[Trigger Warning: Don’t read if easily triggered by talk of depression or suicidal thoughts]
I had a meltdown over tea today. I couldn’t figure out why my shitty bladder/kidney problem has been so flared up the last few days. That’s when I decided to check the ingredients in the new pomegranate-green tea I recently purchased. Lo and behold, there the culprit was, right in front of me the whole time: cranberry. Fucking cranberry. Cranberry is a giant no-no with the condition that I have, as it’s one of the many foods/beverages on the long list of things that will most likely have me writing in pain on the floor an hour later, whining about the utter injustices of bog-grown fruits.
The meltdown wasn’t really about cranberries or the tea that I am no longer able to drink (Although I did really like that tea). The meltdown was just one of many that I’ve had lately over a completely arbitrary event – sometimes real, sometimes imaginary. Because that’s what life with mental illness is like. Combine it with chronic pain and you have a recipe for disaster just waiting for you. A recipe which probably contains cranberries.
I mentioned a while back that my brain was starting to mess with me again. My depression had crept it’s way back in and was starting to be a real jerk. A few weeks later I went to my doctor and asked them to increase my dosage of the medicine I was taking. Because my luck and my body are absolute garbage, upping my dosage did not have the intended effect. In fact, it had the exact opposite effect. Within days I stopped sleeping, my anxiety skyrocketed, and I became so depressed that I forgot how to function. The only good thing is that I wasn’t sad anymore. I wasn’t anything, actually, as I stopped feeling almost all emotions entirely, except anger. When I wasn’t acting like an angry, irritable psychopath, I felt absolutely nothing at all. Not happy. Not sad. Just…nothing. My medicine numbed me out so much that I became this big empty void of bitterness and exhaustion. My energy levels disappeared and I was in pain all of the time because all the stress made all my other health issues flare up. I was miserable, but I stuck it out, hoping that within a few weeks my brain would balance itself out and that the medicine would start helping.
But it didn’t.
Fast forward another few weeks and I was laying on the couch in the middle of the day (I left work early that day because I was tired and couldn’t concentrate on anything and, frankly, I just didn’t give a shit anymore. It was not the first time.) telling Boyfriend that I wanted to be dead because nobody cared about me anyway. I don’t have many friends in my real life to talk to and my family isn’t here. Even the few people who knew what I’ve been going through didn’t seem to really care that much. They might say things like “Sorry you’re feeling bad,” but when you’re so depressed that you can’t remember to shower and are having suicidal thoughts, “Sorry” doesn’t really mean that much.
Yesterday I went back to the doctor and was put on another medication and given the recommendation to see a psychiatrist. I know there should probably be some relief in the fact that maybe this medicine will help me and I’ll finally feel like a normal functioning human again. But, if I am being honest, I’m so broken down and empty lately that relief feels pretty far away.
I hate this feeling. I hate depression and all the terrible ways it has ruined my life. I hate my anxiety and the way it makes me afraid of everyone and everything. I hate getting up every morning, feeling like all I want to do is crawl back into bed. I hate not feeling like I’m never good enough and that everyone hates me. I’m tired of turning into this raging Hulk-like person (minus the muscles) for literally no reason at all. I’m tired of going to bed every night wondering if I’ll actually get some sleep, then worrying about it to the point that I give myself a headache.
There are some things in my life coming up that I should be excited about, but it’s been hard to feel excited about anything. I really hope things start to look up soon so that I can actually enjoy them. In the mean time, here’s a giant FUCK YOU to my depression…and to cranberries.