A Personal Discourse on Depression

I've been thinking on and off after hearing about Robin Williams' suicide. As such, this post may be triggery and upsetting, so be warned. I'm placing the rest under a cut and plenty of ellipses after just in case anyone comes to the post page so they can go back if that's what they want.

I'm frustrated with what appear (in my experience) to be empty platitudes. My entire timeline's blown up with "please seek help if you feel depressed" and other shit, and I'm angered by it because it feels like empty, meaningless shit.

From what I've heard, Australia has one of the best mental health services available in the world… and I went to my counsellor last year. Told her I wanted to kill myself. Got taken to a hospital and left in the corridor for hours on end, EVEN AFTER I EXPLAINED TO THE WOMAN IN CHARGE THAT THERE WERE ABOUT FIVE WAYS TO KILL MYSELF IN THAT CORRIDOR, AND ONE REQUIRED NO MOVING FROM THE SEAT THEY PUT ME IN. Wouldn't have been that hard to open a vein on the chair. (Who keeps a chair around that one can cut one's self on?) And she just basically patted me on the head and walked off. And didn't bother doing anything. I walked out, no one stopped the suicidal girl. FANTASTIC WORK PEOPLE.

Of course, while I was followed up on by the cops, and went through some process of admission to a different hospital and talked to someone… nothing else happened. Maybe my expectations were too grand, but I thought people who wanted to kill themselves had a little more work done with them to help them. What do I have to do, actually fucking slash my wrists to be taken seriously? If that's 'one of the best', I don't hold out much hope for anywhere else.

And I think it's stupid that suicide centers and such like cannot call out. There may be reasons for this, I know I was told them at the time, but I've since forgotten them. They also can't do anything, apparently. I called one in Canada in the last year because of a girl who is severely depressed, and sadly, is doing nothing to help herself, but that's because the people she's seen won't take her seriously. She likes the idea of going into hospital for treatment, and no one she's seen so far will do anything to get her into one, so she's stopped trying. (Her parents will not take her seriously either. "Oh, you're at (exclusive event), you're an ungrateful whore for being unhappy.")

I had fairly decent information regarding her, I'm guessing enough for the police to find her, but they refused to do anything unless she called. And that… I don't get that. There's probably some good reason for it (I hope). And it also doesn't seem to jibe with the stories I've heard of people threatening suicide on social media and the twitterverse getting them help.

Disclaimer: the next bit is merely what I perceive from my experiences. It is not necessarily true and is not intended as a reflection on any person. However, I tend to make a decision/observation based on the evidence I have available. Example: say a friend tells me that she wants to spend another six weeks in Australia on her final night here. If she's been posting on FB and Twitter about how much she hates Australia and she can't wait to get back home and things of that nature, I'm going to find it very hard to believe she wants to postpone going home to stay longer in Australia, because she just spent the last six weeks saying she hated being here.

(I'm well aware that I probably don't think like other people. My counsellor claims Aspergers', I dislike the label if only because I feel my parents read an article on Aspergers and current therapies/treatments or whatever they were called, looked at each other, and said "Dianna" (true story, if my father can be believed). Ever since I heard that story, I've felt like they found something they thought fitted, and just stuck me with the label, without ever doing anything more. Because they certainly never tried getting me the therapies/whatever. But that's probably another story.)

But… it sometimes seems like no one cares.

Maybe I've just been unlucky, but I've encountered the attitude of "well, we talked about your problem last 'whenever', so it's fixed" with way too many people. Who would then turn around and say to this other person "let me help, I'm sorry you're sad about your rape", even though that was the fifty millionth time she'd talked about it.

I've walked away from places before. Probably will do so again in the future, temporarily, permanently, who knows? It's easier than talking about my problems because I don't want to hear "your problems were solved the last time we talked". I don't want to bother people with my problems, I don't want to be told to go away… and talking about my problems is what does that, so far as I've seen. Maybe I got shitty people. Maybe I did something wrong. About the only honest feedback I ever got was "you had a problem every day". Well… yeah. Isn't that what depression is? And why was my depression bad, but no one else's was?

We need more lifelines. Where are they?

Calls have gone unanswered at Lifeline in Australia because of a lack of funding from the government. Apparently at one point the NSW Government was promising two million a year, then their real plans to slash funding by seventy thousand were revealed, and I haven't found anything that says what came of that.

And human interaction…

Obviously there's a difference between "Dianna, you're a fucking bitch" and "Dianna, you made a joke that hurt my feelings" and obviously the second one would be the preferred statement. I am like the Queen of being completely blunt and non-euphemistic, but I still see that things progress differently depending on what you do. I should be more level headed and reply to the first calmly. I don't. Oops. But the second one will see me apologising because I can clearly parse that I have hurt someone's feelings.

