OK, so last time I told you about my rocky, indignant beginning. You could accuse me of being anti-social, intolerant, poor-sportsmanlike, and over-dramatic. You could.
Except my reality was that, as people who've survived trauma often express, all this was incredibly overwhelming. This was my inner reality--one of extreme torment, and one I could no longer acceptably discharge into the environment. Laugh at that for being dramatic, but that was exactly how my mind was, and it wasn't really a matter of "positive thinking" or "will power".
And about 3-4 months inward, amidst all my rage, indignity, self-disgust, and shame, I wound up in the middle of a true depressive episode.
I don't mean the whole "I'm depressed and lonely" shtick I've been doing nonstop since adolescence. I mean like an actual crisis where it takes over your mind and body, you can't get out of bed, you can't concentrate, you can't sleep all night, and then you feel tired all day, you can't eat, you start sobbing randomly for hours on end, and the only thing you can think of is suicide...pretty much the stereotype there. Sleep, when I could even do that, brought no relief. I just had nightmares about it. It physically hurt me. I mean, a dull ache literally took over my entire body. I stopped menstruating even, because I just couldn't eat.
The toll this took on me psychologically is obvious. What it did to me professionally, I am still trying to climb out of.
There was no treatment. No one even to talk to as my friends and family had repeatedly cold-shouldered all attempts to reach out. I'd sit there for months, listening to the celebrations of young people going on around me, and the irony struck me--such joy and light, and on the other side of the wall, there sat a black hole. Life's cruel juxtapositions.
No, I'm not even going to try to pretend that's OK. But I have to tell the truth on this one. My time here sucked.
(Backdated from June 2015, on 20 April 2017)
Except my reality was that, as people who've survived trauma often express, all this was incredibly overwhelming. This was my inner reality--one of extreme torment, and one I could no longer acceptably discharge into the environment. Laugh at that for being dramatic, but that was exactly how my mind was, and it wasn't really a matter of "positive thinking" or "will power".
And about 3-4 months inward, amidst all my rage, indignity, self-disgust, and shame, I wound up in the middle of a true depressive episode.
I don't mean the whole "I'm depressed and lonely" shtick I've been doing nonstop since adolescence. I mean like an actual crisis where it takes over your mind and body, you can't get out of bed, you can't concentrate, you can't sleep all night, and then you feel tired all day, you can't eat, you start sobbing randomly for hours on end, and the only thing you can think of is suicide...pretty much the stereotype there. Sleep, when I could even do that, brought no relief. I just had nightmares about it. It physically hurt me. I mean, a dull ache literally took over my entire body. I stopped menstruating even, because I just couldn't eat.
The toll this took on me psychologically is obvious. What it did to me professionally, I am still trying to climb out of.
There was no treatment. No one even to talk to as my friends and family had repeatedly cold-shouldered all attempts to reach out. I'd sit there for months, listening to the celebrations of young people going on around me, and the irony struck me--such joy and light, and on the other side of the wall, there sat a black hole. Life's cruel juxtapositions.
No, I'm not even going to try to pretend that's OK. But I have to tell the truth on this one. My time here sucked.
(Backdated from June 2015, on 20 April 2017)
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