Wet blanket & tea

My thoughts feel heavy in my head.It feels like my neurons are made of lead as they’re trudging along in my body. I’m 26 and I’m nowhere near having my life together. I’ve travelled far and wide and explored for the past ten years, but all I have is more questions spun from the answers I got. I thought I’d be done with depression by now. I thought that once I start going out, once I do this or that, I’ll be ok. I thought situations would rid me of my insidious shadow. No one ever told me it’d be this hard.
Most days I’m in denial, trying to bury my thoughts in books on the metaphysical and inspirational. I try to imagine a brighter future when  get my own place or finally learn how to drive so that I can cruise down the countryside. I’m avoiding the moment because I’ve been under the impression that pain only exists situationally.

I recently came back to Sweden after nearly 4 months in the UK. A month and half in, I ran out of my meds. So I went off the 200 mg Sertraline I’d been taking for 2.5 years, cold turkey. I thought, I’m going to prove to myself and the world that I’m strong enough now. I’ll do all the things I couldn’t do before. As if pain is weakness. I was hung up on a false image of perfection.
November and December were by far one of the worst months in my 10 years as depressed. I wouldn’t get out of bed. I’d sleep throughout the day just to avoid people. I’d drink tap water from the bathroom to avoid going downstairs. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. It felt like my jaw was wired shut. I had no energy or will to even do menial stuff like watch funny videos or tv shows! I became suicidal. I don’t like talking about these stuff with others because I’ve learnt that it’s too intense for others to understand. Telling someone usually makes me feel worse about myself, so. My best friend Sara got me through that month. Although she was all the way in the US, she was very close. Just knowing that I could text her whenever and that she’d understand quelled a lot of pain.

When the suicidal thoughts came on stronger, I realized that I had to get back on the meds. So for 5 days now I’ve been back on Sertraline, 50 mg, and I feel much better. Relatively. Depression feels like being dragged on the tracks by the tail of a freight train. For years and years with only the briefest of stops. Antidepressants is like paracetamol that dulls the pain of bloody wounds, broken bones, and blue bruises.

Some days I’m ok. I can write, dream, imagine, hope even. But days like today, I look forward to nightfall when I can slip under the blanket and sleep for 10+ hours to avoid my anxiety.

I have to remind myself to breathe. To make myself a cup of Earl Grey, and wrap myself in my cocoon of mental anguish. Perchance tomorrow will be an easier day.


Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

If you are chronically down, it is a lifelong fight to keep from sinking 
— Elizabeth Wurtzel


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