My experience of mental illness is something that I, at times, just cannot understand. Depression sucks, it sucks the life out of me. At times depression feels like I’m wearing some weird pair of goggles that only allows me to view life from a perspective that’s pretty rubbish. Everyone and everything is out to get me. Nobody actually likes me and, nobody would care, or does care, when things aren’t going so well. I feel sick to my stomach, and hate everything… I hate food, I hate showering, I hate sleep, I hate music, I hate people, I hate animals, I hate nice weather, I hate bad weather, I hate mess, I hate tidiness, I hate life. Nothing changes, nothing will change, and no matter how hard I try things that I want to disappear just won’t. No amount of food, self-hate, alcohol, crying, thinking or just simply ‘living’ will make the depression disappear.
I want things, I want a life. I want a life where I can have relationships with people, actual people, and I’m not talking a romantic relationship – though yeah that would be pretty nice, I’m just talking about friendships… I have wonderful friends. Friends who I know (and hope) would never intentionally harm me, but… depression likes to convince me that they don’t want me around them, or that people will just have a better time if I wasn’t around.
I crave time alone, but when I’m alone it’s the last thing I want. I want to cry in front of my friends, I want to be able to let people know when I’m struggling, and I don’t want to be constantly thinking “they won’t understand” or “mental illness just makes me stupid, people shouldn’t have to care about me.” I’m a burden, I’m a burden without people even announcing that I’m a burden. I’ve decided I’m a burden before I’ve even reached out. Even when I’m spending time with people and not even drawing the slightest of attention to my mental illness, I’m just a burden. Me just being in the room makes things bad for others. Nobody wants me around, nobody wants to acknowledge me, they’d just rather I wasn’t there.
Depression makes me a burden. I think, 99% of the time that depression makes me a burden for others, but in all honesty depression just makes me a burden to myself. The thing that convinces me that I’m a burden to others is the stigma of mental illness. The thing that makes my depression a burden for myself and to myself is the negative thoughts, the self-hate and the bubble of dystopia I’ve created for myself. Depression is a burden for me. The things I’ve missed out on, the clouded outlook – the horrible perception of the world, and others that depression forces into my life is just a downright burden, for me.
The burden imposed through the stigma of mental illness just adds to the pain of depression, depression is difficult enough to deal with, I don’t need others to convince me that depression sucks.
This image describes my current feelings toward myself: