Facing Mt Everest.

Depression.

It's a simple enough word. Misery, sadness, sorrow, woe, gloom; slump, decline. Any or all of these are correct, but none really explain depression as an illness. How it feels, what it does, or what it feels like to work against. For this you need a completely different set of words. Words like: empty, hollow, worthless, meaningless; silent, withdrawn, unresponsive. These are the words that come to (self)define someone suffering with depression.

Suicidal.

This is a far more frightening word. A word that makes people respond, react, become vigilant. Dangerous to one's self, or one's interests; an impulse to commit suicide. This word is far more accurate with it's accepted meaning.

I'm suffering with both.

This is not an attention seeking statement, or a 'cry for help'. This is simply a statement of my current situation. Intellectually, I understand that if I am conscious of my situation, and (I hate this term) 'mindful', I will (I WILL) come out the other side of this. But here's the thing. Because I AM in this: both Depressed (yes, it deserves a capital letter), and Suicidal, trying to get out the other side is like being at the bottom of Mt. Everest, and being told 'you can do it'. With no previous climbing experience. With no knowledge of how to even attempt to make progress. With no safety gear. With no equipment. Wearing a dressing gown and slippers.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

This blog is me. As I learn some skills to progress forward. As I fall on my face. As I attempt to make it all 'mean' something. Welcome(?) to my climb.

Derri.

Comments

Iggle-aggle-oddle-adle-ay

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Exploring Mt. Everest in slippers.

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