I saw a post on Twitter today that said something about having no motivation because you’re depressed and being depressed because you have no motivation is one vicious, fucked up cycle. And they’re not lying.

One thing I have noticed about living with depression for over half my life, is that it changes and adapts. Just like a virus. My depression now is not what it was like 15 years ago, or even 20 years ago. I have gone through phases of being suicidal, self mutilating, and complete apathy towards everything. When I was a teenager and in my early 20’s, it manifested into this demon I carried around all the time; just because I was having a good day, didn’t mean he wasn’t there, whispering insecurities into my ear and making me second guess anything good that ever happened. He was always a genius at making situations 1000% times worse in my mind than they actually were in real life. I was a puppet of my own overthinking and irrational emotions.

Depression is like dropping a pebble into a body of water; it creates a ripple effect. Parts previously undisturbed now notice a disturbance in the normal day-to-day pattern. There were days my depression flapped it’s wings frantically like a butterfly and the tsunami was felt in my own home – for days afterward. At one point, I gave up entirely trying to do anything about it and just accepted that is who I was going to be the rest of my life; a sad, angry, shell of a human and I was blaming everyone around me but never really looking at myself. It was everyone else’s fault. If they had just loved me the way I wanted to spoke to me the way I wanted, none of it would have ever happened. I in no way took responsibility for any of my actions. Any time I lashed out, I would blame the depression. Depression made me do it. Depression made me slam the door so hard I broke the frame, depression made me try to punch out a car window with my bare fists, depression made me do things which I saw as an outlet for my anger and my Husband’s Friends & Family saw as embarrassing, pathetic, or just plain sad.

Sad was the worst. Someone can call your actions outrageous, immature, over the top or even a bit crazy – but once you hear someone call you sad, it’s like pouring epoxy over something that is already glued to the ground. It’s a slow torture. You hear it over and over again in your head. You start to believe them, you start to hate your own reflection. Any time you make a mistake, it doesn’t matter who is there to scold you because you’ve already told yourself how worthless you are, their words don’t even matter at that point.

In the words of Elizabeth Wurtzel; “Depression is about as close as you get to somewhere between dead and alive, and it’s the worst.”

One day, I’m not exactly sure what happened, I was so over being exhausted all the time, depressed all the time, and the thoughts of suicide were starting to drive me slightly insane. Literally. I remember staring at myself in the mirror for a long time, sitting on my floor, tears streaming down my face and absolutely loathing what a pitiful mess I was. I remember thinking; what is the point of living if I just want to die every day? Then, I remembered what someone said to me a long time ago. Someone who, for the sake of putting it mildly, killed himself with addiction. We had just recently lost a friend to suicide, and one day he said to me “suicide doesn’t get rid of the sadness, it just helps it grow and spread to more people.” Just. Like. A. Virus. It broke my heart to think about my friends, my family, my mother, and my husband, and how devastated they would be. I thought about how that kind of pain doesn’t ever leave – obviously – and what kind of person would I be to do that to them. To turn their lives upside down, to possibly ruin any chance they ever have at truly being happy again because someone they loved so much took their own life. I thought about the friends I’ve had that have done it, I think about the friends I have whom were told that if they didn’t kick whatever addiction it was ailing them, that it would kill them, and I’ve watched those friends basically slowly kill themselves because they wouldn’t – or couldn’t – quit. I thought about all the questions it makes those who loved you ask, and how they will never get any of those answers. How utterly devastating that is.

So, I let the only other part of me that has a personality all it’s own take over; my anger. But instead of getting mad at others, I would get mad at my depression. To be fair, I would still get mad at others, especially if I was managing to have a good day and they threw unnecessary drama my way and threw me off track. I would get mad because it was effort to not let the depression take over. It was effort to be normal, and control my impulses when I was having a bad day. And just because I was having a good – or “normal” – day, did NOT mean that I thought like you or that the depression was just gone! No! Just like an addict, depression is something that will tend to stick around long after the catastrophic explosions of anger & sadness. It’s something I have to actively work on. I have to honestly ask myself “what is crying over this, throwing a fit, or being self destructive going to accomplish? Anything?” I have to think twice, about almost everything.

Not to say I have it 100% under control. That is far from it. I still “relapse” if you will, into my depression from time to time. I’m just better now at seeing the triggers. Unfortunately having anxiety doesn’t help the situation. Depression is always tagging along right behind anxiety, almost like that annoying younger sibling that you could never go anywhere without. Sometimes, the anxiety makes me miss the depression. At least with depression I could sleep. If I’m anxious and can feel my heartbeat in every part of my body and have to remind myself to breath (I have the habit of holding my breath when I’m anxious without really knowing I’m doing it until I feel like I’m going to pass out) then there’s no way I’m getting any sleep. Which means I’m awake. Excruciatingly. And aware of every detail. Which makes me overthink, which in turn speeds up the cycle.

With the anxiety comes an intense fear. I used to think anxiety was just something in people’s heads, just some excuse they used. But a little over four years ago I had an anxiety attack that put me in an ambulance and the E.R. I was absolutely fucking terrified. I thought I was going to die. I remember the panicked look on my husband’s face, the tears in his eyes, and the panic in his voice as he was yelling at the 911-dispatcher to get an ambulance to the house as soon as possible! So now, even though I had 3 doctors and 4 paramedics tell me that literally all they could do for me was tell me to breathe and calm down, I am terrified any day I have anxiety bad enough to make me shake. I get afraid to be home alone because what if it happens again? Will I be able to call 911? Because I couldn’t talk, let alone breathe or even move parts of my body! So along with reminding myself to breathe, I have to remind myself; slow breaths, deep breaths, calm down. Needless to say, that just escalates the situation.

It was bad enough yesterday I took a half of a pill for it. I haven’t taken pills in years, for good reason.

Now, the anxiety I am still learning to deal with and live with. I have two shoulders so I guess I had room for one more invisible passenger that only I could feel and hear. However, I am realizing now that the depression that follows, unpacks, and stays for a few days after is…. different. Some days I can manage to ignore it, or just accept it and carry on. Other days, it sinks it’s claws into the back of my head and won’t let go until I’ve yelled and cried and let it all out without ever wanting to. I’m it’s puppet, again. And, if I don’t wake up soon enough and realize it’s happening, I’ll just sink further into the quicksand that is my own emotional mess and it takes days if not weeks for me to climb my way out of it. But just like quicksand, I can’t fight the depression too eagerly, or I’ll just sink faster.

Days like today leave me sitting, nestled in between Depression and Anxiety, drifting somewhere in the middle and walking a very thin line towards the light at the end of the tunnel that my vision has turned into. Days like this I’m quiet, inside my own head, trying to forget but at the same time recounting every action and thought for the last 48 hours. Days like this, I’m tired. Exhausted. I welcome sleep with open arms and hope that I’m not spending hours staring at the ceiling fan in my bedroom.

I’m not exactly sure what my goal was in writing this. I think I just needed an outlet, and to kill some time so I would stop watching the clock. The one thing we all have to remember about depression is, we’re not alone. If anything, I hope that me being able to express how I’m feeling here has helped someone else realize they are not alone.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline ‘1-800-273 TALK (8255)’ or text TALK to 741741 at the Crisis Text Line.