Comes With Sprinkles

Because everything is better with sprinkles

Big Girls DO Cry

on January 7, 2012

I’ve had this post sitting in my head for weeks and weeks. Then The Bloggess wrote about her very intimate struggle with depression over here and the burning need to get some of this off of my chest intensified. Then one of my very best girlfriends sent me a very sweet and concerned text message- afraid that I was back to self-harming.

Yes, I said back.

My struggle with depression isn’t something that I talk about a lot. If it comes out, it’s usually because it’s kicking my ass and I have to let it out in short little spurts of “I hurt!” and that’s all that I can handle. I don’t share well, much to my friend’s and my husband’s chagrin.

Depression for me isn’t necessarily being mopey all the time. I can switch on and off in a flash. Usually from on to off – the pepping up can take longer. Yeah, I can be sad, but I don’t show it in public. I don’t cry in front of my friends or my family. When Ana turned two, my parents had told me that they couldn’t make it to her birthday party and I was devastated, not that I’d let that show. When they surprised me by driving across two states and a border to show up announced to everybody but me, I cried and another one of my very best friends actually commented on the occasion, it was so rare. And we’ve been friends for fifteen years.

No, depression to me is self-loathing. It’s being so consumed with self-hatred and disgust with myself that I can’t think of anything else. It’s of wanting to curl up into a ball in my bed and moan because I will never amount to anything. It’s looking in the mirror and seeing rolls, or seeing the number on the scale, and wanting to smash the mirror with my fist so I never have to look at myself again. It’s looking at the clock and realizing it’s way past my bedtime and another day has passed where I have accomplished absolutely nothing.

It’s writing ten pages in my journal of slanty messy writing, documenting every failure in recent memory – and not being able to recall any successes. It’s sitting on the computer looking at my bank account on payday and wondering when I will EVER be able to not have to worry about how I’m going to pay all the bills.

Depression, to me, is a hatred so deep so that in my past I hurt myself. That in my past I almost put myself out with Ibuprofen capsules. It’s driving down the road and wishing I had the courage to swerve off the road and into oblivion. It’s sinking into myself and not knowing how to pull myself out.

I’m not really okay right now. I am hurting and I am hating and I’m not really sure what to do about it. This is probably the most that I’ve ever talked about it and these are only a few brief paragraphs that can’t even begin to delve into this. This isn’t a suicide note or even close. I’m not harming again. I won’t drive off the road. I value my daughter and my husband too much for that.

I just… hurt. And wish I was someone else.


3 responses to “Big Girls DO Cry

  1. Megs says:

    I love you. And that is all. I just love YOU. I hope you hear that, and know that I am not the only one. I love you because you’re you.

    And I am SO proud of you for posting this.

    You WILL make it through, and I will be by your side every single step of the way.

    And NOTHING will change my love for you, or my vision of you. ❤

  2. I’m going to echo Megs in saying that the beautiful thing about you is….you. We became friends because of what you are, not what you might be, or wish you were. I adore all bits that you are right now. That’s not to say that if you get opportunity to change or do something else or whatever that I’m outta here, either. 🙂 No, rather, it’s your foundation — your essence, your inner heart — that we love and adore and are eternally grateful to have exposure to.

    Every post, every tweet, every message from you just confirms the fact that I always want to know you better and how much I appreciate what you are and who you are. I know that sounds like I’m blowing sunshine up your ass, but it’s not. Posts like the above simply confirm that you harbor the same sort of fears and concerns and hatreds and ills that so many people do, and you’re brave enough to write them out rather than just carry them along and hope for the best.

    I hope for you relief, solutions, a door in the darkness to lead you out. If I can ever, ever help with any of that, you’d better find me and quick, eh? 🙂

    Strength. Hope. Love. Acceptance. These I send to you, though the distance is long.

  3. thebloggess says:

    Sending you such love.

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