I’m depressed.

Eddy Marlowe
Sep 9, 2018 · 3 min read
Image edited from pixabay.com

Right now, as I sit in the Denver airport, I feel like I’m fine, okay, maybe even good. I accomplished some things this morning — got a workout in, got to the airport early, felt happy and was singing in the car — but last night was a different story.

Now last night, I could tell I was depressed by the balling-up on the couch I was doing, and the crying., and the anger.

The salty-snotted, hyperventilating-type of crying. Crying over things I wouldn’t normally cry over when I’m not sucked into this heavy, dark place. And being angry about the way things are, feeling trapped in my body and in my feelings. Being inconsolable. Unable to shake the overwhelming emotions that washed over me and over me, and trapped me in their moisture, while I was pleasantly watching Mama Mia on the couch, on a nice night, with my boyfriend.

Trying to go through things I should be grateful for didn’t work because I had a but for everything:

I have a job… but I hate it. I hate it so much it feels like it’s suffocating me most days and most times I think about it.

I have had success…but I’m not having any now and haven’t for a while. And I probably won’t again.

Spiral.

I have talents and interests…but no time or energy to focus on them because of the job I have that I hate. It’s turning me into the person I’ve never wanted to be. Someone who gives up everything they ever cared about to have a nine-to-five because they need money. To me, when I’m depressed, having a job means giving up my life and anything I’ve ever wanted to slave away for someone else’s dream, and for money that’s not enough to dig me out of the debt I’m in.

Spiral.

I have people who love me…but I don’t understand why. I’m always crying and sad and upset about something. I’m always causing people to worry about me and the problems I can’t seem to fix for myself.

But like I said, right now I’m fine. My depression feels…not real. Like something I made up. Like I’m just being dramatic.

Like when I got upset last night — and became inconsolable about how I’ll never have time to do this or do that because of this job I have and how I can’t quit the job because I won’t possibly find another job and everyone around me has made it quite clear that if I’m not making money it’s a really, really bad thing and might actually make me a bad person if I don’t have it — that was some anomaly and it wasn’t that bad,

I’m not depressed, haha, right?

And then I think about how I’m sure I didn’t get enough work done on Friday and how my supervisor will surely yell at me because they aren’t always reliable and don’t actually like me and have it out for me and surely if I’m yelled at it will mean I’m bad and not working hard enough and I’ll get. fired. If I get fired, I’ll have no money, and that is bad and everyone will know I’m a failure.

It’s like I’m in disbelief and denial because I feel like it’s all my fault and I’m just not trying hard enough to be happy. It’s not depression because if I just try hard enough, another emotional breakdown won’t happen again. Because it’s not depression, it’s me.

But, let me repeat — if just for myself: I’m depressed. I’m struggling with depression right now. And it’s really hard.

I’m in the limbo between knowing deep down that I’m depressed, and going beyond just seeing a counselor to seek more help.

And by “more help” I mean looking into “getting on meds”.

But, that’s harder for me to type.

Eddy Marlowe

Writing about my experiences w/ anxiety, depression and PTSD as I recover, learn and grow (and probably make jokes).

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