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'tis the Season

 Christmas.

A time of happiness and joy.  A time of celebration.  A time spent with family.  A time to be merry together.  Even for me, these things hold true. 


I did Christmas differently this year, knowing that every moment of joy would hold an equal moment of sadness and loss.  I spent Christmas alone.  By choice.  I enjoyed an especially fine drink (a gift from family), I enjoyed junk food, I enjoyed my favourite Christmas movie (Die Hard), and I enjoyed watching the birds outside the windows, all with a sense of peace. 


For me, being around people can be exhausting at the best of times, best of times being - the Depression is 'dormant', I'm well rested, the people are all familiar, and the situation is relaxed. 

Christmas is not the best of times.  Depression is in force.  Full force.  Suicidal thoughts are strong.  I have no energy left to put on a cheerful face, I'm far too busy trying to convince myself it will be better tomorrow.  That I AM going to make it.  Finding reasons to keep going.  It's really hard. 

I took joy in sharing a few gifts with family on Christmas Eve, I felt loved with phone calls from family on Christmas morning.  I was comforted that people were checking in on me, knowing I was struggling. 

What is difficult to explain, is that good and bad, don't cancel each other out.  Enough good things happening, can't, and won't; make the bad diminish.  The good and bad things pile up in separate boxes, and don't effect each other at all.

So.  To give myself as much of an advantage as I could.  I stayed home by myself.  Fighting my fights, drowning out Suicidal thoughts with jigsaw puzzles and books;  giving the Depression no time to hypnotize me, by watching Darts and binge watching Game of Thrones.  In essence I didn't let myself think about Christmas too much.  I spent as much time as I could zoned out in mindless, fantasy head-space. 

Because Christmas?  Is brutal.  Christmas is when the world expects us to be happy.  Every single thing out there, is telling us we're special, and deserving of love, but the Depression is intercepting those messages, and translating them into the opposite.  That I'm nothing.  That nothing I do is meaningful.  Usually, I can fight those thoughts, I know I'm getting better at it. 

At Christmas, it's like the Blitz.  No time to recover, re-arm, fight back.  Constant hits, random, unnerving.  I've put myself into a mental bunker.  Shielding myself from the direct hits.  I'll deal with the damage when I emerge, and rebuild again.  The Blitz didn't break London.  It won't break me.


I'm tired.

Derri.
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