When Tragedy Reinforces Depression's Screams
I was late to the party today. I woke up and took the train to work expecting a quiet Friday filled with tying up loose ends on projects that I’m involved in. Habitually I opened Google news here at the bottom of the world to catch up on the going-ons in the world and a dark cloth was pulled over my already fragile mood.
As I sit in front of my computer trapped in my own hell of self-loathing, anxiety and
soul-crushing depression I see pictures and videos of people losing their lives, of people who are no longer safe in the streets of their own countries because for some reason there is a war going on that no one thought to let us know about.
And I am reminded of how small my issues are in comparison. How stupid I am for being caught up in this whirlpool of my own hate. How incredibly selfish this illness can be because now I not only find myself in a depressed state because of my depression, but also because of what this world has come to.
It’s more than empathy, it’s depression’s way of reminding you how useless your life is
in the face of all this terror. In the face of people dying across the globe. Reminding you, constantly, that this is not a place for you. That it would be better if you could leave all this behind and just cease to exist.
It reinforces what that loud voice you are constantly fighting is screaming at you. I don’t understand why I was placed in a world where things like the Nice attacks happen. I don’t understand why I was placed in a world where I’m ill-fitted and have to constantly fight to find a place in it. I don’t understand why I was made to feel everything so very deeply just to have that feeling turn on me and force me to think about wanting to die; about wanting to leave this planet and just completely and utterly cease to feel, know, or understand.
I don’t want to deal with this world anymore.
My heart breaks for people I don’t know. My heart breaks at the sight of the pink doll lying on the asphalt next to a foil-covered body. My heart breaks because I am powerless against this external black cloth that was added to the dark and sickly sack of bile that I already carry with me daily.
Today I am not OK. Today I don’t want to fight the hateful feelings that tear me up internally. Today I will invite my dark companion in and embrace him.
Tomorrow I will rise again. But today I feel broken.
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