Two weeks back I had coffee with the wise and wonderful Kagiso, she of the Goddess Academy. I love my meet ups with her. She’s funny and wise and to the point. Walking away from a chat with her you realize you’ve learnt an important life lesson, but without the lecture.
I was then, like I am now, in a bad place. And I wasn’t the best companion to have around. And at one point I think I mentioned dying to her. As in, I don’t think I want to be here anymore. Always one to make you think, even when you can’t think straight through the fog, Kagiso asked me “do you want to die or don’t you want to live?”
“Isn’t it the same thing?” I asked, to which she replied “think about it okay?”
So I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. The truth is I don’t want to die. There’s too much to do. So much more to learn. Watching Emma and Ben grow up. Spending time with my husband and best friend. People are dying around me all the time and it always makes me appreciate another day, another opportunity, another experience.
But there are days, when cloaked by the depression, I don’t want to live anymore. Getting out of bed is hard. Sleep is worse, with the nightmares. The energy to be a wife, mom, human, isn’t there. I have to muster up courage to go to the shop, and normal errands feel like endurance training.
Sadly I don’t think I’ve ever lived. I’ve existed. But not lived. My joy is in moments, shared with my children. Moments of love are enjoyed with Mark, but shiny, happy? I don’t think I’ve ever been that.
I’m lonely but don’t want to socialise. That would mean people would probably see the real me. And I’d end up disappointing. I hate been alone. With my imaginary friend, Depression. My SOS used to be my eating disorder. But I’m not too thin anymore so I look ‘normal’. I don’t cut anymore so no one knows what’s really going on.
Don’t judge me for my mistakes. I judge myself enough. All the time. Your dislike of me will never ever be anywhere near my dislike of myself. Whatever horrible things you think of me has already been imagined, processed and internalized. You being sick of me being tired! You rolling your eyes at me saying I’m flat for the hundredth time? Guess what? I’m sick and tired of myself too.
At some point I’ve probably let you down, but believe me, I’ve let myself down more. You think I’m a failure? I do too. Often.
This isn’t a ‘woe is me’ post. It’s me sharing my thoughts, on my blog, aware that there’s somebody going through this too.