As I type this I’m lying in the comfiest bed in a hotel room in Moncton. I’ve just finished my second day of training my new job, and tomorrow my coworker and I have been invited to a small, more specialized training meeting for our particular roles. This new job role comes straight on the heels of my events/marketing summer position I scored during my move from Ontario to PEI.
I feel so proud of myself. For the first time in FIVE years I’m working in my field again. Sure, I’m taking a pretty big pay cut but to be putting my education (and the student loans I’m STILL paying off) to good use is an incredible feeling. Working a ton of hours this summer, being a worker so strong that my boss advocated for me to remain permanently in a full-time position in the department, and someone that my company felt confident enough to invest in my career makes me feel like I’ve finally made it in my career. It’s safe to say my career is taking off and I feel like a bad-ass business woman.
However, I feel like this move and subsequent career launch is destroying my relationship. And it’s sucks. After eight years of being with someone I feel unsupported in this new adventure and, even more so, unloved.
The worst part? I think I would trade in all this career growth in a heartbeat and I hate myself for it.
It’s 2019. I am a strong, confident, independent woman… aren’t I? I always thought I was. I thought I had learned from past relationships that I need to come first. If this was any of my friends I’d tell them no guy was worth this heartache. And yet… here I am.
I’m allowing myself to be weak. I’m allowing myself to be small. I’m allowing myself to diminish my worth.
I wish I had an answer and that I could turn around and be my own hero. I want to more than anything.
However, I realize that in writing this maybe I’m not giving myself enough credit. I have enough self-awareness to know what I should be doing and how I should be seeing myself, and it’s not like I’m quitting my job any time soon. I can have those thoughts and not act upon them. I can work towards wanting to be the “good feminist” I envision for myself and still want to be loved.
I have potential.
I think it’s safe to say that, once again, the depression has lifted. Each time feels a little scarier, a little darker, a little more dangerous. The last two times I’ve been seriously struggling it feels as if it’s never going to get better. For the second time in less than a year I’m surprised that I’ve survived.
I’m emotionally bruised, a little jaded, moving through life more cautiously than I was before, and I have a few more scars to bare (both emotionally and physically), but I am here. I am alive and thriving.
Aside from blogging, I found myself using Instagram a lot to communicate my depression. It felt awkward and really egocentric but it was also weirdly cathartic to post my thoughts and feelings. Through therapy and some of the individual work I was doing I realized I felt extremely isolated and Instagram left me with a way to connect. It was nice hearing that people cared but, even more so, it felt really comforting to know that other people were having or have had similar struggles. I even had two face-to-face conversations with people at work that shared stories of what their loved ones have been going through.
However, the ironic thing about currently feeling not-depressed is that I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I catch myself truly enjoying life and then I wonder how long it will last. I’m trying to be open and take advantage of my non-depressed state as long as I can but I’m fearful of when it will strike again.
I feel like a weight has been lifted. I feel light, and happy, and free. Most of all, I don’t feel depressed. And frankly, that scares the shit out of me.
Depression is weirdly comforting. It hurts but I know what to expect. Sadness, heartbreak, self-loathing… they hug me tight and I walk through life with them by my side. I felt lonely in my depressed but I feel naked without it.
To not be depressed is terrifying because I’m waiting for the depression to set in, again. I know that life without depression won’t last. I know that something could trigger it at any moment. I remember exactly what it feels like and the irrational thoughts that ran through my head, and I wish more than anything that I could fully recover.
It doesn’t help that something really great happened to me last week that I think might be giving me a temporarily inflated ego that’s quieting the usual I’m-not-enough conversations I love to have with myself. It’s easy to feel better when I have something to hide behind.
The worst part is that I can’t fully enjoy or relish in the non-depression because I’m still so focused on being depressed. How horribly ironic.
Once again, depression has me irrational.
I feel embarrassed just typing this, but today I cried at work. Not just a few tears but the kind of crying I’m known for in my family – a deep sob that causes me to have trouble catching my breath. Even worse, I let it happen in front of my boss.
There’s no need to go into specifics but on top of dealing with my day-to-day depression I’ve been experiencing today I got burned my a colleague. It caught me off guard and I couldn’t control myself. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and I tried to fight them back. I was doing a great job until my boss called me into his office.
We were about to have a conversation, completely unrelated to my issues, when it happened. I turned around to shut the door and I completely broke down.
I’m embarrassed and ashamed. I feel silly and ridiculous. I feel small and weak.
But I feel oddly supported. My boss didn’t flinch. He asked questions. He let me cry it out. When I posted my embarrassment on Instagram I received so many positive responses I never expected to receive, and even a message from someone who admitted they cry at work frequently. Even more so, I feel so much better after that cry. A sort-of weird catharsis.
I don’t want to speak too soon but I wonder if my mental health might be taking a turn for the better.
I used to think there was a difference between being alone vs being lonely. I used to pride myself on my ability to be alone.
To be independent.
To be comfortable with silence.
To be comfortable with myself.
Now, I’m having trouble finding that distinction. The lines seem to be blurred. What is the difference again? They seem to be one in the same.
It’s 2AM and I am alone. I’m alone on this queen mattress. The world is asleep. I turn the TV to quiet the deafening silence but it doesn’t help.
I am alone.
I am lonely.
In my involuntary solitude the only thing that seems to exist is my depressive thinking; you are not enough. You are unworthy. You are unloved.
The difference doesn’t matter anymore.
I jolt awake
You’re not here
I’m not enough
to make you wish you were