Depression is great. Depression is like a holiday. I expect you’re thinking I'm going to follow that with a sarcastic response. Something shocking to justify the passive aggressive intro in this click-bait world. Sorry no.
‘His life meant nothing… click to see what he did next.’
No I mean it. Depression can be great to a depressive and can be like a holiday to the terminally darkened victim. You see depression allows the sufferer to disappear. They don’t want to disappear,, they have no choice. Depression is like a trap. Yet we're so quick to jump. It’s like a game of hide and seek with yourself that you hope you never win. Then when you push away all the people you love it’s like a holiday. Yay I'm free. Free to shrink. A vacation in misery, no caravan required. Pull the blinds, I’m done.
That feeling leads to death in most cases.
I kept meaning to write about this but I either shirked away or forgot. Yep depression messes with your memory and your energy. Hey I’ve taken packets of commercially available caffeine tabs that had pros and pluses- wink emoji, to remain in this world. I’ve also stuffed strong diet tabs down my throat like Tic-Tacs and fucking anything else that was legal. I know illegal drugs would have been more effective, we all tried them as kids in discos and clubs so I knew that. But in my warped mind the legality outweighed the toxicity. I poisoned myself legally more effectively than if I’d have found a dealer. Over the counter suicide I call it. Or Suicide by Script. I’ve seen it.
I am it.
I was popping speed with whisky to ride away days then later a nice dinner of bespoke pizza and vodka amphetamine.
Hey those debts will go away if I drink more, spend more. Think them away... No brown envelopes from the government if you can't see them on your mat.
Not always bespoke pizza of course, but you know anything that balanced normality. You get the idea. I ate out so often I can’t remember my cooker dials never mind the meals I paid for. Nothing bad, but bad for me. I’m on a massive cocktail of drugs just to move, just to ease my pain. And the more middle class even better. So M&S became my Tesco, Salisbury my Aldi.
I'm on Disability but faking.Not like a shitty channel 5 show, but faking reality. The pain and disability is real what I pretend to do what I can't. Then I realised I'd always done this. Most people do.The real people are often the ones who try to hide their disability.
I remember worrying many times that I couldn't keep getting away with this yet kept running with how nothing in substance or action was illegal. Depression is like addiction in my case. You justify the unjustifiable to stay alive, or at least keep going.
Obviously there comes a time when medication and booze no longer dulls the pain. I was both physically in agony and mentally ripping myself apart. All I saw was a pissed up alleyway on the streets.
So here we go, here’s the conversation-
‘Hey want to carry on living dickhead?’
‘What’s to live for prick?’ (My alter ego was an abusive knob, sorry)
‘You utter twat you have kids, family all that stuff.’
‘So? What are you getting at?’
‘Listen mate I’m your suicidal self, I’M HERE TO FUCK YOU UP. Ha I made you take those pills you prick. But I’m legally obliged to mention your kids in a ‘It’s a wonderful…’
‘They’d be better off without me. Let them have the wonderful life. I’m no George Bailey.’
And so on until flashing lights and people in uniforms crashed into my house, put trouser on me as I’d pissed myself and then took me away. The copper asked to check my house. Yep not good enough he said, shithole I heard and he was right. But I’m waving that wand as quickly as possible, well working fucking hard to make a great home.
Later I found out my kid’s mum had sent her fella to check on me. Embarrassing much? The lad had always avoided eye contact with me. Now here he is while I’m in pissy pants, drugged up (though not really*) and I was expected to see him. Though I have to say bloody good on him for not only coming here but also pressing the police to see me. Not sure I’d have done that in his position so fucking huge respect to him.
I’m a fan of writing outside the timeline but I guess this needed a hard timeline. Though the story stretches further back. Decades I’ve found. I fucked up. I, can we make that more capital? I,I no higher font. I with the highest font fucked up. Only me. I hurt so many people I love. I worried so many people I love. I know the reasons why I did it and I’ve through therapy countered 95% of it. I’ve come across the same stuff where the darkness would seep and I could finally push it away and not only feel okay, but happy. I feel like a fighter at last, a warrior of my own life.
Will the black dog roar again? Well it has since, I’ve been fourteen and now I’m old. It has since my attempt three times. But now I have the weapons. I’ve already fought that dog many times and been so proud and so happy how quickly the methods worked. I wish I’d have learnt this stuff earlier.
Yes I tried, yet failed to take an overdose. Afterwards when people,oh so many people, said think of your girls I did.I'd heard that before and it meant nothing. Depression hates us all and wants us all. Let's group together and kill it. :)
I’m loving life and that is due purely to the support I found when I shook off my embrace.
*I stupidly took an overdose of meds I’d forgotten to taken so it actually made me better.
I think I remember now so talk to me Supernatural kid. And shit I'm so sorry.