I wanted to talk to everyone about depression. There’s a lot of terms for dealing with it. Battling. Struggling. Fighting. The list goes on. But really, that doesn’t capture the feeling for me.
See, I drown in it. That’s what it feels like. Not battling. A battle I could handle. It has a sword and teeth and fangs and we can go to town. No, it’s a drowning because you literally get tired of dogpaddling through it, and then you go under—and it fills you. Your only hope is to resurface and cough the water out of your lungs.
But it is an endless ocean and sometimes you can see land. But you’ll never reach it. Even as you see people on it living their lives happy and playing in the sand. You’ll never feel that grit between your toes.
Because for some people, the world is made of dark, dank water and we endlessly and tiredly swim for some kind of support…for some kind of surcease…anything really.
I was told once never to “break the fourth wall” as a professional writer, meaning never show anything personal to anyone reading about me. Oh sure, share some minor little things like cats and stance on social issues but never stray too far into the darkness or any hardcore passions.
That never felt right. Because let’s face it, we are all human. And yes, while I may not grumble to you all about how I feel about a bad review in particular, I’m definitely going to share the humanness of who I am.
Because I fought damned hard to get to that humanity.
Now all of you know I write. I keep saying that writers are a neurotic, egotistical mess. I am clearly talking about myself. I am constantly on the edge of hoping a book does well and that I’m writing solid enough stuff to keep people entertained. This can be crippling. I admit that. It’s easier if I let go of that anchor because it drags me down into the waters.
It’s so damned hard to let go of that because really, by doing so, I’m putting a value on brain vomit.
At some point, I began to believe there had to be tangible things produced when something was worked on. Like a burrito or something. In my head, writing doesn’t produce anything like that. So it’s a hard concept to get my brain around writing. I feel odd even saying “I am creative”. It feels like I’m claiming something I’m not. But LOOK I have proof! I do! Or so I say to my brain.
Bear with me. I never said I wasn’t cracked in the head.
It’s taking a bit to put the “I did this” onto a book I’ve written. Dunno why. Lack of something in my soul, heart or mind. And out of the blue, my mother gave me some advice; she never gives me advice. Hell, I can’t tell you one bit of advice she’d ever given me in the past but suddenly, here she is dishing out a tidbit.
She told me to say I love myself ever day. Several times.
You cannot imagine how difficult it is to say that. It’s a lie! It’s nonsense! It’s brain vomit.
What did I have to lose? Why was I reluctant? Why was it so scary?
I can’t describe the oddness I feel when I say it in my head. It’s not a bad feeling. It’s an odd feeling. I distrust it. Much like I distrust anything complimentary. Because those are solid things to hold onto while paddling in the ocean and they can be swept away… and all sorts of nonsense.
But okay. I have tried it. It feels odd but there’s a change. Inside someplace. A buoyancy.
So maybe it’s okay.
If you’re drowning, try it. Let me know how you feel. See if our oddnesses match up. I am going to pick up writing again after being out of it for a week. It’s been a rough week and I’ve been reeling and drowning like a mad drowning thing. But I’m still paddling and fuck it, that’s a damned good thing.
I love you all. Really. You’re like the air in those puffy water wing things they put on kids and I appreciate every single puff of breath you give me. But use some for yourself. Drowning or now. Say I Love Myself to that person you’re sitting inside. Make him or her smile.
Thank you. I have never heard of the Fourth Wall but then again I haven’t published anything yet so I haven’t had the chance to hear the dos and donts. But thank you for not listening. You telling us about what has happened to you, what you are going through now. It gives me hope. I can tell myself I can do this too. It’s odd though. It wasn’t until here lately that I have begin to say I love myself. I have been struggling for years with sister and trying to tell her she is beautiful. It become a daily thing for me compliment something for her. Slowly but surely she began to grow into herself. It was so fucking amazing to see her walk into room full of people with her head held high. I can’t begin to express to you he proud I am of her. I didn’t realize I needed the samething until just a little while ago. She said to me “You look beautiful today, I really like how you did your hair and that dress looks amazing on you.” I was in shock so like I normally do when I am uncomfortable I made a joke asking what the special occasion was or what did she want. And she nothing. Just that I have been telling her so many good things about her that it was time for me to hear good things about me. It hit me then. I was so focused on her I didn’t think of loving myself. And hearing your advice to say I love myself everyday several times a day is a fantastic place to start.
