The Most Common Lie About Depression

“If you wanted it bad enough, you could try harder.”

Oh how sick I am of that one. It’s as common a platitude you will find in life, and especially, with depression. If a company were to eschew it, you bought their product, and didn’t get what you wanted…you could sue for false advertisement. Yet any Tom, Dick, and Yolo can spew it your direction like an expert and YOU are the failure when it doesn’t work.

More than anything I don’t want to feel this enveloping darkness. So don’t fucking tell me I just don’t want “not to be depressed” bad enough.

If desire alone counted for a thing with any sort of mental disorder, I’d be queen of England, president of the united states, I’d cure cancer, win Dancing with the Stars, AND get the mom of the year award.

Because I WANT to be better, do better, accomplish great things. I want, want, want it so bad it’s a perpetual grueling ache in my muscles, bones, veins, arteries.

Unfortunately…it’s not enough with depression. Frankly, it’s not enough for most people to simply “want it that bad and work harder.” This notion that anyone can do anything they set their mind to is a fallacy. One who doesn’t have a grasp of science and anatomy is unlikely to become a doctor (except if they go to University chihuahua like mine do). If you can’t keep numbers straight, you’ll fail at being an accountant.

I would never encourage limiting people based on not being “good” at something but reality beckons eventually. So the notion that hard work and desire will turn someone who is tone deaf into a brilliant opera singer is…well, insane.

YET it is perfectly feasible to tell someone with a chemical imbalance in the brain that all their problems will be solved if they just try harder and “want it bad enough.”

Kind of makes you wonder who the “crazy” people really are.

This weekend I did fuck all. Literally. I mean, I took a pizza over to  cos he was so sick, but my dad had my kid for the night so I had nothing better to do. Came home. Slept. Kept waking up. Slept some more. In fact, I slept until 4:30 yesterday afternoon. I felt an instant of slothful shame then decided, with how many times I’d wakened and wandered about…I’d earned the rest. It was sad to have lost “me time” but truth be told, in a depressive state like this…Me time is meaningless aside from letting the nerves settle down.

They returned her. With new socks cos her wearing mine is apparently uncool. Whatever. Then I was informed all the clothes she’d brought with her had been washed because my stepmonster can’t bear the smell of cigarette smoke in her home. (Former smokers who pull that shit are the worst hypocrites on the planet.) Then my dad noticed the bumper of the car was a little loose. I didn’t mention that bumper bender and all, so I just said I’d nicked a drive thru barrier by gauging my distance wrong. (I do it all the time.) Then he started in with, “What are you going to do about the title and transfer and all that so it’s not in your mom’s name anymore?”

Hmm…I’m two hundred bucks in the hole as is (yearly cost as opposed to anticipated monthly budget)  and gotta get through christmas, plus this depression…I didn’t explode but I did firmly say, “I’m gonna survive Christmas, then worry about it next year.”

If he’s so fucking worried about it, he could help. Hell, a couple weeks back he just bought ANOTHER SUV. That makes 5 vehicles they have. Has he offered me one? Nope. Five vehicles for three people and he’s on my fucking ass. A five minute visit from him is enough to make me want to bash in his skull with a shovel. Ten minutes with him makes me pretty sure I should bash in my own skull to escape him.

Yeah, yeah,ungrateful brat, I should be thankful I have family, blah blah. When 70 percent of your anxiety and low self esteem stems from how shitty your family treats you (as diagnosed by every therapist who ever met your family)…Gratitude isn’t really an appropriate word unless used in terms of “oh they haven’t called me in a week, yayyyy, I have two self esteem points back.”

I am trying to atone for my weekend laziness by “working” on laundry a bit.  It’s like metastasizing cancer, though. No sooner than I excise six baskets full, i’ve got two more and third piling up. Laundry is like a mogwai.  Get it wet and it just starts popping out evil gremlins.

Dishes…pffft.

I showered last night. That was my weekend victory. Today I’m on laundry. Maybe tomorrow I will do dishes. Can’t say the cold wet gloom (afuckinggain) is helping my motivation at all.

