Growing Pains

Everybody finds the process of growing up difficult - whether the suffering lasts a few hours at a time, a few days or months, we all feel it in some form at some point. Think about it: this is a time when constant change of all kinds is enforced upon us, some parts of which are expected, others not so much - I don't believe anybody is equipped to deal with such rapid and constant evolution without the slightest of hiccups. There are bound to be bumps in the road. But although the process as a whole will be different for every person, most of it can be foreseen and mentally prepared for to some degree. Most of us are lucky enough to have people around us who love and care for us, such that they make it their job to ensure we understand these changes and can begin to understand the world we are getting set to enter with a new, more mature perspective and increased awareness of its difficulties. This is when the rose-tinted glasses of childhood come off and we learn that the world doesn't owe us anything. 

The problems really begin when these bumps in the road become mountains that aren't supposed to be there; when they become something insurmountable that cannot be understood by a young and uninformed mind. The world can turn into a very daunting and confusing place when those rosy lenses are immediately replaced with blackened ones, without the eyes ever having had the chance to see the world for what it really is. Childhood depression is a beast. Children are not commonly raised with the awareness that such an affliction even exists, much less that it could possibly get to them; so we can only assume that the responsibility lies with the parents to detect such a downward spiral in their offspring. There will always be signs to pick up on - a prolonged mood of general sadness, becoming very quiet, disinterest in having fun and participating in activities, excessive crying, being short-tempered and irritable, attempted avoidance of social/group situations etc... But what happens when depression strikes at the exact moment when the emergence of these 'symptoms' can be expected by the parentals as a symptom of growing up itself - during the transition into the delights of teenage-hood? The answer, I can tell you, is nothing... nothing happens. Nothing except an achingly long, seemingly never-ending and very private struggle in a personal hell. Parents can hardly be blamed for their lack of awareness in such circumstances, especially when the subject makes it their mission to spend as much time away from human company (and prying eyes/questioning mouths) as possible. But the thing is... I'm not a teenager anymore. The longer such behaviour persists when I'm supposed to be a 'grown-up' the more difficult it becomes to disguise. I think sometimes that my parents see me as someone who's simply consciously reluctant to become an adult and assert some independence. The truth is quite different: although I often crave the innocent and unquestioning abandon of early childhood, I want more than anything to translate some form of this into adulthood and still manage to be a pillar of independence, strength and capability... but I will remain unable to do so in my incapacitated state until I learn to climb my mountains.

If anybody reading this does happen to feel any degree of affinity with what I write at any point then please don't hesitate to leave a comment. I'm very open to what people may have to say; just nothing abusive or obtusely negative please - I don't like trolls who hide behind computer monitors.

Time Waits For No Man

Just lately I can't ignore the encroaching sense that I'm running out of time in many respects. Since the beginning of the year, certain things have been on a steady - but sometimes frighteningly swift - decline. I've felt the lack of control that's been the dominant feature of my 'life' for such a long time to an almost terrifying degree. Things that appear to assault you out of the blue can take a while to adjust to, especially if you have no desire to accept them but aren't sure whether it's within the realms of possibility to do anything about them. 

I'll elaborate on this later.

Right now I'm busy procrastinating, as usual. I'm not entirely sure what I'm procrastinating anymore but I live with the constant guilty feeling that I should be doing something else - life itself, I guess. 

An important sentiment to remember:

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat." 

 -- Theodore Roosevelt

And So It Begins...

This is an attempt - on a long line of previous attempts, in many a different guise - to gain some control. I am someone who has depression but I am not a negative person. Predominantly and at my core, I am an optimist. I am hopeful. My downfall lies in the intricacies of my personality and the way I have been brought up. I am a perfectionist to the extreme and have become so much so that it paralyses me. I expect so much and am now floored by the fact that I can give so little.

I'm going to say it doesn't matter to me if no one reads this blog at the end of the day, but I will write as if someone will.

This is a diary of sorts: a place for me to share my thoughts on any topic or concern that my mind drifts towards and lingers on for longer than a fickle thought that can be dismissed and thrown away.