You are beautiful. You are. *nods*
Usually the Fourth Wall term is used to describe a character breaking out of the medium (like a book, movie or comic strip) to directly address the reader or viewer. In this case, it’s more like donning a professional mask. Which is okay but hey, I think we all kinda struggle with a bunch of stuff and we should probably at least talk about it. It might not get the elephant out of the room but it’ll put really pretty pink panties on it. *grins*
Love yourself. *nods*
I hear you, and recognise a lot of what you’re saying. Will try to be kinder to my inner self. Thank you! {hugs}
Smoooooches. *HUGS*
What good advice. So very hard to do but worth a shot. I’ve never felt like I’ve been “enough” at anything – that’s the kind of advice MY mother gave me unfortunately. Nothing I ever did or was ever was good enough (or still is) and that really has been internalized so much that it affects me profoundly even today. She’s still very much in my life as she is aging and dealing with health issues and it’s still a big struggle for me to constantly feel so judged and to be found to be so lacking.
Props to you for being so open and dealing with your feelings and journey with this. {{Big hugs}}
I got a lot of that kind of advice too. Isn’t it funny how that is what rises to the surface of our thoughts? That we’re not good enough. That we won’t ever be good enough. No matter how far we fly, we’re still anchored to the ground because of our worthlessness.
I hate this thing. I do. Probably more than I hate bitter melon but ah, it’s something I think a lot of us go through so hey, we should discuss it. Maybe weave a few baskets. *grins*
*HUGS*
I recognize this. It is difficult to keep saying I love myself when I don’t feel it. Drowning is a good analogy. I read something about how to spot when someone is drowning, in a literal sense, and I could see that in myself in a figurative sense. Drowning is not the violent, splashing, call for help that most people expect. It takes years of training to recognize drowning. The Instinctive Drowning Response is what people do to avoid actual or perceived suffocation in the water. And it does not look like most people expect. There is very little splashing, no waving, and no yelling or calls for help of any kind. You can’t ask for help.
Your analogy resonates with me because of that. I feel like I am drowning and nobody knows. Those anti-depressants are the lifeline that finally put me back to where I could touch the bottom and not go under every other breath. I still get the waves that are too large.
The waves can be oh so large. *nods* And the water is so cold. Have you found that sometimes? When you can’t quite get warm inside?
Medication is a good thing and God when you find that ONE! *nods* And yeah, it doesn’t always pull you up all the way but god isn’t it a help?
*HUGS*
Depression is a living, breathing monster. It sucks the joy and pleasure out of the air and spits back something dark and sticky. It leaches the life from muscles and pores, and whispers lies that are too easy to believe.
I was diagnosed with depression at eight years of age. Before I even knew what it was. At that time–roughly 1964–there was nothing for a child but to “get over it.” Funny coming from a mother who suffered from periodic bouts of anxiety and depression herself. Her entire family share a genetic predisposition for depression, anxiety disorder, and scarey bi-polar swings. At family reunions my cousins and I discuss which medications we’re taking: What works; what doesn’t; what to steer clear of; which three year old was recently diagnosed.
We also laugh. A lot. We hug each other and say, “I love you,” and mean it. We listen and talk, and try to hear the things that can’t be said aloud. We’re all alive, save for the few who’ve passed away of natural causes, and that’s saying a lot. We’re a very large family of survivors who have done our best to learn to float. To let go, lie on our backs and watch the sun, moon and stars above us as we balance on the surface.
We float with love, faith, hope and, of course, medication, but, by Gods, we float.
