Hitting the Wall of Depression

At the edge

To jump or not to jump

I am not ashamed to say that I spent today in bed. I’m depressed.

I tried my little releasing ritual, but there was no magic bullet there. Still, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years of having this disease, it is that this too shall pass. I will feel better. Who knows maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up right as rain.

I feel alone. I feel worthless. I feel ashamed of my sexuality, and this after 11 years out of the closet. I feel ashamed of how I use my sexuality.

I’m tired. I’m sick of fighting. I’ve got layers of internalized self-loathing that are only beginning to surface.

I’ve stopped walking. I’ve stopped meditating. I say only the most rudimentary prayers.

Ugh. I can feel myself sliding into the pit, and I refuse to go easily. If I’m going to be depressed, then people are going to know about it.

I can tell you exactly when this started. It began with the comments of a friend on a social web site. I’m gay, and this friend posted a link to an ex-gay therapy group. The whole idea of ex-gay therapy has been widely discredited, but the post sent me into a tailspin of old tapes playing from my childhood about abhorrent homosexuals. The problem is that I can’t shake them. This time, they’re playing repeatedly. They make me feel worthless and actually sub-human.

I’m so sick of homophobia I could vomit. I’m sick of hating myself.

So, do I jump in the lake and revel, or do I jump and drown?

2 thoughts on “Hitting the Wall of Depression

  1. Sending lots of hugs. For every voice that says we don’t deserve to exist there are thousands and millions saying we do.

    And we are here. We simply are here.

    Sometimes depressed can mean deep rest.

    You won’t drown. And you don’t need to revel until and unless you decide to.

    Just know that as you are, right this second, you are loved.

    You’re one of my heroes. And I don’t think we have to fight so hard sometimes… sometimes I think it is about actually sinking deeper than the oldest conscious memories and into the love that has always been there underneath – farther down than we could go by any means other than depression.

    I don’t mean to make light of the clinical, chemical aspects of this experience. But I do mean to say that ex-straight therapy works. And here’s how: we stay alive and we remind each other of how great the cheesecake tastes.

    And if you love men the way I love women, there’s no way to feel that love and call it wrong.

    And you know, you do get to look into the eyes of your beautiful offspring and see how wonderfully joyous their lives are because of you. Their eyes shine, they radiate confidence, and they are yours.

    Much love to you. Let water images bring comfort rather than impossible choices, and know that you are not alone.

  2. Pingback: One Nice Thing | Winning with Bipolar

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