Blogging is, after all, a modernised journal if you choose to use it in such a way; and I (briefly) tried regular journal writing. It didn't work. I failed to get past the sense that it felt entirely empty and pointless to write about life in such detail when there is zero potential for any sort of readership other than yourself, which may seem odd as you generally don't want to expose the things written in a diary to any eyes other than your own, but I'm on a specific mission. I'd like to be able to say that I'm on a journey, if I can only make myself believe that I'm going somewhere...   

So, where to begin?

This is extremely difficult for me and mentally draining, even with the absence of real talking. I live in a constant state of denial so when that veil of self-protection is stripped away I'm left a little raw and open to outside damage.

I have had depression since I was 11 or 12 years old. I'm now 23 - which, in actual fact, is staggering to me. I can barely get my head around it. I have no idea where all that time has gone. In many ways I feel exactly the same as I did at 16. Yes, I am 23, but I have never been an adult. I have never been a teenager. Those years passed me by whilst I was in a state of internal lock-down. This means I have not developed along with my friends and contemporaries. I have not changed at the point (...the many points) in my life when I should have and should be changing and developing and experiencing the most of all - discovering who I am, absorbing what is necessary and becoming someone new. I've missed them all. I feel I have lost most of my identity and am either defined by this thing that has wrapped its chains around my ankles or I am nothing at all. And, I'll be honest, it hurts like hell. Although most of the time this pain expresses itself only as a constant numbness - a blurring of my perception of the real world and the death of my ability to live in it effectively. 

I stress again: I am not without hope. I cling to it. It is my lifeboat on this dark sea that I'm stranded on, but I sometimes feel it slipping from under my body and am suddenly shockingly aware of the danger - of how precariously close I am to sliding beneath the surface and drowning.

Nobody knows what I'm going through. I don't ever want to sound self-involved or sorry-for-myself so I mean this in the most literal way. The situation is made all the more difficult in this regard by the fact that it makes no real sense - there is no reason for it and some people find this hard to comprehend. A persons personality and demeanour, combined with subtle circumstances which endeavour to pull the trigger, are often enough to set it off - in a similar way to being the carrier of a disease which lies dormant until outside forces bring it to full fruition. I've lived with my parents the entire time and they remain, as far as I can tell, astonishingly unaware of the depth of my problems. It has risen to the surface on two separate occasions against my will, both while I was still at school. And though some part of me longs for it to be out in the open and not be 'my secret' any longer, I've discovered that once it's unveiled a switch is flicked to 'auto-pilot' and I can't help but play down and deny - anything to avoid further discussion on such topics and quash the need for more interrogation. The word 'depression' was thrown around on one or two occasions, never verbally by myself, but I can't help but feel it slipped by my parents un-noticed and unacknowledged. I endured a number of months of counselling at 17 but a fairly strong start soon descended into prolonged sessions of silence and an eventual declaration from the counsellor that she believed I was fine and we had done all that needed to be done. You can assume from all of this that I get by. I do get by but I struggle like hell. Every day is a struggle. I feel as though I'm fighting a battle in my head at every moment and there is no way of knowing how it will turn out or how long I'll be able to continue to keep it hidden without explosion or further descent. My stubborn half-belief that I can get through it alone proves increasingly without merit. I have 12 years on the calendar that say otherwise. This is my journey and everyday I'm fighting for a new beginning. I need to keep the flame alight because I think I have the capacity to love life. I dream of what I can do with it once I'm a 'whole' and 'proper' person. It's simply a great shame that, as it stands, I struggle massively to see any point to it at all. Though when I fixate on this point I can think of no possible explanation on the meaning of life and the existence of the universe which would ever fully satisfy my curiosity and yearning for a purpose. 

I am not naive. I know that everybody comes across hard times. Nobody is immune to the difficulties life throws in our path, no matter who they are, what their bank balance reads or how their life appears to others. Each of our struggles are different but we're united by the fact that they exist and we must overcome them. 

So this is one of mine and it's a tough one. The truth is I have no idea what will happen or whether things will ever be 'right' but all anyone can do is hope and try like hell. There's so much more I have to say and an infinite amount that I have to do and, while this is often what scares me, I can't help feeling a twinge of excitement at the thought of all the possibilities, as long as I'm caught in the right frame of mind.