hsphaven

Depression has got me tight in its clasp, squeezing all the life out of me. It’s been twelve years of this now with little reprieve. I want to break down and cry. Everything often feels meaningless. My house looks like a bomb’s gone off in it, stuff all over the tables and benches, and unopened parcels, unpacked bags from all my hospital stays and piles of clothes everywhere. I used to find joy in finding and buying unusual clothing, but I’ve even lost interest in this since my psychologist left me. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned my car (there was even a cockroach in it a little while back but I still don’t think it was enough to get me to clean it). I don’t bother to brush my hair and showering is a huge effort as well. I might have a home cooked meal once in a blue moon. I’ve been taking dexamphetamine hoping it will pick me up a bit so I can enjoy going out and seeing people. I saw my mum today, and felt ok for about an hour, then started to get a headache and my depression took hold again. My face is flat, but a lot is going on behind it. I sat in the car and watched two women about my age waiting for coffee at the coffee van. One of them reminded me of my psychologist because of her build. She rested her head on the other’s shoulder, and the other woman rubbed her back. I felt a wave of sadness come over me. My life is completely bare of this kind of affection and care, and while I long for it, I also hate it. I am too numb to feel anything.

There are a lot of things that feed into my depression, such as my mysterious nerve issues. But I believe the biggest cause of my depression is my attachment disorder. I’ve been watching Chicargo Med, a hospital drama series which is on Prime Video, to pass the time, especially at night when I can’t sleep. I like that it is not just physical emergencies, but also psychiatric. The last episode (S3 E19) featured a homeless boy who lived on the streets with a bunch of other youth. He was reunited with his foster parents, who he left, preferring life on the streets. He had leukemia and needed to move back in with them. They were warm and affectionate, reaching for his hand, but he shrugged his hand away from their’s. The nurse commented how sad it is that this kid could neither “give nor receive love”. His only attachment was to his dog. I saw myself in this character so much. The only people I seem to form an attachment to are therapists, and it has only worsened my attachment disorder/trauma as they have all left me in the end, finding me too difficult and giving up on me. I now trust no one. No one is safe.

I’ve decided not to see any more therapists. It’s going to be interesting how life after therapy pans out. Therapy became a bit like an addiction which isolated me from everyone else. I don’t know if leaving therapy will free me to form deeper connections with other people, or I will still have trouble being close to people, maybe even more so than before I entered therapy. Before therapy I had many men interested in me, but I could never reciprocate their feelings. I began to think that maybe I was gay, but I have trouble getting close to women as well. I am thirty-one and have never been in a relationship as I just never have those feelings for people.

As autumn and winter creeps in, the coldness envelopes my entire being. The past twelve years has left me as bare as the Silver Birch in winter. Like falling leaves I have lost every attachment I made in this Dark Night of the Soul. Now I stare into the cavity that remains of my life, wondering if anything can possibly fill it.