Iron Lady

I don't need your anger as I have enough of my own. I'm drawn to those that sit on the side of apathy these days, calmly bobbing on a sea of sickness seems a far better option than burning in a fiery lava pool. But I still carry my own and watch the world through a veil of red lace as I've never seemed to find the strength to change its colour, its habit of response. Anger is a foe that fuels me, no doubt growing its cancerous corrosion on my body and soul if that is indeed something we possess. I am flawed, I am human, not always a good one either. I try to walk amongst others without this anger and for the most part successfully, as some would not even attach the attribute to me, but it is there always bubbling under the surface forcing me to disappear when it is pouring out. Some will never see the tar that lies beneath. I came from a place of anger with glowing red infection all around and even though I have left this place I still carry the open sore of its consequence whereever I go. Like I said, I am flawed and maybe more than most. However unlike others I choose to monitor this by stepping back, stepping out and sliding away. Some days I feel like the Hulk ready to implode and destroy everything in sight so I walk away, I silence myself and swallow the thick tar once more. I seem to get sick a lot but then again my insides must resemble a cesspool of sludge and sin. These are the Depression Diaries and I'm writing these to document this disease while it is a seeping sore as the potency of it seems surreal once you are able to float back to the surface and live amongst the living once more. Like I have said before Depression is not a mood, not a state of mind and not something that you feel for one day as it is far more consuming than and equally as deadly as cancer or any other disease you want to throw my way. Depression is a sickness of the mind that infests the entire body and eats you from inside out. It is your mind’s way of telling your body to give up, to die. Every cell of your body reacts when you are going through a depressive episode and starts breaking down and shutting down bit by bit. Today is one of my favourite person’s birthday and instead of getting dolled up and joining her and others for dinner I am here listening to music, drinking and writing about how miserable I am. Why can’t I just snap out of it and turn off the blues, put down the drink and walk out the door? It seems so simple and makes me look so petty but the bedfellow of the black dog is the very anxious Poodle, the shaking, skinny arsed Poodle that can’t seem to walk out that door. Anxiety goes with Depression as well as salt goes with wounds. They grind against each other until the sting is so fierce the world seems just a little too overwhelming to face. Dinner with friends would mean questions, people looking at me, expecting something from me, conversation when the art left me at least a month prior and being present in the moment, something that is too much to ask during a depressive episode. Concentration levels are erratic and catastrophising seems to be your traitorous minds first course of action, leaving you only with the worst possible outcome, unable to see past these even though the last piece of logic within your lungs tells you otherwise. This is not a time for logic as how could a mind that is destroying itself have room for common sense? So I pour another drink, play another track and stay within the walls I have grown to trust. The anxiety infuriates me, fuelling the anger that destroys me and confirming the catastrophising that immobilises me. The black dog chases the nervous poodle and beats the shit out of it until the welcomed numbness returns. I’ve learnt to function within the numb now; I’ve learnt to walk through the door to keep the veneer intact. I’ve learnt to keep the life going when the black tries to smother me. My psychologist was right as she told me that the rest of my life would be one episode after another but I would learn to adapt, to function within the disease like an amputee that adapts to a life without a limb, I would function sometimes without a soul, without a purpose, without a reason to live. In times like these I cannot afford to ask for more but to survive this time round. That is all I ask even though mostly I wonder why survival seems so important to me. Maybe it is because of people like the friend’s birthday that I am missing tonight. Maybe that is why I keep walking towards a light I have yet to see. I face Depression alone, without counsel, without medication and face it every time with my pure stubborn will. I have an iron will that would rival Thatcher passed down from my mother and shared with my brother. We seem to stand on that cliff a lot with crashing waves threatening to throw us down, glaring into the sun, daring her to beat us. Thank god for the will. Thank god for blues music, liquor, and words but mostly thank god for the friends that forgive you.