My family denies anything is wrong with anyone. And they might be right. I dunno. My mother recognizes that I’m broken or rather off brand *grins* So that’s a bit of hey and I know that people worry for me. Hell, I worry for me when I skirt too close to the razor’s edge.
Floating is good. Medication is great. And a good dog cuddle works wonders. Of coruse the cat can’t be arsed until I’m eating chicken or something.
*grins*
Hugs you and smooches.
Your first pic… Did I take you to Weeki-Wachee when you visited?
Call me, anytime.
J
No! You did not! We need to go! Are you home? Aren’t we suppose to talk at 3ish?
I know how it feels. My husbands knows how it feels. Many, many of us knows how depression feels and how it pulls us under the surface. Fortunately, most of us also know that it WILL GET BETTER! And love and support goes a long way. Big hugs to you Rhys and all who struggle with depression.
It’s crapy. Isn’t it? Heh. Smooches and best wishes to your husband 😀 Ah, we need to form a vespa gang or summat.
I just left the eye doctor’s office and THAT picture of the floating woman was in their lobby, huge and dominating the room. Eye doctor? Well, strange indeed to see it again here about an hour later.
Your mother’s words are taken to heart.
Oh that is odd. And wonder why they put it in the doctor’s office 😀
Hugs to you.
Smooches to you.
I think every person who steps up and talks about their depression is doing a wonderful thing. I’ve read many a blog post from people from all walks of life who suffer, and inevitably, like here, the comment sections are full of thankful people who are glad to not be alone in the struggle and who want to be/have a hand to hold on to while they keep working moment by moment to let go of the darkness.
For everyone who shared their struggle and any others who read but don’t comment, keep holding on, keep loving yourself, and keep reminding yourself how amazing and wonderful and precious you are. Because You are. You are. You are.
I think so much of it… well for me is, I don’t want to be a bother. Because I FEEL like I’m a bother. I get sick of listening to me whinge and complain *grins* And I know others feel like that’s all they do too. Because it just dominates our lives. Really, if it could go sit in a closet for a few years, that’ll be nice. I could learn how to brick up a closet in that time *laughs*
Smooches and yes, people are very precious. They are. *hugs*
Depression is a Dementor. It lies to you. It distorts all your memories until you can no longer recall a time in which you were happy. It sucks the life out of you and you feel helpless against it. Your depiction of it as being more like drowning that something that can be battled is very apt, I think.
For many people, depression is also deeply repressed anger. Rage over something that has happened in your past or present that you might not even think is bothering you anymore but it manifests itself as depression.
Your mother’s advice is a bit like a Patronus spell, isn’t it? At least, that’s how I’m going to think of it. Thank you for sharing.
Great. Now I have the rat in a cage song in my head. Thank you for that. I already have another one in my head. *grins*
It is a very helpless thing. Such a phantom attacker.
And yes, definitely a Patronus spell. *nods* *grins*
Smooches
Weirdness warning: I’ve had depression and anxiety attacks since about puberty, which have gotten worse over the years (about 30 of them). By a long and circuitous (and unrelated) route, I stumbled upon the paleo diet (no grains, legumes, sugar, or dairy) and I’ve been on it since February. My depression and anxiety have eased up CONSIDERABLY, except when I eat something with wheat in it. Then I’m a maggot-brain again, and it lasts for a week. It’s so very, very strange, but I am deeply enjoying the serene apathy I’m currently afloat in.
I avoid peanuts for the most part. Legumes seem to kick my butt. No dairy. Asian. Dairy and I aren’t friends. Heh.
I can’t not eat rice. It feels weird. Coffee calms me. That is a big help 😀
Yay for the lessening. Isn’t that a great feeling? *hugs*
Depression is so big…so global, it’s exhausting trying to climb on top of it to get any kind of objective view. Nonetheless, we keep on living with it, accumulating all kinds of wisdom that somehow don’t seem to be a damn bit of help most of the time.
I agree that depression is usually anger turned inward. For whatever reason, personality or experience, somewhere way back we learned or decided it was better to hold it in.
