Kimvsdepression

No Man is an Island' No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. MEDITATION XVII Devotions upon Emergent Occasions John Donne Depression feels like being on an island after a ship wreck with an open wound. My family survived the crash with me, but ultimately, they'll save themselves and leave me behind, if necessary. Sure, they'll come back with help, but who knows if I'll survive the elements while I wait? I've been thinking a lot about people making the decision to save themselves from me. And although it hurts, I don't blame them. If I had the strength, I'd do the same.  Save me from me. If I could leave depressio...

Therapist: "What do you want to talk about the least?" Me: Stares into space for 7 minutes.  Therapist: "How did your journaling go this week?" Me: Fine.  Therapist: Did you write down names of people who you feel most supported by on those dark days? Me: No. I didn't. I want to get shock therapy. Google says it can help with depression and my medication doesn't work. Therapist: Have you spoken with the nurse about adjusting your dosage or trying something different? Me: Yeah, I'm tired.  I don't want to do a session today.  Let's try again next week. I'm tired of talk therapy. I don't want to be asked anymore questions and I'm finding the process really invasive. It feels like being around family that wants to help but also wants to ask really nosey questions.  It's an odd feeling when you figure out your place in the world. What you mean to people and what you don't. I'm almost 40 and I've run away from some very ...

  "This feels stupid." My therapist attempts to make me point to the emotion I feel on a wheel. She thinks it's important that I name my feelings. She's concerned for me and asks again about who I trust to help me during the darker times. I stare into the screen and say I'm actually feeling fine. My proverbial fine. It's my go-to and has been for over 20 years.  Fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine. Not good or bad, just fine. I don't have many feelings these days. I think it's my meds. I find myself reacting less and less to people around me. Good, bad, or indifferent, I feel numb. I'm able to force myself to have "appropriate" responses to things.  Smile back. Look confused. Frown. Cry. Sometimes I wonder if my laughter sounds as fake as it feels. My therapist isn't amused when I tell her I'm healed because of this new development. She insists that I process my real feelings, blah blah blah. For years, I've warned my famil...