But I don't… I feel like I don't know how to explain that something has hurt me… and I lack the words to explain it, not without feeling like I'm potentially blaming others for being depressed. Which is not the intent. So maybe with that as a disclaimer…

Coping… is hard.

And sometimes, what I want to say is some form of "your actions are making it harder to cope". It feels like I shouldn't say that, that I can't. It feels like it's one thing to say "I dislike that you called me a bitch, please don't do that", and something else entirely to say "the way you just acted made it even harder to cope with being depressed".

Because, at least for me… it's not something that is brushed off. If what happened was that bad…

In the bushfires last year, we stayed with Dad's friend. I basically told dad I'd rather go burn to death in the fires than stay there, because I did not feel that my views were respected. I don't even recall what we were talking about anymore… but I remember that I felt like any point I had was dismissed by the guy because he "was right and couldn't let me be wrong".

You may call it a fault if you wish, but I will not change what I believe without cause/evidence—but I certainly don't care if you don't believe the same as me. I will debate with you over it, but at the end of the day, if you think Tennant's the best Doctor Who and I don't or if you think the sky is pink with purple polka dots… I don't really care. I can let you believe something I don't.

I still feel worthless and stupid and more because of that. I shouldn't. I know that. It was a feeling, it doesn't really matter.

And yet it matters. Stupid depression.

I'd like to speak up. But I don't. Maybe people should be more sensitive, though I am not the best person in the universe to be judging that. At the same time, why should they? It feels like bullshit. "Oh, I can't say/do that because Di will just get more depressed." "Great, now I just caused Di to go off the deep end and now I have to apologise and make her feel better."

Five words for you. Rearrange them into proper form.

Gives. Coitus. Flying. Who. A.

So what if you made me upset? Why does that even matter? No one else is responsible for my problems, or for my being depressed. So why the hell do you have to change?

Welcome to my head. Enjoy your stay. Or… don't.

Bleh.

And frankly I'm sick to death of hearing "it gets better". It's a useless phrase; it doesn't tell you when it will get better. It also seems to imply "it gets better" is when you beat depression. ACCORDING TO MY COUNSELLOR I'VE TECHNICALLY BEEN CLINICALLY DEPRESSED FOR…

*works it out, isn't sure what to feel about the result*

A minimum of nineteen and three quarter years; has been suggested to be a minimum of twenty-three years, from when I realised who and what I am. I still don't really see an end in sight. At best I'm keeping afloat. I feel broken… I am broken. I feel like I was put back together with lots and lots of pieces missing.

How the fuck am I not dead yet?

I pretend I'm happy. Sometimes, maybe I am happy, even. I can't honestly remember a time that I was happy. Can remember plenty of times that I think I should have been, and then I don't know if I was happy, or if I'm just remembering I was because that's appropriate… being happy never lasts, not really. Not like it should. I enjoy things. I read ASoIaF, and blog about it, and that's fun. But I haven't in two weeks, and whilst part of that was I was sorting Magic cards, I simply haven't had the… enthusiasm? I haven't had the enthusiasm for much of anything, I suppose. Maybe that's the problem with my writing.

Who knows?

I show people what they want to see, because that's easy. And I've gotten so good at it as to fool everyone. No one asks, and that's… what it should be. Or so I think.

Maybe it does get better, but I'm so tired of trying to slog through the endless days for what seems like so little reward. I probably do better than a lot of people, I get out of bed and even if I don't accomplish much at least I'm sleeping on a more 'normal' schedule, and I do more than just lie in bed.

I am smart/possessed of disbelief in God enough, whatever you wish to call it, to know that miracles don't really happen—it's just an ordinary event that seems miraculous. I don't expect a solution to just appear to me. But… "it gets better" doesn't really work when you need something now. I remember that story of the guy who cleaned out his locker so his parents wouldn't have to, because he was gonna kill himself over the weekend. And all because a guy saw him drop his books and helped him, he didn't.

What if the guy had laughed at him? What if the guy hadn't even been there to help? I reckon it got better for that guy because he got something in the dark, miserable present.

Maybe I'm blind and haven't recognised what I got. Maybe I'm still waiting. I don't know.

Some days… I just want to give up. Not to the point of killing myself. Just… not bother. If I eat, fine. If I play video games, fine. If I blog, fine.

And if I don't? That's fine too. Who cares?

*is out of words and maybe people don't even care but when has she ever ever given a shit about that?*

Comments

Leave a Reply