all. (Another fine coping skill of mine).

It didn’t get immediately better, I was still being a crazy ass for a few weeks following my med trial. I wish I could tell you how I crawled out of that depression. Or that people were really helpful and noticed when I was struggling. I don’t even remember when things started to feel less heavy or better, only that they eventually did.

The most I know is that some of the healing had to start with me – How can I expect others to help me if I don’t even know what’s wrong. I can’t control everything – you have to let some shit ride. And i had to be cognizant of the fact that not everyone cares about or is bothered by the same things as me, and that I and everyone else (as far as I’m aware) are only human, which some days is hard enough on its own.

So, if you’re struggling, hang in there, reach out, it will get better.

I think good old dumbledorian once said, “happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times if only one remembers to turn on the light. ”

Light it up. Deuces. ✌🏼

One thought on “Don’t fucking 302 Me.

  1. LOL thank you, I needed that. Sometimes being in the middle of a depressive episode and somehow miraculously making it to the other side feels like you’ve just come out of an exhausting psychedelic bad trip – the exhaustion of having to cling on for dear life and still keep going cause you know that THIS WILL END. You are resilient !!!! Also, like you I’ve pondered over the distinction between mania vs. happy a lot 🙂 now I just think f***k it, I’m allowed to feel good, doesn’t mean I’m crazy. It’s ok to feel ok 🙂 xoxoxo hang in there and keep writing !! ❤

    Like

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