I’ve been minus one laptop for a total of three weeks, but that issue should be resolved by tomorrow. By that time, I hope to resume to a regular blogging schedule, although I hesitate to make any guarantees. I’m still on the fence about running a blog, especially once that deals with depression, and body image issues, and the other life filths that people normally don’t talk about. At times it feels courageous to tackle uncomfortable topics on such a public forum. Other times, I feel like I’m airing my dirty laundry in front of strangers. On one hand, people are as interested in my dirty laundry as they are in watching a car wreck. On the other hand, I’m opening myself up. My guts are leaking on the pavement, my car is destroyed, and people are just watching it happen. I’m creating a space where I’m really raw and vulnerable, and everyone can see my cracks. I really like writing. I like the process of coming out through words. It’s definitely a conundrum for me: some days, I want to destroy the blog, and other days – I’d like to keep sharing.
As of late, I’ve been feeling very isolated from the people that I love. A couple of weeks ago, on a fantastic hike, I was sharing accomplishments with a friend. I told her that in this time of my great depression, I have gotten a lot of support from family and friends. A lot of people have offered to be a shoulder to cry on, a support beam to my faulty foundation; and I consider it a great accomplishment that I have never taken anybody up on that offer. Crying in the middle of the day, I have never called a friend and asked to spend some time together. I have broken all the bowls in our house. Alex and I have had the same fight, on a loop, for the past two and a half weeks. I’ve beat myself into a frenzy, lied on the couch sinking deeper into sadness. But I haven’t called for help. Instead, I have gotten incredibly skilled at pushing people away. I cancel plans and I convince myself that it’s in my friends’ best interest. I shy away from explaining the roots of my depression, because I’m afraid that oversharing will make my friends love me less. (And at this point, I need all the love I can get) Pushing away the best people in my life because I don’t want to be a burden is in no one’s best interest. It serves no purpose, does no good.
It’s really hard to ask for help. It’s really difficult to reach out. There are days when I prefer to spend sunny afternoons in a dark room with all the curtains closed. On those days, it’s near impossible to reach for the phone and admit that a distraction would be nice. Last Wednesday, when my therapist stood me up for what was supposed to be our last therapy appointment (at least for a while) with no explanation, I made a lot of jokes. But I was distraught, and drained, and fighting off a lot feelings of abandonment and anger. It has been a terrible past couple of days. It’s getting better, but I still don’t have a written out happy ending to this story.
I promised a friend that I would try to get a little more uncomfortable. So, now, fingers hovering over the mouse button – deciding between post and delete, I’m sinking deeper into a little discomfort, and hoping that it’s the right decision.