I sensed early on that while I had some very good qualities, I also had a capacity for righteous fury combined with a huge vocabulary and a way with words that let me run verbal circles around anyone who torqued me. I sensed that, given free rein, those qualities would consume me…it would be very easy to manipulate people, to be cruel to them through savage wit and sarcasm, and to foster a huge sense of arrogance simply by outwitting people or verbally clobbering them with their own failures. It’s why I decided not to go to law school. I would have become a monster.
All that to say…given that capacity for great anger…I have had a great capacity for depression. And I have been very…VERY…angry with my dad. Without going into any details, because after all, nobody’s story is new, this is what I’ve learned:
1. That perfect daddy (or mother, for some folks) is never coming. That dad that one day is going to suddenly sit up and say “Oh! so THAT’s what you meant! So THAT’s who you really are, and I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.” — that shadow figure of the perfect father or mother that we all carry around with us…that amalgamation of our first fairy tales, our first movies, our first visceral lessons in what a mom or dad was supposed to be…that person we keep subconsciously using as a pattern match…that person is never coming. You can wait a lifetime for your mom or dad to wake up and rise to meet the shadow parent, but it’s never ever going to happen.
2. Why? Because some parents are missing chips on their motherboards. It took a long, long time before I realized that my father wasn’t deliberately setting out to be an utter jerk in some areas. He was literally missing a piece of piece of brain wiring that allowed him to tap into empathy for anyone whose experiences or goals in life were different from his own. It isn’t that he chooses to completely disregard the pain of others when they are emotionally bleeding out right in front of him…it’s that he’s missing an essential chip that allows him to filter his responses through a sieve of compassion before speaking or acting. And that same missing chip prevents him from being self aware either during or after the trauma of a confrontation. Which means he can never learn to be different. Looking back, it’s clear to me that this man, for this reason alone, should never have been allowed to become a parent, any more that a person missing an eye should be able to drive.
3. Which means that, when dealing with anyone who is operating with less than a full emotional deck, boundaries are in order. Strong, healthy boundaries that stand the test of a parent’s assholeness and possibly your own.
4. If a parent is missing a chip…missing a fundamental element of compassion or perspective…then any opinion they have of you, what you are doing, or the value of what you do is going to be flawed. Just because they pushed you out into the world doesn’t mean they are qualified to evaluate you, test you, or find you wanting. My father is a conservative Christian aerospace engineer (which has already fucked with his head…don’t get him started on the theory of evolution or the validity of carbon based dating), married to my mother for over 50 years. I am a liberal atheist, bisexual, man-on-man-lovin’ single mother who had her twins by anonymous donor and in vitro fertilization (I called the 1-800 infomercial line at 1 am and they doubled my order, absolutely free!). On what planet would anyone like my dad be qualified to evaluate the quality of my life, what defines my path to happiness, what my moral or ethical state is, or whether or not I add value to the lives of the people around me??
Dad, can we talk? Uh..wait…on second thought, never mind.
And I mean that literally. When I was learning to translate my inward depression into outward anger, the first boundary I set with my father was “We Don’t Talk.” Yes, I could ask for the salt, or request that he hand me the remote, or let him know the girls and I would be over to visit on Saturday, but I ruthlessly stuck to the utilitarian and mundane. For years. He didn’t like it and didn’t understand it, but it kept me safe and it allowed the family to have a relationship with my girls. Because every time we talked about ANYTHING outside the mundane, we ended up frustrated, stalemated and fighting. He would push and push and push me to talk…hand me newspaper articles, send messages through my mom, criticize me on something innocuous to get a rise. And I learned that, as soon as he pushed against my boundary, I would calmly get my keys, collect the kids and leave. It made him mad, it offended him. I learned not to care. It was MY boundary. I had a right to set it, based on his limitations and his potential to damage me. He was a toxic person to me. Interacting with him made me sick. Literally. It made me depressed. His negativity, disapproval and lack of imagination were like emotional second hand smoke…I would feel poisoned for days or weeks after being around him without my boundary.
