Brain: Got up feeling depressed again. Very low and right on top of tears, and remained there all day.
Here is something depression does:
Last week I said that I could work an expo for NSS in April, one that we've done for a few years. Today Dustin said he was fine if we skipped it, up to me, he didn't care either way.
Logical me is guessing he doesn't want me to work on a Saturday given my clear state of mental imbalance, but I couldn't actually ask, because I didn't want to bawl at him again.
(I'm so tired of burdening him with my emotions. I am ashamed of my nonstop emotions.)
Anyway, my non-logical interpretation, how I felt, was that he doesn't want me to represent NSS, that he doesn't want me in a booth, that "no one" is a better choice than me.
Rejection by one of my beloveds, by my most precious, priceless tribe.
They don't want me.
THAT is what I'm living with in my head.
I cried so many times today; I think every time I was hidden in a stall I lost the battle to fight back tears. I cried walking to my car after work. I cried all the way home. I cried playing fetch with the dogs. I cried sitting on the couch writing this.
I hate feeling like this. I know this is depression and I know depression lies and I know it will get better.
But I don't know WHEN it will get better, because I don't know why it's so bad right now.
If you've never had depression, this is what it feels like: the voice in your head is the cruelest cunt you have ever heard.
The voice tells you that you're stupid, you're fat, you're ugly, you're slow, you're rude, you're unwelcome, you're unlovable, you're the worst, the absolute fucking worst.
And the voice tells you this all day long.
Every single day.
Every second of every day, there is hate being spewed in your brain.
Sometimes it quiets, like when I get great sleep and I feel loved and the good voices in my real life drown out the fictitious cunt.
But lately, nothing drowns her out.
I am alone. I am lonely.
All I have is her voice, and it's loud, insistent, and determined to convince me she is right.
I can sort of understand how people turn to drugs, to cutting, to dangerous risks, to suicide, to anything that will turn off that voice. I understand the urge for a physical pain to distract the mind from the barrage of cruel words.
I'm not there, thankfully. I know that it's the voice of depression, and I know that depression lies.
But I don't know how to shut that fucking cunt up.