Depression & Anxiety: What No One Tells You

This week I cut out caffeine, especially the energy water I depend on to get me through the workday that has the unfortunate side effect of fucking up my stomach.

I only ate out 3 times this week, whereas we usually eat out for dinner every other night. I dutifully prepared breakfast and lunch to take to work every night beforehand, so I wouldn’t be forced to eat any junk food once I arrived.

I woke up at 5 every morning, which gave me plenty of time to get ready – do my hair, wait out the stomach pains, drink plenty of water, and watch some ASMR to calm down so I could be at work by 6.

My boyfriend drove me to work this week so I wouldn’t have to bike.

Whenever I started to get stressed, I took deep breaths and tried to remind myself it was only anxiety and it would pass, that I was strong, that I would be okay.

I even did things I was afraid of – I stood and had a conversation with an elderly coworker I don’t like very much because she’s homophobic and, I strongly suspect, racist. But I did it. I talked to her, civilly, for almost a full hour.

I was in bed by 10 every night for a “full night’s sleep” (7 hours).

I took my probiotics and vitamins every day.

In short, this week I did everything right.

 

But it’s the weekend and here I am, still feeling like shit. Still depressed. Still worried about so many things – this awful job I can’t quit because there are no better opportunities around, even though it’s terrible for my anxiety and I have a breakdown almost every day.

I’m afraid that I won’t find any better opportunities, that these so-called better opportunities don’t even exist.

It feels like everyone around me is doing better than I am. There’s a coworker years younger than me about to graduate (I still don’t have my degree), old high school friends with full-fledged careers in fields they love, and my best friend is busy furnishing a house she bought before she even moves in (whereas we’ve been living in our house 6 months and still haven’t even found a passable couch!). It feels like everyone is miles ahead of me and I’m just… stuck. Doing the same unfulfilling thing day after day.

All I’ve got / is these broken clocks / I ain’t got no time / just burnin’ daylight

“Broken Clocks” – SZA

I deleted social media (Facebook) to escape all the idiots I know because I’m convinced they don’t deserve to know me and that no one cares anyway. Yet I post constantly on social media (Instagram) hoping someone, anyone decent at all will talk to me in an audience of strangers. Because if I’m honest there’s really only one person who understands me completely and that’s my boyfriend. And I’m not on some romanticized, unhealthy ass middle-school bullshit here: he’s truly the only one who knows everything I’ve been through, everything I struggle with, everything I’m fighting for – and accepts it. All of it. All of me.

I want conversation, but only the right kind. I want attention, but only from the right people. I want communication, but only on my own terms.

The other day I worked with a lady who’d been with the company for 18 years. And I’m afraid that’ll be me – I’ve already been here 3. How easy it would be to let yourself slip into a pattern of comfort and familiarity and never again strive for any of your dreams. How easy it would be to just to shrug and be content.

I’m scared I’ll turn 30 and look up and still be working a career I hate.

I’m scared I’ll never be happy with my body no matter how many runs I go on or how healthy I eat.

I’m scared no one will read this post because it’s too much like the last one I did on anxiety and therefore uninteresting.

I’m scared no will read my writing period, that I’ll never be a “real” writer.

I’m scared someone I know might see this post and realize I’m talking about them and hate me.

I’m scared my stomach and lower back will never stop hurting.

I’m scared I’ll never stop having swings of sadness.

I’m scared I’ll never be able to stop fixating.

I’m scared all this worry in my brain will never shut off.

I’m scared I’ll get worse.

 

Truth is I’m no better than I was when I made that post two months ago, and I guess that’s the point of all this – you can do all the good things, you can take super care of yourself, you can do everything “right” and still feel just as shitty as before. That’s what they don’t tell you: there is no cure for mental illness. It’s an unwinnable fight. The best we can hope for is to try to manage our symptoms. To just survive, one shitty day at a time- even if that means distracting ourselves with TV, video games, food, art, anything. Anything to keep us going. Anything to help us escape or give us meaning.

Imagine having to fight a fight every day that you know you can never win, but still have to go through. The seeming hopelessness and futility of such an act, and the absolute exhaustion and frustration that result is why I think so many of us lose said fight – whether via suicide, substance abuse, or simply the inability to get out of bed.

How scary to know that sometimes, no matter how impossibly well you treat yourself, you’ll still be in just as much pain as before – whether physical, emotional, or mental. How scary to feel like nothing you do makes a goddamn difference. How terrible to feel so helpless, so out of control of your own life.

And then of course, the thought occurs: if doing the “right” thing makes no difference, why not just do the “wrong” thing and at least have some fun while you’re at it?

How easy to switch from drinking a yogurt to downing a whiskey. To take a nap instead of getting exercise. To pick up fast food instead of cooking a wholesome meal. To lie in bed despairing instead of getting up and making art.

That’s the hard truth no one will ever tell you about depression and anxiety: that it never ends. You’ve been cursed, and the curse is lifelong. There’s no winning. No happy ending, no quick fix, no cure-all. The reality is the best any of us can do is learn to live with these obtrusive parasites. ~