bi-polar, depression, feelings, go with a flow, happiness, life, meaninglessness, mind, problems

Coping with Depression

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Hey depression. Here you are again, take your time since you are back. I can’t be present for you now since I gotta run errands.

It took some time for me to get to this point, to the point where I realized that fighting with myself makes no sense, so I started taking the depressive mood with a grain of salt.

First, I felt desperate opening my eyes in the morning feeling stuck in the stinky mud of hopelessness, worthlessness, and the entire loss of energy. My days would start with the gloomy “No, no, no, I can’t live like this, this crap will never end”. Here I was, unable to get out of bed, wanting nothing but to hide all day in the bedroom behind the drawn curtains. Daylight with people’ voices and kids’ laughter outside got me irritable, triggering the pain that everyone is happy, while I am doomed to live in the inescapable pit of despair and view the reality through the filthy lens of my messed-up mind.

Then I became resistant. I started a long fight with my helplessness, believing that I can beat the gloom and doom and change. My family got happy seeing me getting out of bed, eating, exercising, putting my make up on, and going to a psychiatrist for a scheduled visit. The guy kept putting me on something that was supposed to fix me. “It will normalize your chemical balance and improve the daily functioning, honey.”

I would nod, I would smile, I was very polite and always paid the bills they sent me from that clinic – I liked him calling me “honey”, or “dear”, or “sweetheart”. I kept picking up his prescription from a local pharmacy and flushing the pills down the toilet. Being drugged was never a way-out, but I would come back for his sweet-talks and brief hugs until this started draining my wallet.

The next step was therapy. A young lady was sincere in her efforts to help. She was fresh from her grad school and eager to make a difference in this world. I liked her, I tried to give tips after our sessions; she always refused referring to her code of ethics, boundaries, and other nonsense. I knew she was struggling financially as a single mom, overworked and underpaid. After two months of our therapy sessions, I cancelled all subsequent appointments and mailed to your home address a check with a thank you note and a request to spend the money on a newer vehicle. The check was never cashed, she was very descent and honest, I liked her even more after that.

Therapy got me into watching my thoughts, questioning my hopelessness, and disputing negativity. I did mood charts, took warm baths with sea-salt and lavender oil, and meditated with incense prior going to bed. The following morning would start with the same depressive crap, but I would know how to make it through the day.

Finally, I got bored, simply bored of following or resisting the mind farts, knowing that the mind will always be there, telling me whatever, and there is no possible way of turning it off. The realization got me shocked, then sad, then blah. Finally, I got entirely unconcerned, I had the life to live and things to do even with a broken tape-recorder in the head.

The alarm-clock rang to start the day, I opened my eyes and yawned, the gloom combined with exhaustion and nagging irritation was there. I got up and went into the bathroom. I wanted to get ready, I had things on my agenda: to drink water, to clean my fish tanks, to get roses for my girlfriend’s birthday party, to drive to the airport, to finally see the mountains. The depression was there, I shrugged my shoulders, letting the mind do whatever, I did not care, I really wanted to start my day with drinking some water.

anxiety, bi-polar, fears, life, meaninglessness, personalities, reality

Dead-end, Endless Mind Games

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The dead-end was everywhere. Everywhere she went, everyone she met, every life situation she faced was infused with the gloom of hopelessness and despair.

In relations, in career, at school, and with friends, she felt the doors kept slamming in her face or even worse, she saw no doors, just the concrete wall, cold and unbreakable.

Her mornings felt greyish, by noon the depression gradually waned turning desperation into the slightly lighter afternoons when her mind started generating more and more new ideas how to break damn the wall, how to fight the dark endlessness, and to finally make a change in her life. She got involved in copious projects insanely wasting herself on buying stocks and selling lipsticks; her afternoons were the time she had sparkles of hope that she is moving somewhere temporary silencing the dead-end anguish.

