once again.
Jan. 29th, 2002 12:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
like_a_clownI often censor myself on here, but I won't this time. I'm gonna be more blunt than I usually am. I know that some of you reading this don't know me as well as some others; if you don't want to read about my emotional state, that's cool, stop now.
Now then.
I'm fucking depressed. I mean that in the clinical, real sense of the word. I keep wanting to qualify that statement, and say "Oh, it's not that bad, though; I'm functional!" Which I am, mostly. And yes, there are doubtlessly legions of people out there who are having a tougher time holding it together than I am. It's hard for me to acknowledge this, though, without attempting to "downgrade my struggle." I keep wanting to just tell myself to suck it up, be a man, get up and go to fucking work.
But it just doesn't work like that. I can get up and go to work, and all that'll happen is that I'll obsess over thoroughly distasteful and painful stuff there. And the stubborn, independent streak in me says "so just don't think about what you don't want to think about!" so I distract myself by disappearing into books, or by partying, or by dropping in on friends. but emotions aren't entirely dependent on thoughts, and I can't control my thoughts a hundred percent of the time anyway. end result: I feel like shit and I need to figure out how to feel decent in a more permanent and fundamental sense than escapist band-aid fixes can afford me.
I spoke with a friend earlier tonight with the express purpose of voicing these sentiments. She told me that it had occurred to her, and that the reason that she hadn't brought it up was not because she hadn't thought about it or didn't care, but that she didn't think I was comfy talking about it. It surprised her that I called her with this disclosure. and she said she'd thought for a while that I should seek therapy.
depression is an illness, like diabetes or gangrene or something. in the brain, there are actual physical phenomena that correspond to the symptoms depressive people show--symptoms which I experience too regularly. and if you don't treat it, it gets a greater foothold. I'd say twenty-two years is a pretty fucking good foothold.
I think I'm going to take my friend's advice. can't hurt.
Now then.
I'm fucking depressed. I mean that in the clinical, real sense of the word. I keep wanting to qualify that statement, and say "Oh, it's not that bad, though; I'm functional!" Which I am, mostly. And yes, there are doubtlessly legions of people out there who are having a tougher time holding it together than I am. It's hard for me to acknowledge this, though, without attempting to "downgrade my struggle." I keep wanting to just tell myself to suck it up, be a man, get up and go to fucking work.
But it just doesn't work like that. I can get up and go to work, and all that'll happen is that I'll obsess over thoroughly distasteful and painful stuff there. And the stubborn, independent streak in me says "so just don't think about what you don't want to think about!" so I distract myself by disappearing into books, or by partying, or by dropping in on friends. but emotions aren't entirely dependent on thoughts, and I can't control my thoughts a hundred percent of the time anyway. end result: I feel like shit and I need to figure out how to feel decent in a more permanent and fundamental sense than escapist band-aid fixes can afford me.
I spoke with a friend earlier tonight with the express purpose of voicing these sentiments. She told me that it had occurred to her, and that the reason that she hadn't brought it up was not because she hadn't thought about it or didn't care, but that she didn't think I was comfy talking about it. It surprised her that I called her with this disclosure. and she said she'd thought for a while that I should seek therapy.
depression is an illness, like diabetes or gangrene or something. in the brain, there are actual physical phenomena that correspond to the symptoms depressive people show--symptoms which I experience too regularly. and if you don't treat it, it gets a greater foothold. I'd say twenty-two years is a pretty fucking good foothold.
I think I'm going to take my friend's advice. can't hurt.
