Unicorns

I used to think that emptiness was an absence of feelings.

It's not.

Emptiness is feeling like you're being pushed into the ocean wearing nothing but cement shoes and a straightjacket.

Exposed. 

Frantic. 

Helpless.

It's fear and panic and crushing tightness in your chest. It's feeling everything all at once but being too overwhelmed to process anything.

It's hovering over the "post" button for weeks because you're afraid of what people will think if you actually push the damn button - and even more afraid that nobody will even give a shit. 

It's watching people decide, one by one, that you're not worth it and constantly wondering who's going to bail next. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. It always does. 

It's realizing that people in your life that you thought cared for you really only do so when it suits them - if you're lucky. And that it's all too easy for them to cut you out of their life without even missing a beat. 

It's watching the light quickly fade away as you sink deeper and deeper. It's knowing that if you try to scream for help, you'll only drown faster.

I remember my therapist asking me one time how I felt. "Empty," I replied.

"You have way too many feelings to feel empty," she responded.

But honestly, that's kind of the point. 

Feeling everything all at once is a lot like drowning. There is just too much going on to even begin processing any of it. The feelings just sit there decaying into a purulent, putrid mess. I have so many feelings that it's impossible to actually FEEL. 

Because emptiness doesn't feel like nothing.

It feels like everything.

It feels like all of the emotions and guilt and insecurity and hurt slowly building. The pressure mounting until it becomes almost unbearable. Self-preservation mode kicks in and the only defense is to pretend not to feel. 

It feels like being stuck in a pressure cooker with no relief valve. 

Censorship seems to be the order of the day lately anyway. I'm not going to say that nothing good ever came from me being open about my struggles with mental illness and domestic abuse. That's not entirely true, but it's pretty damn close.

Over the past couple of years, it's lost me friends and caused me problems at work. I'm really not sure it's worth it anymore. Sometimes honesty just doesn't get you anywhere. Most days, it seems like society just wants to be enamored with false pretenses and let's be honest, I suck at those. 

I go to work every day with an arsenal of medications in my purse because I can't afford to have an anxiety attack or major depressive episode. I've learned the hard way that being open about struggles at work is basically like throwing your entire reputation in the toilet and lighting it on fire. 

And it's not even because my work suffers as a result of my depression and anxiety. It's just because the expectation is that my mental illness makes me broken - less of a person and quite certainly incapable of being a fully functioning human being. It really doesn't matter if it's actually true. 

Maybe I should go back to slapping a smile on, pretending like everything's just peachy. Maybe I should go back to stuffing things inside and trying to seem "normal." Most people don't care if I'm struggling, to be honest. Fake people are trendy these days, so at least there's that.

Rejection hurts under any circumstances, but there's a special sting when someone rejects you in your rawest, most honest form, though I don't suppose I have much choice in the matter. And really, it's not like it's anything new.

But I guess I'll survive. After all, that's kind of my specialty.

Stages of Depression

1. The false sense of security: Your mood is pretty good. You feel like moderately a functional member of society and that your existence serves some sort of purpose. Things seem to be falling into place, and you finally seem to be getting your life back together. Maybe this is it - that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

2. Fake it 'til you make it: You're feeling a little down, but you slap on a happy face and pretend like everything's just peachy. This is more for everyone else's benefit than your own because, after all, depression is ugly business and who wants to be around a whole mess of ugly? Besides, maybe if you fake happiness long enough, you'll actually end up happy. That's how it works in the movies, right?

3. Fake it 'til you make it is bullshit: Pretty self-explanatory. You realize that the idea of trying a "fake it 'til you make it" approach to depression is complete bullshit and pretending that it isn't bullshit just perpetuates the myth that depression is a choice. It isn't. Nobody is fucked up enough to choose depression.

4. Drowning: You realize that it's worse than you thought and that you need people. You might try to reach out and let people know you're struggling (without being too obvious - you have a reputation to uphold, after all). In public, people might even act concerned - offer a kind word or reassuring gesture. In private, it's stone cold silence. It might be because they don't know what to say. It might be because they flat out don't give a shit. In the end, the reason doesn't really matter because silence is silence and it speaks volumes.

5. Apathy: Give the people what they want - a phony smile and the pretense of a fully functional human being. It doesn't matter if it's real - they don't care. On the outside, you'll appear to be improving. In reality, you've just given up and are trying not to make people uncomfortable with all of your stupid self-loathing, all the while feeling completely dead inside. And sure, to the outside observer, feeling dead inside probably looks happier than having feelings - but it doesn't make you any less dead inside. Apathy, our old friend - you're a downright bastard. We'd hate your guts if we had any feelings left.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. And maybe throw some extra false hope in the mix every once in a while for good measure.