Notes From The Dark Side of Depression Part II

And then I wonder, how did I get here? It’s easy to slip and fall, but it’s hard to get back up. After weeks, months, years of doing the same thing, why do I suddenly feel awful like this? It’s easy for me to look at my bad habits and blame them for this darkness, but really my bad habits are constants in a cycle ups and downs. I drink too much, and I fuck the wrong people, but those are things that I have been doing consistently for years, and the art of indulgence is something I have mastered gracefully. So even when I put the drinking and fucking on pause in order to reassess my mental health, those two things aren’t what directly trigger this depression but, rather, given the right circumstances, sex and booze can accelerate an already ailing mind. I might stop drinking and fucking for now, but those two things are not gone forever.

Instead, it’s taking an inventory of my personal relationship and what they offer me in terms of positivity that reveals the trigger behind depression. It’s traumatic events, too, but even in the face of trauma, the love and support of people around me help me power through the ups and downs of life. No, instead, it’s the same old thing that always gets me down: the failure of friendship and the failure of love. The failure of the people in my life to show up and give a fuck about me when I need them the most, which, during moments of trauma, is when I need my friends. While I try not air out my dirty laundry too obviously on this blog, suffice it to say that the majority of my friends are incredibly supportive, wonderful people, but the process of analyzing, reassessing and reworking the primary relationships in my life is incredibly painful, especially when that process coincides with coping recent traumatic events. Watching a friendship fail and having one’s support system diminish while simultaneously dealing with immediate threats of violence is incredibly stressful, and this is why I’m depressed.

My mind is clouded with confusion, and I don’t know what to do. It’s hard to write these days. It’s hard to be close to people. I have no desire to fuck people because the disappointment of people is still on my mind. Drinking becomes less pleasurable. I wish that I had something to say that was more uplifting or fulfilling than just a missive on the minutiae of this month’s depressive episode, but I also realize that amidst all this talk of fuckery and indulgence, peeling the curtain back and revealing the pitfalls and downsides of this lifestyle is the honest thing to do. I can’t pretend that being here and living this life is 100% awesome all the time; sure, being a free woman is fucking amazing, but we’re still human, and people still fail. Thanks for taking the time to read about my depression. It’ll go away soon enough. But it’s here for now, and that’s all I have.