I think one of the worst things I’ve done is to use my( kind of) real name on this blog. I have friends and family, madly reading away, many of them judging. And as I am a thinking feeling individual, who really doesn’t want my parents to hurt for any reason, now I wish I’d used a pseudonym. Because I want to be honest here. I want to be safe here. And yet I find myself censoring my words and trying to keep everything pretty and middle of the road, so you won’t feel the need to discuss it with my mother, who then phones me embarrassed because you’ve given her your unwanted opinion on my writing. So this is for you: If you feel in the least sensitive, don’t read it anymore. If you feel like you could do better, start your own blog. If you think I am only writing this for you, think again. And if you feel the need to comment to someone, comment to me, not my mother. Or fuck off. I really don’t care. And if you think I’m not doing your name justice, no one knows we’re related, and again, fuck off. You don’t own it.
This is mine. I own these words. This is my knowledge. This is not politics. I do not get paid to write this. This is creation. All of it is me. And today I am tired. Tired of hiding.
The gloves are off. The mask is off.
It’s time to talk honestly about that sneaky little bitch that is my depression. I’ve been toodling along, hiding all my shit in happiness and humour, and she has reared her ugly head and tried to cover me her blackness. My kid’s been gone a week, should be time for me to refresh, but as I’ve realized, yet again, my days are formless without him. I don’t have much to do, keep me going. He does indeed, give me a reason to live. I have to get this out. At times, I have been so depressed I’ve thought about ending it, just not being anymore. It’s been that bad. There was a time in Montreal, where the tube rail looked so inviting. I started taking the bus. A time when I was with an abusive cop up north (more on that nightmare later) where I thought a bridge may do. Sometimes all I can do is weep. Like, for hours. In my head, all I’m telling myself is “It’s too hard. This is so hard.” Mostly, like this week, I just feel apathetic and confused. And I want to hide. Not come out of my house. Not let anyone ‘know’.
Stupid. I guess now everyone knows. Well, okay. Good. Glad that’s out in the open. Phew. I am relieved.
So what I need to do is force myself out of my comfort zone as much as possible. If I have any advice for anyone else who is depressive, it’s just do one thing. Doesn’t matter what. A walk, clean house, see a friend. That one thing leads to more things. Keep doing them. Don’t sit there, like I do and get worse til it’s too difficult even to bathe. Do it. I am.
I’m starting with yoga again tomorrow. You may not believe this, but I was one of those yoga bitches. Like heavy into last fall. Reading the Sutras, trying to learn Sanskrit(!) so I could become an instructor. And yes, I even did hand stands and arm balances. Proud! But, I fell off my mat. Haven’t been able to climb on yet. Depression does funny things. Strange part is, yoga helped. A lot. Took me out of my head. Took me to spirit. Not too sure why I quit.
But, I’ll start again where I am at. Ten pounds heavier, a bit sadder. I’ll get there.
I do all the other things I’m supposed to. I take my pills. I do what I can. But she is sneaky. This life is tricky business, happiness is even more so.
The mask, well, it’s off. No more hiding.
I’ll keep you posted.
Yo! Yoga! Here I come.
p.s. If you want to talk, contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org. I’ll help as much as I can. I’ll listen. I know. And any advice, oh yeah, fire it my way!