Living Dead Ghoul

Yeah, yeah, the Rob Zombie song is “Living Dead Girl” but I gotta be different.

So today was a complete and utter bust. After delivering my kid to school I pretty much took to my bed and blankie and while sleep did not come immediately…I needed my cocoon. Then I did nod off, and I woke, and clock checked, and dozed and woke to the check the clock.

This is so not my norm. I hadn’t taken my meds (that came after 3 p.m.) so those weren’t making me lethargic. It’s just this fecking depression that has me by the metaphoric balls.

I am beginning to understand there are levels of depression.

If you are able to go places and have the desire to be around people…your depression is moderate. I am sure it seems all encompassing but the fact is…Less than zero depression is just that. It doesn’t matter how much you like someone or enjoy doing something or how hard you are fighting…

You. Cannot. Do. Things.

I am at that place where I could win Wednesday 13 tickets and a free ride to the venue…and I wouldn’t even feel giddy, let alone interested.

THIS is bottom of the barrel depression.

I am sure I’ve offended a dozen different people who think their depression is the worst but if you are still out in the world, coping…You’re a hundred steps ahead of those of us in a truly depressive bout.

This is not to invalidate anyone’s feelings. You feel how you feel and depression is a bitch any way you slice it.

No, my boo boo is not bigger than yours.

It’s just a different kind of boo boo that no bandage can cover.

Instead of feeling better, I find myself slipping under. Yard sales tomorrow? Pfft. The kitten is so cute…Oh, one more mouth to feed. My kid is doing well at school…she treats me like shit.

There is no silver lining in a true depressive bout. If you can find one, you are either a psychotic optimist or your meds are half ass working. (Not to count out the ones who battle this shit sans meds, you are badasses.)

The same goes for anxiety. Different levels. I can’t drive even 12 miles out of town I am so panic stricken. My kid had 4 friends in the yard today and all their noise had me a nervous fucking wreck. I get confused in local traffic, fear drivers in cell phones. I can’t go to a bar to hear live music. I can’t even work up the give a damn to think maybe I need a date or to just get laid…

I am in a crippling state of depression and anxiety right now. And my doctor could not give less of a fuck. Because hey, I take care of my kid and pay my bills, I must A-okay.

In my mind, I am anything but okay. As I was going out the door to pick my kid up earlier I had this one thought that kind of made me feel better. Except it is a morbid wrong though my brain should not be delivering to me. I thought, I don’t wanna off myself but if I were to get run over by a combine…it’d mean the end of all this mental bullshit. I could be at peace.

Yes, I do know how pathetic and warped that sounds.

Depression gives zero fucks.

So today is a wash. Maybe tomorrow I won’t feel so paranoid and lethargic that I spend all day under the blanket dreading every waking moment.

Today just wasn’t one of those better days.

Ninety minutes and counting before I can tuck my kid in and climb back into Fort Blankie.

It seems like a lifetime for a living dead ghoul.


5 Responses to “Living Dead Ghoul”

  1. andrewsaltarelli Says:

    I feel ya, Morgue. Have my own subjective whatever sliding scale: dulls, drabs, sads, blues, morose as fuck, melancholy, and Depression or the Bad Thing. I’m getting better at the “nice” ones but the Bad Thing is just pain plus paralysis plus anhedonia plus pain. Anhedonia itself is excruciating. Loss of all pleasure in life: including other people. But that’s the clinical definition, I think, where the reality feels more like Intensification of Pain In All Areas of Life Plus Zero Capacity to Fucking Move or Talk. Big hug that you got the Bad Thing right now. Sucks. Is the worst. I know sympathy means jack all at that point. Usually I just blink and like mkay. On a sober run so call me anytime, Wise and Understanding Elder of the Order of the Ghouls.

  2. I have just returned from an emergency therapy appointment. I have renamed bipolar depression bipolar despair. Depression does not cut it.

  3. Ahhh, how I can SO relate to what you write. Though I can’t empathize with the depression that keeps one bed-ridden, I CAN say how much I have to fight to get up each day, get dressed, pack a lunch, drive to work, work – ugh, I need a nap already!!! Gotta pay that child support and get that bunny food. Anywhere from 11:00 – 4:00 Specter slashes with a wave of tiredness so bad my “irate gauge” goes through the roof.

    I wish I could just give you the kind of hug that takes all your crap away. Or just give you my sporks at the beginning of each day so you don’t have to worry about getting through yours.

    Keeping to my promise I made you months ago here’s a tune to kick your Specter in its nuts –


    • First time I ever heard this band was the night the donor left. The song was “You Make Me Sick.” I fell in love. With the band. The other thing I can and have done well without 😉

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