Drowning in air … [1]

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So why bother blogging about your depression at all? I really don’t know. I’ve heard it’s theraputic to write … and so I am.


But the blogging part? Well, I’ve read other peoples’ blogs and it’s helped a little to know others see this world in a similar way. Maybe I can add something to that, maybe not.

Whatever the case I’m in a trough today and I’m writing; so I might as well share that with anyone who cares to read it.

Plus I was irked last week to read someone say of depression: “Don’t we all get sad when things go bad?”

FFS. I’m not sad. In fact I welcome sadness. The single solitary positive thing I took from my Father’s death was the stinging, burning, searing sadness that sliced through my depression. Here at last was a real emotion. Something that connected me to the ‘real’ world. Something I felt to my core. Something that hurt so bad I wanted to howl like a lone wolf into the night.

Depression is no more sadness than drowning is swimming. Sad things make me a bit maudlin, neutral things don’t bother me much, joyous thing make be a bit less maudlin. Life is a series of troughs and not-troughs, with some days better than others and the occaisional one a total write-off.

But whatever the day, I wake each one with the looming everpresent wish not to have; not to ever again awake.

Dealing with that is the challenge of each moment.