Weird addictions (Depression: 1)

This is part 1 of a series of posts about my depression and addictive experiences. More to come.

Bipolar depression sucks.

For the last 9 years I've experienced one (or more) depressive cycles each year, falling into a deep depression.

I would go from struggling to keep up with my school/work, to taking time off to rest, to feeling worse and worse, to suicidal ideation, until finally to recovery/treatment.

This cycle was extremely consistent and it sucked every single time it happened.

I hated it.

But at the same time, each time I recovered, there was a nagging thought at the back of my mind.

It said: I did this to myself

My therapists would say "No of course not! You didn't do it to yourself! Don't blame yourself for your depression."

And I believed them, believed that I was not doing this to myself, that I wasn't somehow benefiting from my depressive cycles.

That Lily didn't, on some level, enjoy being depressed.

Bipolar depression sucks.

But...

Addict - Lily

A coughing child, sick, ill.
She gets babied, nurtured, cared for.

A lost girl,
her head pounds
and so she receives love and care.
Love and care that she so
desperately
needs.

A young woman
learns that sadness and fear are her sword and shield
against the fierce storms of life.

A mask of pain,
begins to meld with her face.
Until she realizes
she can't take it off
nor does
she
want 
to

"Hurt", the mask whispers
"Suffer"
"And you will receive what you so desperately need".
And so she drinks in deep the mask's lies.
Swallowing the black ooze,
dragging her ever deeper
into the pitch black abyss.
Embracing that familiar pain,
deep into her chest.

She gets slivers of joy,
moments of love,
at the cost of a lifetime of pain.
Until she
eventually
finally,
at long last,
drowns.

Drowning

For the last 9 years, I've been drowning. Falling deeper and deeper into sadness and misery.

And I hated it. But part of me enjoyed it.

Enjoyed the love and support I always received. From my friends, from my loved ones, from my family.

I enjoyed the break I would get from life: school terms taken off or work leave. A relief from the overwhelming stress that made up my day to day.

Living as an autistic person is hard. Day by day, I get chipped away by the storms of life.

And at some point I crack, and I crack open that black bottle.

Black bottle - Lily

i take another swig from that black bottle tonight
i drink in deep
the depths of my misery
i let it pull me down, down, down
further into the abyss

i take another swig of sadness
a chaser of depression
an appetizer of self harm
a dessert of misery

i drink it in deep
the depths of my misery
it pulls me down, down, down
to the depths i so crave
deep deep down

i look up
from the depths
and the sky looks
so small
so small

from the bottom of the well
a single feather
lands on my head
a single shining symbol 
one of hope, one of life

from the depths i rise
i shed the bottle
i abandon my misery
and i rise
i change
and i blossom
into the me that i want to be

i want to change
i can change
i will change

i want to live
i can live
i will live

Steps forward, twelve of them

But to move forward is so hard

Living wrongly - Lily

Sinking
Into familiar depths
Sinking, festering
Scratching familiar wounds

Staring at the setting sun
From the confines of my bed

The loving embrace of abuse by my own mind
The well worn path of depression and obsession 
The comfort of the usual pain

From the depths
The sky seems so small
Yet I find solace
In the rock beneath me

A breath of water under crushing depths
The relief of familiar water racing into my lungs
It's what I know
What I understand
Thriving like a dying malnourished plant
Living like a soulless husk
Choosing anything else
Feels
Wrong

My therapist told me, our brains are hardwired to embrace what's familiar, even if it doesn't serve us.

That unfamiliar healing can be almost impossible to reach for over familiar pain.

But I refuse to let my life be ruined every year. To let my suffering pull me down to the brink of death every single year.

I simply refuse.

April 9th is my sobriety date.

My sobriety from depression. The day I realized I had a depression addiction problem.

I refuse to let it pull me down again. I refuse to allow it to pull my down again.

Bad times will come, stress will overwhelm me, and that black bottle will always be there. Always tempting me.

Always telling me that just a little bit wouldn't hurt, just a little bit of sadness and despair and hopelessness is "fine".

It tells me that I would get so much love and attention and care and rest if I just drank from it.

But I refuse.

No more.

I'm taking concrete steps forward, and I refuse to take one backwards.

I am strong. I am strong. I am strong.

I am stronger than my addiction.

I got this.

I will take steps forward, just twelve at first, but eventually one by one by one I will step forward.

Into a new life, one free from depressive spirals and work leave and hospitals and residentials.

I will be free.

There is hope.

Resources

• https://depressedanonymous.org/

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