Her evenings started with routine workouts and phone calls from men offering the sugar-baby fix: “How much do you need to leave your job and stay with me, hun? You and your son are pretty amazing, give me the number, and you will get paid as soon as you move in” .

  • It is crazy, you are crazy, – her body was shaking with tears and laughter. Small, pale, anorexically thin, showing ribs through nearly transparent skin. Anemic and unable to look through the dead-end. Desperate and distressed – the more she tried the less resolution she saw.

She knew that going to bed at night slightly hyper with new thoughts and ideas was a very temporary relief; since each morning began with falling into the gloom of a new depressive episode.

I tried to help. I tried to plant a seed of common sense in her hysterical, “I will NEVER EVER change anything in my life”. I gave her some reasoning, which I thought would work, but she was blind and deaf, totally married to her problems and obsessive about doing, doing, doing, acting, acting, acting to find the way-out.

It happened late in the afternoon when I left a beauty store absorbing Florida warmth with every cell of my body. I felt her in a usually strapless dress, holding a rose soup, and looking for the vehicle. Petite, nervous, and fearful. I suddenly realized that it does not make any sense to argue that the dead-end is only in her head; and that her frantic efforts to act are as illusory as the problem that she created.

I realized that she will always be here, scared, tiny, subservient and naïve. She is one of myriad personalities the mind creates on a daily basis; and proving to her that neither her dead-end, nor she exists is a waste of time and energy.

I got tired of reacting to her drama, enticing victimization, the infinite desire to resist and fight. Her presence did not bother me, I did not care.

I found the vehicle, put the scented soap on the front seat, and smiled to the rear-view mirror. I was not sure which personality I saw, but I did not care, it did not matter to me any longer.

 

life, meaninglessness, reality

Meaninglessness of Our Life


The older I become, the brighter is my realization that nothing in this life is meaningful. Life is meaningless, it is our mind that keeps finding the meaning about it. Some of us live with a positive attitude exploring fun and pleasures. Some though indulge in sufferings, sinking themselves in depressions and anxieties, swallowing tears at the therapist’s, and supporting pharmacy through taking Xanax, Adderall, and other crap.  

Some of us are married to their miseries and refuse to see beyond their past traumas, which is understandable. Finding pleasures in life gets you out of the victim box; and not everyone is ready to face this life when the sweet cover of empathy, sympathy, pity, and compassion is ripped off. 

Swamping in grievances, dramas, and tears is comfy although stinky. But many of us are so used to the foul smell of victimization that they become adamantly resistant to let go of resentment.  
They perceive the freshness of freedom from grudges as the threat to the comfort of antidepressants, alcohol, and the drawn curtains. The darkness of their houses is lit by hugely bright TV screens, the only solace between soda and pizza, or red wine and skinny pasta, depending on the social level of the zombie LOL. Hiding in the dark with virtual gaming, porn, and action shows is therapeutic, the fresh air of reality is horribly unwelcome.

The meaninglessness of our life is amazing since we can always create the illusion of meaning based on what we want. We may prefer watching the star-lit sky through a telescope to hiding under the blanket, but both choices are irrelevant. It will all end up the same way to all of us since no one is immortal.

The only thing that matters at the end of the day is our health, the physical health of our bodies. The body is our only true friend that will never lie unlike our mind, which is full of such crap as ambitions, competitions, achievements, and urges to win. The body will always tell the truth by showing to us what we are doing wrong; and it is kinda fatuous to disregard the loud voice that keeps begging for the relief from meat consuming, work stress, sex, and medications.

We have been taught to move forward, to set goals and to achieve them. We were trained to split the world into winners and losers and to suppress the panic of becoming the latter through endless fitness and career building. Going with a flow has never been understood. Observing and feeling this life with each part of the body has always been neglected in the favor of crazy racing to the grave.

I decided to stop and do not regret my decision. I just live, take care of my body, and observe opening myself entirely to the pointlessness of our existence.