Ahhhh, the wonder of the interwebs....
I posted a poem to Facebook a few hours ago. It was a stream of consciousness piece, certainly dark and, evidently, easily misunderstood. Because within 10 minutes of posting it, I had 2 police cars full of cops, sirens blaring, screeching to a halt in my driveway. I was at the back of the house, in my computer room. I heard the sirens, but thought nothing of it - until 3 police charged around the back of the house, asking my name and demanding to be let inside. Somewhat shocked, I complied, wondering wtf was going on. It seems that one of my friends on Facebook interpreted my post as a suicide note and called 000. The police performed their jobs admirably and I have nothing but the highest regard for their actions. Nor indeed do I find fault with my friend, who felt the situation warranted such a response. (Interestingly, one of the officers was attending my situation for a second time, after being in attendance last year at the bridge when I very nearly leapt into the abyss, but for the timely intervention of members of the constabulary).
The terrible reality here is this - I know people care. It isn't in any way, shape or form meaningless to me. But neither does it provide comfort. It simply IS. I have a small circle of friends. I keep my cycle of depression and mania largely hidden from them. For the simple reason that it is MY problem. I don't wish to burden them with something they can do nothing about. I mean this in the most positive way imaginable. They cannot help me, so why burden them? If I NEED them, I can reach out. But needing comfort, support, reassurance and the like does precisely zero for my condition. And I'll tell you why, dear reader....
Because I create this reality. It is horrible and it depresses me. It is a source of constant pain with deathly lows and maddening highs. And turning to friends or what little family I have for support seems like throwing one's food on the ground and then complaining that you are hungry. To me, it sets one on the path of victim. I feel terrible, it's true. And I have seriously contemplated suicide. I have been hospitalised and taken into protective custody. But I create all these things. It is the WHY which challenges me. Why do I do it? What purpose does it serve? If I were 15, you'd suggest it's a cry for attention. But when I was 15, I was happy as Larry. At 41, I had a good job, a great relationship, a nice house. But, progressively over the last 2 years I have torched it all. I have been on the cycle of stability into destruction since the mid 90's. Finally, I am really destroying it. No job, no partner, no house. I am now 43, and life is bleak. Not without hope although I despise the word. But, yes, it is bleak.
And the why eludes me....I wrestle with the question constantly. It is both the source of my depressive frustration and, I feel, my salvation. Because so long as the question remains unanswered, I will endure. It is when I find an answer that things will REALLY get messy.
Okay, Ive been depressed, lost my job, my missus and our house too.
I was already a confused, angry, habitual pot smoking depressive in a job i hated, with a missus that was a bitch before we split. And then everything got to me and sent me over the edge in to thoughts of self determination.
I, like you was selfishly involved in a constant battle to figure why i was the way i was. Why everything went wrong. Why did i always blame myself and then beat myself up for it. What has happened along my journey that made me turn out to be a puddle of infinite sadness? I was asking questions i didnt know the answer to and if i didnt know the answer, no one else was going to know it either. But knowing the answers was never going to help me. I had to accept that despite all my best intentions i have ended up where i am because I dropped the ball. I wasnt doing jack shit to make any difference in my life. I was seduced by medication i didnt need and spewing up horror stories from my past to mental health workers who didnt get me or my plight and perpetuating my depression by making me go over it time and time again bringing the same old shit feelings that came along with it.
I stopped asking why and started thinking how. How do i stop being the person i hate. How do i make positive changes. How do i understand myself better. How do i learn to appreciate myself better. How do I begin my path to happiness. How do I commit to a journey that puts me front and centre and doesnt waiver, doesnt resort to reduntant thinking and depressive state of mind.
The medication i took didnt work, the psychologists/counsellors didnt relate to me. Only I could make a difference for the better. What did i have control over that could make my life better for me?
I then stopped asking questions and started doing. Holy shit i was already a few steps removed from where i was, but i hadnt done anything yet...this shit was working.
I did many small but extremely significant things to me. Im happy to go through them with you on a PM if you want as many will be relevant to you too.
Slowly, slowly, i cant stress enough how slowly but i will again say slowly started emerging from my depressive state of mind. But i was only aware of it upon reflection. It wasnt something i thought about anymore. I was focussed on what i was doing, not on how i was feeling.
I did some psychological courses, counselling courses, learnt instruments, focused on being the best part time Dad i could be, re-engaged old friends. Stopped smoking pot, started getting drunk in social settings. Started saying why the **** not? Act the fool and sing some kariokie like wounded bull. Play dress ups with my daughter. Run around on the beach with my fat guts hangin out not giving one single **** cos i realised for the first time ever I didnt give a shit what anyone thought. They dont know me, dont know how i repressed myself and they sure as shit wouldnt know what a big deal putting myself out there like that was to me.
I chose to stop having emotional responses to problems and issues I faced. When something went wrong I chose not to react emotionally and instead asked myself 2 simple questions. What can I do about this? Should I give this problem any more of my energy if I cant do anything about it? If I could do something about a problem, I did it. Cos the thought of stewing and allowing a problem wash around in my mind was scary to me. I didnt want that type of thinking in my life any more.
Then someone said something very profound to me. Not sure if it would resonate or have the same impact with others here. He said 'Happiness is a choice'. It was only profound to me because i was in a frame of mind to understand it and accept a truth to it. I probably would have punched him in the face at the deepest depths of my depression for being a walking motivational picture. I got it because i was able to look back and know i accepted my depression for a period of time. I didnt even flirt with the idea of being content with myself. I didnt for a long time make the choice to making changes that would eventually lead to a frame of mind I call hapiness.
Salvation for me now is assisting others make positive change in their lives. I give to get and that was the single biggest piece i was missing. I focussed on what i needed to feel better not what i could do to make others and myself feel better.
Its upto you, only you. First step is commiting to yourself, you're worth the effort. Stop asking why, start asking how and commit to doing. Then choose how you want to feel. Sounds extremely simple we both know it isnt but i cant not share what i know and how i did it.
I wish you all the strength you can muster, i offer you anything you need and i know complete strangers, loved ones and everyone in this thread hope your journey is filled with what you want it to be. Good luck.
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But, it feels....right. Clarity.