I wrote the excerpt on my third time back to the
hospital. These posts are meant to give some insight to someone suffering from
Depression. Remember, I am a functional human being; I just suffer from an
illness. I keep record so I can track how far I have come. And how far have I
come so far? Tremendous amount. This is the best I have felt in years and
recent memory. I have come a long way. Although, there may be negative
thoughts, I am better. My health is better and I am doing great. I am more
motivated, concentrated, and focused on things in my life. I feel the new me
being born. A motivated and inspired T.J. is appealing. I saw a line today, 'adversity builds character'. If that is
true, I have built my character vastly. I am strong, inspired, and happy.
Hating
Myself
I cannot stand the reflection in the mirror. I don’t
like what I see. I don’t hate anyone but myself. I truly do. I don’t love
myself. It’s an indescribable feeling of worthlessness. I thought I could be
strong. I don’t feel very strong right now. Emotionally, I am a wreck. How can
I hate myself so much?
I am very selfish person. I know this. I am not sure
where or when I developed the undesirable trait, but I did. I know it is a
weakness of mine. I am trying to change. I keep reverting back. I hate that I
am selfish. What’s worst, I feel I am incapable of change. Not afraid, just
incapable.
I hate me. I cannot love myself. I suck. I am not a
bad person. I am not a great guy. I know I am selfish. One of my best friends told
me this, as well. I didn’t disagree. He was right. I want to punch my mirror
every time I look at it.
I don’t know what the cause of this hate is. It’s a
problem. I have no solution. Maybe it’s an unsolvable problem. It is an awful
feeling. How can I love if I hate myself? Perhaps, I am crazy. I am afraid of
myself; knowing the damage I can impose on myself. Fearful. The hate for myself
was so overwhelming, I had to admit myself to the hospital…again. This is the
third time. I ask myself, what do I feel? Empty. Lost. I was driving today on
the highway. Several times I thought about swerving into oncoming traffic. I
really hate myself.
I could die without saying goodbye. I don’t have any
remorse. What am I thinking? Let me try this; I am thinking I am better off to
my friends, family, and strangers by being dead. It doesn’t faze me. It is a
very selfish, reoccurring thought that I sometimes cannot shake. I wonder what ‘normal’
feels like.
Why do these thoughts and feelings continue to come
about with me? I consider myself a danger. The pain, it hurts. Cannot describe
it. But it is there. I wish there were easier ways to handle this illness. I
have to understand nothing will be easy. Even on my best days, I quietly
struggle. In agony, my day starts and I fight with myself to get up out of bed.
I feel helpless. Nothing I do seems to be working anymore for me.
I need to identify the triggers. See the signs
coming. But it is not that simple. These last two times, out of thin air and it
just hits me. Its times like this that I feel I am fighting an unwinnable
battle. Defeat before the game has even begun. I want to get better. I know I
must need to endure. Some days I find it hard to find inspiration. No hope for
anything. It’s an awful way to live; actually, it’s not living at all. Just sitting
there alone in my apartment, not knowing what terrible thought will come next.
Almost as if I am waiting for death. Hoping the next dangerous thought is the
one to end my misery.
I try to think positive. It’s hard when the shadowy
thoughts overrun my mind. My hands shake sometimes. I don’t know why. Well, if
there is a reason, I don’t know what the cause is. I have doubt. I doubt
everything. Does my son love me? Do my parents love me? Do my friends care I am
alive? Not sure where these doubts originate from. I worry about everything. I
am letting people down. I worry I am going to lose my job. I worry that I am a
terrible father.
It isn’t good when the only feeling and thought I
can see is me dead at my funeral. The wind blows gently. My face is
emotionless. Cold and stale. I am a wreck.
I am reading the book, “The Crazy Game” by Clint
Malarchuk. It’s an unbelievable true story by the former NHL goaltender. I have
read over twenty plus chapters. Every word makes sense to me. I understand his
pain. He uses the word ‘chaos’ to describe the thoughts in his mind. An excellent
word to use. I am going to somehow try to reach out to Mr. Malarchuk when I get
out of the hospital again. I just read the chapter of when he tried to kill
himself. He refers to his actions as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I know that
feeling all too well. Even more so when I use alcohol to cope.
Yes, I have used alcohol to cope recently. It was a
mistake by me. I don’t remember anything. I blacked out. I was trying to kill
the pain. To stop the noise. To end the chaotic world inside my head. I learned
from that mistake. I am stubborn. I thought I was better. Able to deal with the
real world. I was wrong. I am sorry.
Truth is- I am scared of myself. It scares me, the
places my mind can go. The evils it sees. The pain that it creates. The
monsters it creates. I am not normal. Realistically, furthest thing from
normal. I am my mistakes. I have to wear them and heal the wounds. That’s on
me. I own that. There are plenty of scars, most of which are emotional. Healing
physical pain and ailments is simple compared to silencing the voices in my mind.
