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Jul. 30th, 2008 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
letterbladeSo there's something I need to say.
Needed to say for a while, actually, but this is one of those things one simply isn't supposed to talk about, certainly not openly, for fear of how people will take it, how people will react. Because one is not supposed to hurt or frighten or worry one's friends, and this? Is one of those things that always does. And that's at best; at worst, it gets you locked up. But--it's become so big that I can't not talk about it. I'm tired of hiding it for propriety's sake. I want to be able to just stand up and say it.
I am suicidally depressed.
I need to slap a few disclaimers on this, in the process of trying not to freak people out.
Disclaimer 1: I am not currently a risk. I have dealt with this life-threatening brain-monster for a while now. And I know how immensely wide the gap can be for me, the gap between thinking and acting, which can be a good or a bad thing, depending upon the circumstances, and which has saved my life many a time. Yes, there is a part of my brain which frequently busies itself informing me that I should die, that it would simplify things, and that it's about what I deserve anyway; but it's a part that's very far from my acting consciousness.
(Looking at myself and what keeps me going, there are three things that could happen that could close that gap: developing crippling writer's block, losing my job or having it become unbearable, or living alone or having a living situation become unbearable. None of those are immediately likely to happen, as far as I know, but all of those could be symptomatic if my depression keeps getting worse. If those things start happening? Like, more than one at a time? It's checking myself in for watch time.)
Disclaimer 2: This is not news. This has been going on for years, with various stages of remission, most of them dependent upon positive close relationships. (Hell, I thought it was gone entirely earlier this year, but then Eric dumped me.) Those of you who know me better will probably not be surprised in the least. Between the hour before you read this and the hour after you read this, nothing has changed about me. In other words, please, if it is possible for you to do so, do not freak out. Please. You don't need to.
Disclaimer 3: There's pretty much nothing you can do. This is the worst one, I know. I don't want to talk about it; even if I wasn't incredibly paranoid about letting friends help me, I am not much for the sharing of pain, and I don't want this brain-monster to eat even more of my life than it has. I can't trust anyone to help me unless I'm paying them (because when I do, people dump me), and there's not much anyone can say at the moment to shake my profoundly deep-seated belief that I'm a worthless and horrible person (for utterly irrational reasons, yes, but it's not like reason ever influences belief.)
I'm sorry. I've got a horrible life-threatening brain-monster of a disease, and I'm sorry that those around me are affected by it. And--yeah. It's there. In my head. Maybe if I tell the world, it'll get scared and hide. Or something.
Hi, I'm Tory, and I'm suicidally depressed.
First step, eh? Step 1.5, though, is convincing yourself that you deserve to get better. That you shouldn't just keep suffering because you deserve every second of it. That one I'm still working on.
This post is public and commentable, for the moment. It's the sort of thing I'd normally friendslock and turn comments off on. But that's a sort of cowardice too. Hiding. Not what I'm trying to do right now.
This is one of the hardest things I've ever written.
Needed to say for a while, actually, but this is one of those things one simply isn't supposed to talk about, certainly not openly, for fear of how people will take it, how people will react. Because one is not supposed to hurt or frighten or worry one's friends, and this? Is one of those things that always does. And that's at best; at worst, it gets you locked up. But--it's become so big that I can't not talk about it. I'm tired of hiding it for propriety's sake. I want to be able to just stand up and say it.
I am suicidally depressed.
I need to slap a few disclaimers on this, in the process of trying not to freak people out.
Disclaimer 1: I am not currently a risk. I have dealt with this life-threatening brain-monster for a while now. And I know how immensely wide the gap can be for me, the gap between thinking and acting, which can be a good or a bad thing, depending upon the circumstances, and which has saved my life many a time. Yes, there is a part of my brain which frequently busies itself informing me that I should die, that it would simplify things, and that it's about what I deserve anyway; but it's a part that's very far from my acting consciousness.
(Looking at myself and what keeps me going, there are three things that could happen that could close that gap: developing crippling writer's block, losing my job or having it become unbearable, or living alone or having a living situation become unbearable. None of those are immediately likely to happen, as far as I know, but all of those could be symptomatic if my depression keeps getting worse. If those things start happening? Like, more than one at a time? It's checking myself in for watch time.)
Disclaimer 2: This is not news. This has been going on for years, with various stages of remission, most of them dependent upon positive close relationships. (Hell, I thought it was gone entirely earlier this year, but then Eric dumped me.) Those of you who know me better will probably not be surprised in the least. Between the hour before you read this and the hour after you read this, nothing has changed about me. In other words, please, if it is possible for you to do so, do not freak out. Please. You don't need to.
Disclaimer 3: There's pretty much nothing you can do. This is the worst one, I know. I don't want to talk about it; even if I wasn't incredibly paranoid about letting friends help me, I am not much for the sharing of pain, and I don't want this brain-monster to eat even more of my life than it has. I can't trust anyone to help me unless I'm paying them (because when I do, people dump me), and there's not much anyone can say at the moment to shake my profoundly deep-seated belief that I'm a worthless and horrible person (for utterly irrational reasons, yes, but it's not like reason ever influences belief.)
I'm sorry. I've got a horrible life-threatening brain-monster of a disease, and I'm sorry that those around me are affected by it. And--yeah. It's there. In my head. Maybe if I tell the world, it'll get scared and hide. Or something.
Hi, I'm Tory, and I'm suicidally depressed.
First step, eh? Step 1.5, though, is convincing yourself that you deserve to get better. That you shouldn't just keep suffering because you deserve every second of it. That one I'm still working on.
This post is public and commentable, for the moment. It's the sort of thing I'd normally friendslock and turn comments off on. But that's a sort of cowardice too. Hiding. Not what I'm trying to do right now.
This is one of the hardest things I've ever written.