I felt a funeral in my brain.

In the natural progression of my life, I’m writing a post that presents a lot of conflict in regard to my last one. I don’t really want to bite my tongue while writing this because I’ve been doing enough of that in my day to day life, and it’s debilitating.

After my initial optimism regarding the medication, I fell into a slump. I’m not sure slump even describes it. I spent three days in bed, struggling through work before I called someone to ask what was wrong. It was suggested that I might actually be sick – but no. I’ve had plenty of colds in my life that weren’t accompanied by suicidal thoughts, and I didn’t have even the slightest sniffle.

I quit taking the medication a week into my depression because I was frustrated. I started to feel better, but my symptoms returned. The night-eating started, I wasn’t able to sleep again. Even more frustrated, I started to take the medication again. I missed my doctor’s appointments because I slept for sixteen hours straight. I don’t know what I’m doing to my brain with intermittent medication. I’m certain that it’s not helping. As of now, I’m no longer prescribed to an SSRI.

I’ve spent the past week once again crippled by one of the worst bouts of depression I have ever experienced. I’ve called off from work numerous times while trying to transition into supporting myself entirely. I fear not being able to work because I will lose everything, and I’ve already fallen behind financially. I’m struggling to keep up with the small amount of homework I have to do. This is all very difficult to articulate to anyone I see on a regular basis because I seem okay most days, maybe just under the weather. I’m sick of people attributing the way I feel to something physical though – I am suffering deeply, and I am alone in that suffering, and it is really really hard for me to do literally anything right now. I do not have a solution, and just writing that down makes me sick because I want one so desperately.

In the past, I’ve struggled with self-harm. When I was about eleven, I cut for the first time. For the next two or three years, I continued to cut. Throughout high school, I didn’t really indulge the urge – maybe once or twice. In a daze over the weekend, I found myself hysterical and in the dark. I can’t even recall the moment in retrospect, but I woke up with my arm bandaged up. I feel ashamed to admit to such behavior, but I am going to be open about it because it’s important that I deal with pain in other ways from now on.

As an adult now, I feel as though I’m suffering from these terribly childish problems. I’ve developed in most ways, but I cope the way I coped when I was thirteen – I don’t, I just hurt myself.

I am taking good care of myself because I know that if I don’t, things will become much less manageable. I am cooking and working to my full extent while trying to make more time to do absolutely nothing. I know that I’m vulnerable if I work too long a day, especially if I’m not well-rested. My support system has been mostly disbanded with a breakup, moving out of my parent’s house, and my closest friends moving to other states. I realize that this is the way life goes, but it caught up to me. I don’t want to feel trapped by the idea that I’m “alone,” though, because I’m not.

This TED Talk shed some light on the issue of depression that really resonated with me. When he opened with the line from Emily Dickinson, my heart nearly stopped. Okay, this is going to sound WAY TOO SAD, but when I am feeling the absolute worst – like I cannot possibly go on – that is the line that repeats in my head: “I felt a funeral, in my brain.” It’s the only way to describe it. I don’t fear being sad forever because I know that won’t be the case. I fear not being myself again, being stripped of my vitality, my desire to live and breathe that disappears for days, weeks, months at a time despite being happy and healthy and loved. After spending a significant amount of time literally waiting to die, I fear being that person again. My entire personality was warped, I had no passion or ambition left in me. I mourned it every day, every moment that I tried to care about something, anything.

I know that some of these words are unnerving to hear, but I also know that anyone who has experienced being depressed will have felt the way I felt before, which is ultimately my reason for writing this post. All is well today. I baked a pumpkin and drank tea and I listened to a well-curated rainy day playlist mostly in my pajamas. My best friend is coming to Pittsburgh for a little while next month, and she’s going to be staying with me which I’m really looking forward to, and I think it will help me a lot. I didn’t feel defeated when I woke up, and that’s enough for now.