Wherever I go bodily, those voices are with me every step of the way. I am
trying to rid them. This battle with Depression has found new ways to get me
off my game.
I can be very dark when I drink. I don’t want to be
like that. Although, I am no angel, I need to keep my demons inside of me and
not release it into the world. I cannot let my darkness out of me. It is my
burden to bear. My illness. My curse.
I have put pressure on myself during my recovery. I
am trying to conquer the world and defeat my Devil in one day or in one act. I’ve
realized that is not the right path for me. Some days are good. There are still
bad days. I need to cope with the bad days better. I am trying to fix
relationships, or rebuild relationships, all while trying to take care of
myself- someone who I severely hate.
How crazy am I? I don’t want to know the answer.
Technically, I am not crazy, despite popular belief. Just having a few bad
days. Or maybe I am a lunatic that needs to put in a straight-jacket and locked
away? Or maybe I am still just a young man trying to understand his illness
while at the same time trying to defeat it? There is still so much I am learning
about Depression. Some days it is a battle to stay positive. To stay healthy.
To stay alive.
After reading Clint Malarchuk’s story, I have
realized something- I have never come to terms with my traumas. What traumas I
ask? Well, Malarchuk had his throat split open with a hockey skate and he also
survived a bullet to the head. I have become a miserable bastard. Misery is a
way of life for me. It’s a face. An act to hide more damaging thoughts.
So what traumas have I encountered in my life. I
haven’t lost many people to death. But I have lost people- or in my mind I
have. I would blame everyone else, but myself. Never T.J.’s fault. Always someone
else’s.
Whether it is true or not, in my head I have lost my
son. I know he is safe and well where he lives. But anyone that knows me, I am
attached to that boy. I love him more than life itself. Now he is going to turn
four soon. I miss him more and more each day. I don’t blame him or his mother.
I have come to terms it is my fault. Not seeing your child everyday is one of
the harshest punishments in life. Who is teaching him about life? Who is there to
hold him when he is sad? Who is there to give him advice? I know he has a
wonderful mother, but it is my God Damn responsibility to be there for him. I
am stuck in a Mental Health Unit while my son lives his life three hours down
the highway. It’s a very touchy subject for me. I feel anger, sadness, envy,
jealousy, fear, and of course, depression. I am not choosing to be a deadbeat
dad. My illness has a stranglehold on my life. It is sucking the life out of me.
If I can’t be with my son, it is just as well I was dead. I could kill myself
now before he gets too old to remember it. Wipe myself from his memory. I mean,
I don’t remember anything from when I was three or four years old.
I can feel the salty liquid leaving my armpits. I am
sweaty and on edge. I have an uncomfortable feeling coming about. My neck
begins to sweat. My thoughts are scary. My focus is sharp. I feel like a threat
to my own being. Death, rather silence, is a viable option. If I was to take my
last breath this very second, it wouldn’t bother me at all. It would bother
others, but not me. The chaos would be over.
The fear. The anger. The curiosity. I want to pick a
fight with someone. I want someone to pound me. I want to see how much I can
take. One punch? Two punches? How much would it take to keep me down? I would like
to gauge my toughness and pain threshold.
I am not expert, but I assume that cannot be regular
thoughts. Who in their right mind wants the shit pounded out of them? I am not
afraid, just curious and anxious. It would be ‘fight or flight’ for me. I have
an illness
As of this day, there will probably be no more days
where I am going to have good days. What I mean or try to mean is, I wake up
each morning not knowing if I want to kill myself or stay alive. I thought I
had a hold on my disease. I was wrong. I can never get too comfortable. Each
day I will need to grab my sword and shield to fight off internal monsters and
demons.
Now my wonder has me to ponder, when will the bad
days come T.J.? Most of the bad days have come unannounced, just as it seemed I
was doing well. How many trips per year will I have to make to the hospital? I
have been admitted three times since January 6, 2016.
I am a true disaster. I love nothing about myself.
How can anyone else love me? Each day will now be a challenge for me. My
greatest adversary will be myself. Learning to tame the beast is my task. Not
much luck so far.
There is no secret. This is hard. But do I give up?
I cannot. It’s not in me. I am developing stronger coping methods. I cannot
quit. It is not an option. It can’t even be a thought. What I have begun to do
is separate the negative thoughts from reality. By doing that, it feels less
likely I will do harm to myself. There are really terrible days. But I am
strong enough to handle them. As much as I can feel hate towards myself, I also
feel improvements. I will have some difficult days, but I will win this war. I
am not going to lose.
“It
is easy to hate and it is difficult to love. This is how the whole scheme of
things works. All good things are difficult to achieve; and bad things are very
easy to get”
- Confucius
Yours Truly,
T.J. Smith
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