But I couldn’t undo the damage that had been done to me as a little kid, or growing up. The first step had been recognizing that my big, scary father was actually a surprisingly little man…with a littleness of viewpoint and a seriously limited capacity for emotional connection. The second step was understanding that the father I was waiting for was never coming. I had to let that go and grieve it…hard. But I understood finally that the shadow was never coming, not because I had failed to measure up, but because he had failed to broaden and expand his horizons to include anything different from his careful, constipated little world. Ironically, my father’s disapproval actually had little to do with me and everything to do with his fear, his own anger, and his desperate need to control everything in order to feel safe.
Baby, I’m an ENTP. Every time I get control, it means it’s time to go blow some shit up.
So then I worked on recognizing that little kid inside myself who had gotten run over again and again so long ago. I had to externalize that child so that I could look at her through my adult eyes and see her the way I would see any child in the care of someone inadequate or cruel. I had to allow myself to be angry on her behalf. I had to learn to picture myself holding her, comforting her, getting used to the idea that she deserved to be comforted, which seemed obvious now, and that therefore I had deserved to be held and comforted. It was so hard to learn to apply the same standards I would naturally use for my own child…for any child now, toward that child back then. But why would my standards be any less, just because it was me? I still don’t know when I drank the Koolaid on that one, but I finally got pissed on behalf of my inner child and I got defensive and protective and I put up boundaries around anyone who I couldn’t trust completely to treat us kindly.
One thing my therapist asked me to do was to gather a string of photographs of myself from about 6 months of age on until about age 15. I asked my mom to send a random selection out to me in LA and she did. When I put them in sequential order it was striking. Stunning, even. In the early pictures, I am an enormously happy, gregarious, joyful baby with a spark in the eye and a sense of humor. Then, picture by picture, starting at about age three, you can see the light go out. By 12, I hadn’t smiled in a photograph in years. It was right there in front of me, and it broke my heart for that child.
I learned that when trauma happened to me as a kid, parts of me got emotionally stuck at the time it happened. I adapted on the spot, came up with coping strategies that got me through it…and I”ve stuck with them ever since. In my case, I learned to disassociate my emotions from circumstances by flipping a mental switch. On. Feel. Off. Do, but don’t feel. Very effective. Has gotten me through school, through work and through a marriage.
Except for the damn depression.
I know I”m rambling madly here…I didn’t sit down to write all this…and I know you’ve poured out your thoughts about flailing, and I”m responding with “All About Me,” but I swear this is coming from empathy and a desire to share whatever I know, because you never know what might strike a spark of connection in the middle of all the “vomit.”
I am better. I realized that I needed to work my shit out if I was going to be a mother, because I’ll tell you what…the buck stops here with this family dysfunction. I learned not to feel to avoid the depression for a while, and to avoid my father. But I’d have no right bringing a child into the world and into my care if I knew I was dis-integrated, and therefore doomed to pass my damage on. I worked hard with a therapist in LA for a while and it was helpful. But in the end, the solutions for me were pretty straightforward. Let go of the fantasy. See my parents for what they were…and weren’t. Identify who in my life made me feel sick or sad when exposed to them, and control the exposure at any cost, regardless of who they were or what they thought I owed them. Learn to establish strong boundaries and to stick to them…and to treat anyone who disrespects my boundaries the same way I would treat a disrespectful child…with an immediate consequence of removing myself from their reach. See the child inside me…the stuck child…through adult eyes, and acknowledge that she deserved better and that she deserves even now to be soothed and mentally rocked sometimes, even to the point of talking to myself like I would to a four year old…”Shhhh…it’s okay….it’s all right….you’re safe with me…you did really really well just now…look at what we just did together!” Affirm that little girl inside so that she can heal and reintegrate to move toward a healthy mind and heart. THAT is how you love yourself, every day. Saying to love yourself is a good step, but demonstrating it to yourself mentally every day, in what you picture in your head and how you speak to yourself inside will begin to change your point of view.
