Lonely

I am lonely.

That's nothing new for someone with depression, the sense of being alone. In many ways I'm lucky; I have a loving husband and two wonderful children who keep me occupied. I love them, they love me. I'm lucky. But like so many sufferers, I can feel alone even in a crowded room.

When I'm empty, I believe no one can possibly understand the hollow feeling in my chest. No one (except my children) can get close to me because I'm so closed off. When I'm anxious, I can't explain the panic I feel from simply being close to other people, or from being surrounded by raised voices - even voices raised to joke or express joy, rather than anger or hate. I feel alone, because I can't put my emotions into words.

I should be able to explain. I write novels. I'm told I write emotive novels. But when it comes to my own feelings, it's not so easy.

A lot of the time, I'm not sure I want to put what I feel into words anyway. People, family, have turned from me before because of what I feel and I'm scared that if my remaining friends see the true me, the broken me, they'll leave too. It would be justified. They should leave me before I hurt them or hold them back just by being me. So I hide. I distance myself. I slip off the radar before I can be found out and cause distress to myself and them.

Unfortunately, I become more lonely because of my retreat, my self-imposed seclusion. Worse, though, I know I probably hurt my friends by pulling away. Perhaps they think I don't care enough to visit or pick up the phone. Perhaps they think I'm being selfish or that I've abandoned them.

Those fears reinforce my self-hatred as guilt runs riot in my head. I hurt people. I don't deserve people. I know hose around me deserve better than I can offer, yet I want to have friends. I want to feel close to people.

I think that's why I'm lonely, the conflict between craving and fearing proximity. I crave closeness but dread both abandonment and causing my loved ones to hurt.

I guess it's natural for lonely people to reach out to others in times of crisis. but that's become circular for me. It's a cycle I can't break.

Push away. Pull close. Push away. Pull close.

Classic borderline, I guess, on top of the never ending depression - the depression I can't remember being without. I know I'm difficult to understand. A lot of the time I don't understand myself.

I do have a message though, to my friends: I love you. I love you so very much that it hurts. I'm terrified of losing you and terrified of hurting you, and I hate myself because I'll probably do both. Experience has taught me that's just what I do. I'm just a horrible person. I must be, for my peers to hate me as much as they did throughout my childhood, and for others to tell me they didn't want me or to decide I'm not worth their time. You're better off without me, but believe me when I say I love you, I'm sorry, and I want nothing but the best for you.

I love you.

Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx

I Wish You Weren't Here

Here's the thing about three year olds, especially three year olds you've created... They aren't cruel, but they can cut deeper than anyone else. You see, they rebel. And when they rebel and push boundaries, they're blunt. The open their mouths and they haven't yet learned tact, or metaphor, or sarcasm. What comes out is a mix of the truth of their feelings at thatb moment and words they know have upset you previously.

Tonight my son didn't want to eat his tea and he was being obnoxious about it. I told him he could eat his tea or he could have a time out on the 'naughty step' and that I'd have to tell Santa he'd been naughty.  He turned to look up at me and said, "Mammy, I wish you weren't here."

And my heart broke.

Logically, I know exactly what I said in the first paragraph; they rebel and they say things that hurt. The problem is that my depression has a voice and it whispers to me. Sometimes it yells, actually, and what it yelled today was, "see, even he knows he'd be better off without you. No one even wants you." I had to get up and go into the next room...

"I wish you weren't here" is among the most hurtful things that can be said to someone who often wishes they weren't even alive. Those words cut deep, carving a path right into the wound which is already trying to become fatal.

"I wish you weren't here" is the worst thing you can say to someone with a fear of abandonment and has had other loved ones turn away.

I'm not going to hold those words against my son. He and his sister are the reasons I'm alive. Maybe that's why it hurts. I draw breath for my children. Without them I would have attempted suicide more than the once I have, and maybe that's why those words hurt so much. It makes me want to evaporate, to simply cease to be. I will almost certainly cut tonight. It'll be the only way to stop myself walking out of the house and just leaving. Vanishing. Either to kill myself or die on the street.

That's the thing about depression; the slightest thing, like an off the cuff comment from a child you know loves you to bits, can set in motion a tailspin that you just can't pull yourself out of. That makes every conversation a risk. It means being around people is a risk. It could take one wrong word, one misunderstanding, one moment to kill me. Literally. And even the most innocent voice could be the one that makes me crumble.

Pseudonymous Zombie
Xx