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Archive for the ‘Depression’ Category

For a star to be born,
there is one thing that
must happen: a gaseous
nebula must collapse.

So collapse.
Crumble.
This is not your
destruction.

This is your birth.

(Written by Noor Tagouri)

——————————————————–

I am collapsing and crumbling in all sorts of ways lately. Despair and angst and anger and depression have taken over most of my waking hours. But I am still holding on to the belief that this is all leading to a new birth, just as this poem says.

I moved to a new place by myself, separated from my husband. I knew this wouldn’t solve all my problems, but living together had become toxic for us both. If I narrow it down to the basics, not have my husband to blame, how do I live my life? What do I do with it? This is what I want to see.

The beginning was wonderful. I was optimistic, happy, ready to start this new chapter. But now, inertia and procrastination have taken over.

I am not ready to end this life though. This is my karma, and I am ready to face it.

Not. My. Destruction.

A. New. Birth.

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A return to writing

I want to write again. To journal again. Vent out my random musings, thoughts, ideas, attempts at poetry and other such nonsense.

One thing depression is good for: a burst of creativity.

At least, that’s how my depressions begin. Sleepless nights, anger, despair, and a desire to be more active.

 

It’s madness, this life, this chaotic life.

 

Has anyone ever learned to stop wanting approval from their parents? To love and to not seek love in return? This is my current struggle.

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Day treatment again?

Spiraling downward at home.

Depression.

Panic attacks.

Morning insomnia.

Sleep all day.

No showers.

No shampooes.

No cooking.

No leaving the house.

Two tears fell today.

Gettin worse worse worse.

Feelin shitty shitty shitty.

Trying homeopathy.

New therapist.

Cymbalta continues.

Lies lies lies.

Job?

How?

Gettin fat.

Husband frustrated & angry.

Hide under the blanket,

Let me sleep, forever.

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Embracing my angry self

I scream

I yell

I retort

I explain

I argue

Embracing my depressed self

I cry

I sleep

I hide

I die

I shiver

Embracing my Buddha self

I witness

I observe

I feel

I meditate

I forgive

Embracing my non-self

I exist

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Discovered today: Helping someone else, helps me. Doing something for a friend, helping her find a job, deal with some complicated issues, made me feel better too. It was a baby step out of my cocoon for me. And, after all, I am studying to be a counselor, so it was good practice.

Kind of a duh moment!

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what do the experts call i t, anhedonia? yes, that’s how i feel (or don’t feel rather).

flat mood.

i do nothing.

but it’s another matter, that i have no desire to do anything either.

i am not severely depressed, not in the well. generally ok, laugh a little, sleep a lot, eat some, take care of myself some, of the house some. (the laughs are starting to feel made up more & more).

i am not normal, by any means, normal said with all the endnotes it needs. i am not efficient, i am not productive, i am not satisfied, i am not tired from work, i am not doing.

i am between those two. and yes, have been here before. familiar territory.

after lifelong depression, it starts to feel like a familiar coat or pair of pants that one knows every crease, touch, feel, fit, size, smell of too well.

there is a huge lack of desire to get out of this flat affect i am fighting, to take just one itty bitty tiny baby step in any direction is taking up more than i seem to be able to muster right now.

i could melt. just end. life, living, everything. and be fine. not out of any intense depression, no not out of wanting to die, just so tired of living.

if you, dear reader, have any advice, do comment.

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Two words, one phrase, one reality, one life in those two little words.

Here, in the city I live in, someone I knew well, was found shot, dead at her home two nights ago. A murder-suicide they call it. Husband/dad shot and killed wife/mother and son, nine years old. He was depressed. Maybe hopeless, hurting, and in financial trouble with no job for a year.

My dad is depressed, so lonely, talks incessantly, his thoughts confused, his mind leaping with connections that are starting to not make sense, and unable to sleep. Oh so sad to watch him in such pain.

I am depressed. My chest hurts (not metaphorically) as I breathe.

What some people had said to me as a way of cursing me or with disgust or with anger, is what I have become.

I have become my dad.

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