I never thought I’d say this again…But I want back on lithium. The anti depressants just aren’t doing a damned thing. If anything, I am wondering if they’re what have my anxiety so heightened. I am gonna talk to el shrinko, but he pretty much cut me down last time simply because I am not manic thus the Lamical must be working. It’s less about mania and more about how clusterfucked my thoughts are. I can’t get well when every third week I go menstrual and start sobbing cos the toothepaste cap fell down the sink. I wonder if I am undersedated. I am gonna tell him to check my files from 06-08 when Dr M had me on a lithium/lamictal combo and I did far better than this. I don’t want the side effects or blood work or that dull emotional state but..I can’t keep on like this, either. Maybe if he sees my chart and that I did ok (not cured, but ok) on that combo, he might be inclined to hear me out.

Or he’ll just give that condescending, “We’ve tried everything else…”

Maybe he can tell me I just don’t want “badly enough” to get out of the depression.

In which case maybe I should bring that purse sized folding shovel along with me…

That’s a joke, btw.

Grenades fit much better into a purse.

 

 

 

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10 Responses to “The Most Common Lie About Depression”

  1. Everyone always wants to diagnose someone elses’ problems and then take offense when someone points out their own issues. Assholes. I had a friend that told me for years she wouldn’t make it to her 30th birthday. She said her depression wasn’t going to let it happen. She killed herself at 29. Everyone always told her to be strong, hang on, she could do it, it was all in her head. And she’d say “Yeah, no shit it’s all in my head. You try fuckin’ living in there for one day.”

    I hate people. On a daily basis my hatred for the population grows.

  2. I wish my mood were my choice. I choose to respond in rage, sure, that’s a choice. I *could* optionally fart rainbows and puffy pink clouds could come out of my ears. If there were strong enough drugs, or if I were allowed more alcohol. If I read about a purse-shovel bludgeoning or a purse grenade exploding in some poor schmuck’s stomach… or lower g.i…., I’ll know you didn’t hide the body well enough, but I’ll also know it was probably “justifiable homicide.”

    I had a great weekend, really, for the most part. I got a lot done. But my triggers were pulled a few times as usual and it wasn’t pretty. Despite everything I got done, there are still dishes in the sink, and I didn’t get to them this morning because the young Master M. decided today was a good time to loiter about the house on his fucking video games or whatever online shit, and missed the bus, and then I had to get to work.

  3. I also hate the notion we should be thankful for family because frankly some of us have them but it’s like not having them at all. And blood is not fucking thicker than water either. My friends have done for me more than my family will EVER do and I hate that people can’t appreciate this.

    So fuck them all. Let it rain barbed wire shovels on all these bastards.

  4. The idea that you can exercise that much control over your own mind when that’s what’s malfunctioning is logically and biologically obsurd.
    That and who the fuck is named Yolo?! 😐

    • Considering someone was allowed to name their baby Hashtag, I wouldn’t be surprised if Yolo has been used, too. Just my way of mocking today’s asinine trends.

      On Mon, Dec 7, 2015 at 1:24 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

      >

  5. Tom and Dick and Yolo can be such dicks. YOLO LOL. Oh god Im sure some poor innocent is maimed for life by being named Yolo. Tho of course his generation won’t actually know what it stands for so he’ll just be Yolo the constant generator of mean nicknames. Morgue, do you know you can’t “like” peoples’ comments on your blog? Maybe deliberate, maybe my own WP snafu, idk, none of my business really, just thought I’d let you know, “sometimes” I’m lazy or depressed or lacking elan and just want to be like Yup what they said.

  6. Positive thinking….. Fuck me with a garden trowel and

  7. Positive thinking… Fuck me with a garden trowl and tell me to smile and it’ll all be ok why don’t you
    “You try, life gutter punches you
    Try again, same result
    Try for the fifth time, kill yourself, it’ll be kinder”
    That’s advise I’d like to hear!
    Wholly wrong and not positive, but fuck you life

  8. I think that positive thinking is great for people without mental illness, but for us, it’s just not an option. I try to do it all the time and it never works. Then, because I failed, I become more depressed.

    You wouldn’t tell a blind person to look harder. (I got that from someone on WP. I wish I had thought of it though, it’s brilliant.)

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