I’m Really F*cking Depressed

**Content Warning** This is a pretty raw, honest look at severe depression and thoughts that go along with that and may make readers uncomfortable.

Current diagnoses: Major Depressive Disorder (Treatment resistant). Generalized Anxiety Disorder (Treatment resistant). Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (for lack of a better diagnosis). Insomnia (occasional).

Possible and past diagnoses: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (not worth separating from GAD). Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (there’s no doubt that I’m traumatized by many events from my childhood, but I won’t talk about that, even to my mental health providers). Borderline Personality Disorder (briefly diagnosed before changing it to PMDD). History of suicidal idealization and self-harm.

Current mental health related meds: Lexapro. Ativan. Adderall (for “excessive daytime sleepiness”). Ambien.

Past mental health related meds: Zoloft. Paxil. Cymbalta. Venlafaxine. Amitriptyline. Buspiron. Depakote. Wellbutrin. Kloninpin.

As I’m writing this, I have no idea where I’m going with it, or what the point is. I talk a lot about my issues with depression on the internet, I’m sure many people think I talk about it too much. I see why someone would think that, I think it a lot. The thing is though, I’m pretty depressed pretty much all the time and blogging about it or tweeting about it is honestly the most helpful outlet I’ve found. I’ve tried journaling and I hate it, I go to therapy, but I honestly can’t bring myself to be open in that kind of environment. However, sending my thoughts out into the void of the internet makes me feel heard without having a person look at me while I share painful thoughts. So I’m writing this to feel heard and maybe a bit better understood by some people I interact with and because maybe someone will see part of this and feel less alone in their struggle.

This is not a happy ending blog, which is ok because I’m not at the end. This is a very honest blog about the ways that my mental health issues effect me. To be honest it reads kind of like incoherent rambling, typing intrusive thoughts as they come to me and trying to elaborate on them.

I am broken. That’s what it feels like.

I’ve only been receiving treatment for mental health issues since 2013. I was 27 when I finally started getting diagnoses, but I’ve known that something was really wrong for as long as I can remember.

“I wanna punch myself in the face” – literally the thought I have more than any other thought. I get so frustrated with myself. I’m so tired all the time and I can rarely overcome that to accomplish even small tasks. I shame myself constantly for being weak and lazy.

I find a way to ruin everything for myself. After months of looking forward to an experience, I will ruin it in a matter of minutes.

I’m also 3 years into a literal existential crisis. I always thought that was just a thing people said on tv or when they’re being hyperbolic, I never really considered it as a legitimate issue until my psychiatrist said it to me. An existential crisis is “a moment at which an individual questions if their life has meaning, purpose, or value.”. My career as a Marine is what I tied my meaning, purpose, and value to. When I lost my career I lost all of those things and haven’t found a way to get them back.

I have hope. Just not for myself.
I feel like things are moving, however slowly, in the right direction regarding mental health. I see more and more support for people with mental health issues and talk about ending the stigma that goes along with it. After years of feeling like I’ve tried everything though, I no longer feel like getting better is a possibility for me.

It’s so tempting just to give up. I just don’t want to have to try any more.
Trying is exhausting and frustrating and some days it’s impossible. I don’t want anyone to expect anything from me. I think a lot about giving in, about just checking into a hospital and not having to speak to anyone again. I don’t want to feel obligated to get out of bed or really carry on with any normal adult functions.

I want everyone to be ok. I want to help people be ok.
I can’t make myself be ok. Too worried. Too tired. Too sad.

My depression manifests itself primarily in one way: I hate myself.
I’m a good, kind person, still I hate myself. I’m constantly regretting almost everything that I do. Like tonight, I did something that ended up making feel like an idiot. I’m so angry at myself. I had to take 4 ativan to fend off a breakdown.

I think I’m pathetic. The ways I try to seek validation. Pathetic.

My therapist told me today that I need to acknowledge the positives about myself. She named a few; I take care of my Dad, who is a fucking disaster, I support my mom and brother, I’m a great auntie, I’m “good at traveling”. I listened to her list things she thinks I don’t suck at and at the end I felt just a useless and worthless as before. I’m just scrambling to keep my head above water as far as my family is concerned. Loving my niece doesn’t exactly feel like an accomplishment.

I do travel a lot. I have to. I don’t have a job or much of a life here where I live and I don’t know what I would do without being able to look forward to being somewhere else. Unfortunately, like I mentioned earlier, I manage to ruin most of these, should be, incredible experiences for myself. It’s one of the things I find to be most fucking annoying about myself.

All I can say for now, is that the battle continues. More than anything in my life, I’ve always been driven by the need to care for those close to me. As exhausting as it is to feel obligated to take care of everyone, it’s probably the only thing that keeps me functioning at all. I would never abandon my siblings to have to deal with our parents, plus I have so much I want to do for my niece. As tempting as giving up seems a lot of the time, it’s never going to happen. And if I’ve learned one impressive thing throughout 30+ difficult years, it’s that there isn’t anything on this earth I can’t survive.

As I have with pretty much every blog on here, I want to end by saying thank you. Thank you to everyone who reaches out to me, to everyone who tells me that my words matter to them, to anyone who takes the time to hear me. If you’re struggling the way I am, please just keep going, any way you can and even if it’s not pretty. If you’re seeing these words, know that I care about you. I don’t have any magic answers or any secrets on how to quiet the demons, but if you ever just need someone to tell you that you matter, don’t hesitate to reach out to me.