(This blog gets a little bit candid and extreme as it reads down, which oddly enough was not my intention when I begun it. But God it was good to get some of my thoughts out. Consider yourselves duly warned)
Like today, for example.
Mum walks in and tells me a family friend has just found out she has breast cancer. Yep, breast cancer. That cancer that is suddenly prevalent, but strangely has never crossed my path. And yet now it has. But how do I feel? I don't. I am indifferent. It has no direct impact on my life and as such, no effect on my emotions.
Has my empathy died? Am I a horrible person? What does my indifference mean? Have I really steeled myself to the horrors of this world so well that I can take all curve balls in my stride? I'm almost nervous as I ponder this. I wonder if I'm just storing the feelings. Storing and storing and storing until I reach capacity and fall apart in a most spectacular way. Having depression is like sharing your mind with a separate entity. Depression influences my thoughts, my choices the way I see things and how I react. It doesn't dictate which parts I listen to, but it certainly plants the seed. I just have to choose the easy road or the hard road. The easy road is allowing myself to become immersed in the negativity depression feeds my mind. The middle road is recognising it. The hard road is beating it. I can't beat it. 75% of the time I tune into it, listen to it, believe. 25% of the time I recognise it and consciously acknowledge it before redirecting my thought.
I guess what I'm getting at is that depression has adjusted me. Now, whether that adjustment is for better or worse remains to be seen. Evidently, I am no longer as easily wounded by emotion as I once was. But does that mean that I am less likely to notice when emotion threatens to destroy me? It could be acting to destroy me now and I could be blissfully unaware due to my steeliness. I feel powerless to change this. I am powerless to change this. Depression is governing and I am working around it, as best I can. Which is actually pretty frustrating considering that my mind is mine and not the depression's. I'm not schizophrenic in case you're wondering, nor do I have any kind of personality disorder.
Having just read over the above paragraph, I'd like to expand on the "easily wounded by emotion" remark. Obviously, I do get wounded by it. But in case you haven't noticed, I deal with it much more subtlety or better, if you like, than in previous years. Just as your body adjusts to pain (for better or worse) so does your brain. Mine has. I hide behind predicting the worst. And as such, am less affected by such a negative outcome because I was expecting it regardless. I make no apologies for my negativity, I never asked to be this way. I didn't ask for any of this. I'm just subconsciously adjusting to the cards I've been dealt, for better or worst. I suspect its the latter. Not that I'm into freely admitting that. It's pivotal that people believe I'm okay.
People have to believe I'm okay in order for me to move forward effectively. My narrowmindedness, as far as where can I go from here is concerned, is my strongest ally. I believe that there is no other way to do things than to just get on with it. Sometimes I hate myself for it, but I do it. There is no alternative. I cannot sit something out. Life is too fast paced. I get affected by stress inwardly in such a shocking way that it's ultimately safer to press on no matter how hard the battle. Call me stubborn, but that's just how I've worked out. Trust me, it's for the best.
I feel like I've now gone full circle on that branch, which now brings me to the next item on my agenda. The next thing that makes me question my humanity, and wonder if I am more deranged than I perhaps initially thought, is my tendency to cut myself. I have a friend who engages in the same behavior -- that's a lie, I have many friends with the same tendency, but I'm referring to a specific friend -- and we have pondered together, on a handful of occasions, what kind of sickos we are. We asked ourselves, what kind of freak does this to themselves? And I have no answer for it. Because I don't know what kind of freak. Obviously, I am such a freak, but I don't know what kind. How does one go about intentionally harming themselves? So of course I'm sitting here questioning my own humanity. I'm lacking severely in the empathy department and I'll lay into myself, physically, when it all goes to shit. And even when its not going to shit -- well it is, you know that because you read this blog -- I feel compelled to cut. Never listen to anyone who says cutting is not addictive, because it is. It is a closet addiction and does not receive the attention it deserves. One day I want to dazzle you all with a story about me going clean, but at this point I do not for see such an occasion.
Stupidly enough, I read about people who attack their stomach areas. And I find myself wondering how anyone could do it there! I just couldn't. I don't know why, but I just couldn't. It would never cross my mind to cut there, ever. Too easily exposed, I fear. You absolutely cannot deny them if they are there. You categorically have to admit the truth. Which I cannot do. After three years I cannot categorically admit the truth. I would rather die than own it. I am an inhuman freak who is willing to maim themselves, of their own accord, and I would not dare own this beyond the pages of this blog. I am slowly becoming okay with depression, I can talk about that freely and I hope to be able to help people openly with it soon. But, I am a closet cutter. I will categorically deny it if you ask me. What? Me? Do that? I would laugh in your face. Except in the faces of a handful of people who have proven to me that they are worthy of such a truth. You are, more or less, included in that handful if you find yourself reading this because I've handed you the almighty link.
And this is why I question my humanity. This poor woman has breast cancer and I simply feel nothing for her. I cut myself and I am not appalled. How you would categorise me is entirely dependent on what you know and how you feel, but I for one, would be leaning towards weirdo, if not something more extreme.
- Sky
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