I also realized that I was born to be that baby in the early photos…and I wanted her back again.
The older I get, the more I understand that everyone deserves a shot at contentment. Happiness is nice in pockets here and there, but contentment and peace of mind is the real Holy Grail. Anything…or anyone one…who consistently or selfishly pulls me away from being at peace needs to stand over THERE. Depression sucks and if I have to go there, it won’t be because I didn’t fight for a clear space around me.
I hope you can see your mother for what she is and isn’t. I hope you can see that her disapproval or dissatisfaction comes from her inability or refusal to get real. I hope you can identify if she’s missing a chip somehow and let yourself off a very high hook of expectation. I hope you can realize that the mom you’re waiting for isn’t coming. I hope you can find a way to recognize who that little girl inside you was supposed to be before all the shit went down…and I hope you and she can find ways to be with each other again, that you can own her and start fighting for her and setting your standards for yourself and her high because you both deserve it. I hope you can get angry on her behalf and turn that anger out, rather than in. Spit, don’t swallow.
You have a real, demonstrated talent that speaks for itself every day in the market place. You have warm, deft social skills you showcase every day on this blog. You have a fabulous sense of humor with a black twist that is rare and to be appreciated. You have non-threatening warmth that allows your readers to enter into unfamiliar cultural spaces with real enjoyment. You have a sense of gastronomic adventure that just looks like fun. You listen to your inner voice and maintain the integrity of your creations, even against market demand. You seem to have an inner core that you must be true to, regardless of approved approach. You understand that dogs and cats rule this world and we should be grateful to serve. And you seem to have an unlimited supply of pix of hot guys.
What’s not to admire? What’s not to like?
You make an impression. And I don’t even know you.
Depression is huge. It is. It just CONSUMES!
Ah, my mother. I love her. I do. She’s a sweet person but not someone to guide me through life. And that’s okay. It really is.
And babe, rambling is good. It is Always! good.
I thank you for sharing. Because really, it’s about talking. AND yes, sometimes avoiding a parent is a good idea. I avoid my father. Too poisonous. You know?
The most I hope for is balance. Contentment. Hell, a good place that serves great hot dogs.
I do my best. Smooches. And thank you.
And I have those photos too. *nods* *hugs*
I agree that depression is huge. For me it like getting the world’s biggest shot of Novocain. I become numb to what is going on around me. I don’t fell sad nor do I feel happy when i am depressed. It’s like a world filled with nothing. For me Depression is about the self talk in my head. ( I should have said this, or why did I do that and i should have control over this but it is spinning out of control and I cant fix it)
Remedies are hard because they are unique to each person. What works for one may not work for another.
Remedies were( are) for me because it took(takes)time to register that i am feeling numb or that there is a problem.
My remedies. 1. It the feeling that i have to pull my Sh** together because I have to be able to take care of my child.
2. Having a sense of humor about how random and absurd this world can be.
3. Music and reading. For me it hard to stay in my funk when i am driving to work singing Meatloaf you took the words out of my mouth or Icona Pop I love it. Reading takes me out of my head and puts me an authors story for a couple of hours. Books have made me laugh and cry… it hard to stay numb when you start to laugh or cry.
so currently felling happy and content.
looking forward to whiskey and Rhy, I am going to go seem Depeche Mode this month ( my all time favorite) and my baby is graduating from 8th grade.
Music is a BIG part in defunking me. *nods* Good loud sometimes angry sometimes silly music. Hard to stay funkified when you’re singing about Lollipops *grins* I agree. Totally. Smooches.
