Depression Is A Bitch

I feel so lost. I can’t explain the feeling any other way. I don’t know who I am exactly, I don’t know how to progress either. I don’t know if I am going in the right direction or simply moving on the spot.


There are moments when I think this all seems to be a fraud. I’m lazy, I’m bad etc. But the moments I feel so alone, I know it is real.


I am eating my feelings. I don’t have the patience to wait for the weight to come off. It’s a vicious cycle and it’s making me bigger, not smaller. I gave up purging but I miss it. I want to watch the lbs come off. I want the high after purging. I won’t, I hope, this is merely a ramble as I don’t like myself.


So, I am going to commit to paper something that has come up recently:


Colleague P tried it on with me. I didn’t know what to do. His hand kept creeping up my leg. Once the final few colleagues had gone, he tried it on with me. I didn’t stop him but I didn’t want it either. I turned off and froze. When I turned back on, I ran away, both literally and emotionally. I was so freaked out. I sat next to him and the idea of going to work made me feel sick. He was also married with kids. Logically, I know it wasn’t my fault, but, I wish I hadn’t switched off. I wish I’d stopped him. Thankfully, he left the firm shortly afterwards but this is the first time I am sharing this.


Things seemed to be moving forward, or at least I thought forward. The thing is, depression and anxiety is a bitch. I met my manager and a colleague for a coffee today. I told them about Colleague P. They were shocked. This made me feel better. It wasn’t my fault, I didn’t do anything wrong. This is only skimming the surface of things that have been unearthed recently but to see two people who I respect respond how they did, wow. I am not a bad person. Or at least about this. It’s a relief. A HUGE relief. But, yes yes, I know, not another but post. I look for evidence that isn’t there. I mentioned coming back. Only in a light hearted joking way, but my manager looked (yes, how very dare she, she looked!) at the other colleague. Doesn’t she want me back? Am I fired but not been told yet? I hate my brain. It’s probably nothing. Why does her validation mean so much to me? I respect her but her validation shouldn’t floor me. Right? Oh god. Person C, why, why am I such a fucking mess. I really want to go back. I want to prove I can do this. I want to show them that the last year was bloody hard in ways I can’t even explain but I can do this. I can’t do it whilst sat on my sofa crying through. As I am at this very moment. Shit. My brain, I hate you. I am trying not to hate me but I really hate you.


Anyway, the depression bitch has, at least, paused for long enough that I’ve been able to do some paperwork for the new mortgage. The depression bitch does at least recognize that I need somewhere to live. Days like this, I need my PRN of diazepam and a hug from my cats. The cats don’t seem that bothered by me wailing but at least the diazepam is there for me.


I am so so so alone. I am scared. I am tired. I am broken.


This is my second Breathe magazine and whatever you’re going through, this is a great publication. 



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