The Bad Thoughts Are Whispering…Loudly

Not that anyone should ever need to think or say it…If you spend enough time in a depression, you start recognizing when your thoughts aren’t your own anymore. You realize all those bad things whispering in your mind are simply depressive artifact. And logically you know this and know it can be corrected *if* you can stumble on the right med combo…

The fresh hell is waiting to find that combo and being forcefed bad thoughts by your own mind the entire time.

The Bad Thoughts started whispering when my kid woke me at 6 a.m. on the first day of summer vacation from school. I literally could not pry myself out of bed. Which lead to, you are a shit mom, get off your ass, your own mom worked swing shift and still got up with us girls every single morning!.

After that it was Spook asking every ten minutes for 5 hours if it was time to go to Grandma’s for her sleepover. Bad thoughts pointing out, Even your own kid can’t wait to get away from you, do her a favor and kill yourself, you useless bucket of monkey spunk.

After I finally took her to mom’s and came home…I just kept thinking of the clock ticking until I had to go to the shop. And R called and he was just heading to the airport in CA and was shocked nothing new had come in all week, as if people not wanting to pay to fix busted shit is my fault. Not to mention he’s already so far over his head with two jobs, why would you want more work???

Finally, the clock watching got to be too much, I couldn’t focus on anything, so I just went to the shop fifteen minutes early to make the calls instructed to make. And for a brief period, I wasn’t hearing the bad thoughts. Then K returned from his trip down south and I was reminded…

R has this awesome new job, traveling across the country, K is preparing to move down south, and wtf am I doing but stewing in depressive juices and self loathing? And believe me, more than anything, I want to pull myself up out of it, I want to work and feel better about myself and look forward to getting out of bed and doing something good with my life.

Depression simply doesn’t agree or care.

Once home…I returned to binge watching Lucifer (I missed the entire season due to the depression, can’t have that abyss tainting my favorite shows, no no no, and also, depression wants you to get as little pleasure out of life as it can suck away)…And then I see an episode about a dead musician and they mentioned he was sleeping on someone’s couch and that took me to…

When I was 16 and ran away from home to Hollywood, CA. I was so mesmerized with the hair metal scene and miserable in my midwest hell, I just worked until I had some cash and I bailed. And it wasn’t until there that I learned what “sofa surfing” and “couch tour” meant. It wasn’t nearly as “cool” as it sounded when uttered in magazine interviews by hair metal musicians. Money ran out quick in Hollywood and I ended up rooming with a hooker. Kind soul she was, she found my diary and of course, my idiot ass had all my pertinent info written in it, and so she called my parents who then called the lost kid network and they dragged me back home kicking and screaming.

And tonight I flashed on that couch tour and whether Nina did me a favor or not. Was dying there at 16 any better than dying here at whatever age? Not like my life has counted for shit unless being deeply depressed wins peace prizes.

I KNOW it’s depressive distortion. I hate it. I fight it with everything I’ve got. But honestly, between that and putting up the facade for everyone around me so they don’t have to face what a mess I truly am…It’s pretty easy to hear the whispers and start believing them.

I think that part is likely what drives so many with mental health issues to self harm and even suicide. Battling your own mind is beyond difficult. And eventually it just wears you down until you wave the white flag.

I’m not doing any flag waving, but I admit…I can’t wait for my appt Tuesday to ask the nurse if I can get back on Cymbalta. That has been the quickest acting most helpful anti depressant for me and I NEED my life back. I’ve lost the will to go to yard sales, for fuck’s sake. I skipped months of my favorite shows because I didn’t want to taint them with my depression. I’ve robbed my kid of a semi sane mom who doesn’t go through the motions but actually LIVES life. I want that back, even if it only lasts a few months.

I need to be stable and I need to progress and move on, like everyone around me is doing. Being left behind because my own brain seems to want me dead…It’s devouring my soul and making me an even angrier, more bitter person.

To quote Helloween, “I want out.”

I said I was always big on hair metal…Sofa surfing, nope.

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