I’ve been happily, if quietly, following your posts for a while now but this item made me decide to reply for the first time. I don’t necessarily suffer from depression but only because I developed a very thick skin at a young age in defense against the cruelty of the masses. I consider myself lucky, maybe even blessed, to have been able to stand up against cruelty while undergoing it and giving the finger to all such bullies. Of course that meant hiding the pain and tears and maintaining the self esteem required to be not just successful but many years after graduating learning that I was considered one of the elite, popular crowd who was quite intimidating and everyone wanted to be my friend…huh…the things we never knew! Anyway, what all that did for me was to talk myself into hiding my true feelings and only allowing the world to see what I want them to see. They see the surface only. Everyone…not even my husband who knows me better than anyone knows my true inner self. I consider it another person living inside of me. My true self. There is one other person who knows that version of me but we were idiots and took different paths. The way I feed that other person is through living vicariously through others. I read, read, read…and did I mention that I read!!! I absolutely love you! You are a bright spot in my day. More bright spots when you post morning, mid-morning, afternoon and evening pics!! LOVE!!! Depression comes in many forms…but don’t let anyone tell you that you aren’t loved or not good enough. As another poster stated I don’t even know you but I am touched by your life and interested in what’s going on and wait on pins and needles for what you may have next for us. Every person sees things in others that they wish they were themselves. While I am satisfied with the me the world sees there are parts of me that I would love to have allowed out to see the world. You allow those parts to live…well, your beautiful men…the ones in the pics and the books!! They allow this quite happily married woman to live quite vicariously!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!
*hugs* I SO know what you mean by saying that there is an inner self living in you. I feel that way too. A LOT. Usually that person is grumpy or frenetic but that’s also the dreamer and the what-if kinda of person.
I’d like to blame that person for the REALLY stupid things I do but let’s face it, no one TOLD me to eat that raw ghost pepper my mom offered me. *nods* *grins*
I’m glad you find interesting things here. Really. That’s the reason I blog mostly. Sure, it’s a place to talk about what I’ve got going on but mostly it’s to rattle on about all sorts of things…
And well, stare at pretty boys. Because really, isn’t that the best part of life?
Smooches and thank you.
I always feel that I am alone in the world when going through the negative emotion of depression & dark thoughts that goes with that emotion….then reading this, reminds me that I am not alone. Gotta love this famous star’s saying….”If you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love someone else! Can I get an amen!”
<3 THANK YOU for sharing this part of you. <3
Smooches and hugs. *SQUISHES*
I did this last year in May to tremendous success. Every morning I would look at myself in the mirror and I would say “I am beautiful and I love myself” Or other things…OMG it was hard, I would SQUIRM and I cringed and I couldnt look myself in the eyes…
but then the next week, I squirmed less, the third week I could stare myself in the eyes and during the fourth week – I smiled……..and I believed.
this doesnt mean I havent had problems since and it took me 6 months of learning to love myself at so many levels but right this second I love who I am now. One of my biggest lessons I learned is – I cant control another persons reaction or actions but I can control my emotions and my actions.
I have never had depression like some of my friends, but I have utterly loathed myself in a self critical and destructive way. I want you to know that I am sending you the most giant loving hug. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL 🙂
Oh God Isn’t it hard? And I keep Forgetting to do it. *nods* I have to set a reminder or something. Yay for finding out it’s a good positive thing. *grins*
Squirming though….yes. *nods*
Smooches and hugs back!
I was in an unhealthy relationship and last year after the break up I was so depressed that I became suicidal. I can relate to the drowning description because that was how it felt to me too.
This is going to sound stupid but I don’t know if I would be here today if I hadn’t tripped and fell and broke my elbow and required surgery and physical therapy. I have a hard time admitting when I need help but since I couldn’t use my dominate hand, I really had no other choice. My family was so supportive of me that I had to admit that at least in their eyes I was someone worthwhile and not just a stupid ugly failure that my ex convinced me I was.
I’m in counselling now. My depression is mostly under control but I’m dealing with a moderate anxiety disorder among some other stuff. I still have bad days. I have little note cards with positive affirmations written on them around my apartment where I see them to remind myself that the bad days will pass and tomorrow might be a better day.
It doesn’t sound stupid at all. I am so glad that you were able to get some assistance! That is so key! Really.
Yay for you and I am glad you are getting on your feet. So so glad you are here and yes, there are bad days. *hugs* But I hope you will let them pass. Smooches.