Login
Questions or Comments!
admin@frumsupport.com

Get FrumSupport News! Join our mailing list.
Email:


Search

Navigation:

 Tehilim List  < Refresh >
TOPIC TITLE: On behalf of someone else
Created On 4/14/13 10:47 PM
Topic View:

View thread in raw text format


MoMo
Senior Supporter

Posts: 1497
Joined: May 2009

4/14/13 10:47 PM
User is offline

One of our fellow strugglers sent me this PM (I asked permission from her to share it anonymously):

Depression is a scary word for me, too. It took many months to get over it, to actually be able to say it aloud. I hate it as much as you do. But it’s a part of my life. And no one asked me if I wanted it. It just came.

You would never know it’s me. I work every day. I go to school. I have friends. I smile a lot. I’m even considered ‘smart.’ People call me with questions and expect me to have answers. Sometimes I can stop crying just long enough to answer the phone. And sometimes I can’t. So I press ignore. But I’m not ignoring you! I just can’t deal with talking to you right now. It takes an enormous amount of energy and strength that, frankly, I just don’t have.

I’m exhausted; physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. I force myself to work. It’s extremely difficult for me to pretend to be happy and NORMAL for so many hours. But I don’t have a choice. I come home and collapse. I crawl into bed. I start crying. I’m miserable. I don’t sleep at night. I’m up, tossing and turning for hours, until it’s time to get up again. I don’t want to face another day.

This might scare some of you, but I want to die. Life is just too hard for me this way. I can’t continue like this. Dying seems like the only alternative, the only way out of this living hell. This pretending and lying is slowly killing me. But I can’t kill myself. Because then people will know. And I don’t want that. So I keep crying and crying, wishing I wasn’t here anymore.

I wish I were locked up. In the psychiatric ward. Where it’s safe. I won’t need to pretend. I won’t need to lie and say I’m ok. I won’t need to go to work and school. I won’t need to push myself beyond my limits. The room will have khaki green walls. I will be chained to a metal bed. With scratchy wool blankets. I will be fed gruel once a day. They will force pills down my throat. That’s my fantasy of the hospital.
But it’s better than this. It’s better than living this way. I won’t have to pretend so much! I can just lie there forever.

I am crushed by guilt. It is so painful. I feel so responsible. Why can’t I just be strong? Why am I falling apart like this? Why can’t I cope like everyone else? Why am I depressed and not someone else? Why did this happen to me? It must be my fault. It has to be!

I stop davening; He’s ignoring me anyway. I cried for so long, and I’m still suffering so much. I feel like He doesn’t want me to get better, because if He did, He would answer me already. I think He’s angry at me for all the bad things I did. But I’m trying so hard! I can’t anymore.
I stop eating. I have no appetite. Nothing entices me. I feel like throwing up. Sometimes I feel like if I only threw up, I’d feel all better. But it doesn’t happen.

My friend begs me to go to therapy. She promises it will help me. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go! That will mean I’m crazy. And not normal. And not regular. I want to be normal! That’s all I want right now. But after so long, I know my friend is right. I know I have to go. So I agree. And I cry myself to sleep.

At first, I don’t talk. It’s too hard for me. It’s one of my major problems. But after many weeks I begin to open up. I write a lot, because it’s easier than talking. And then she tells me to go to a psychiatrist. I’m so angry at her. I feel betrayed. I’m not crazy! I’m normal! I don’t need happy pills! Shrinks are for crazy people! I don’t need a psychiatrist!

But I know deep down I do. I know I’ll never get better without medication. The depression is just too strong for me.
I go to the doctor. I’m shaking. I don’t talk to him. For an hour he asks me questions. And for an hour I sit and stare at the walls. He gives me a prescription. I am loathe to fill it. But I want to get better. I can’t go on this way anymore. I just can’t. So I get the medication.
It doesn’t help quickly. I spend Pesach in bed, crying. And overdosing, because I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. I wish I were dead, once and for all.

I go back to the doctor. He gives me something stronger. After a week, I finally don’t feel suicidal anymore. I’m wiped out. I’m drained. I still don’t know how I’m going to get through another day. But I’m not killing myself. They tell me it’s a good thing, but I’m not sure I believe them. Why would I? What do they know?!
 
Reply
   
Quote
   
Top
   
Bottom
     



HopefulMommy
Senior Supporter

Posts: 1612
Joined: Nov 2005

4/15/13 2:19 AM
User is offline

Wow! This is so powerful, and expresses our struggles so well. I can relate to so much of it. After years and years of pretending and leading a double life I finally gave myself permission to be "not normal." It made this whole experience so much easier.

I think this post would be very helpful to others who are just beginning their journey. Could the author please pm me? Would it be possible to use it in my book?
 
Reply
   
Quote
   
Top
   
Bottom
     



Lasthope
Senior Supporter

Posts: 514
Joined: Feb 2013

4/15/13 10:25 AM
User is offline

That is really powerful and i can relate to it as well. I also worked have kids etc and to most people seem totally fine and even "successful" and happy. I used to own and run a business... All with struggling with depression and leading this same double life the author describes.
She/he has a disease and its nothing to be ashamed of. Its real, so very real. I would also be happy to PM this person or even email them if they want support.
 
Reply
   
Quote
   
Top
   
Bottom
     



MoMo
Senior Supporter

Posts: 1497
Joined: May 2009

7/5/13 4:20 PM
User is offline

I write a lot. This is something I wrote a few weeks ago. It’s called “My Secret Life.”

I have a life; just like you have a life.
But my life is not like your life.

I have dreams; just like you have dreams.
But my dreams are not of having a great job and getting married and raising a family.
My dreams are of dying. And disappearing. And drowning in pain.
I know. It sounds morbid. And you think I’m crazy. I used to think so too.
Until they explained it to me.
They said I have depression.
I’m not feeling well.
I’m sick.
But it’s affecting my thoughts and feelings. Not my body.
No one sees.
No one knows.
They say I do a good job hiding it.
Better than most.
But I hate living this lie.
I hate telling people I’m ok when I’m anything but.
It’s the hardest part. The lying. The pretending. The irony of it all. The people in my life would call me happy. They would call me content. They would say I’m always smiling.
But they don’t know the other side. They don’t know my secret life.
My secret life is dark. It’s sad. It’s scary. It’s lonely. So lonely.

My facade ends when I come home from work. I go to bed. And cry. Cry for hours. Sometimes days. Cry because I feel sad. Cry because I feel hopeless. Cry because I’m so scared. Cry because I feel utterly alone in this world. This secret world that no one knows or understands.

Sure-when I meet you, I smile. And talk. And I look like I’m ok. But you can’t guess the agony inside my heart. You don’t see the hurt that’s screaming to get out.
But I don’t talk. It’s too hard. Too painful. Too scary for me.
But maybe one day I’ll feel better. Maybe one day I won’t have to pretend. Maybe one day my secret life will match my facade.
Maybe one day.

Yes, I have depression. You don’t know I have it. I try so hard to hide it and pretend I’m normal. It’s so exhausting for me. It takes all my strength. And sometimes I don’t have enough. Those are the days I stay in bed crying. Those are the days I call in sick. Yes, I’m sick. There is something wrong in my brain.

My therapist says it’s not my fault. But I know the truth. I know she’s only saying it to make me feel better. But I know. I know it’s my fault. It has to be! Why else would it happen to just me? Of course it’s my fault!

Every day, I drag myself out of bed. I get dressed in the first thing I find laying around my room. I don’t care that my skirt is dirty. I don’t have the strength to get another one. I don’t put on makeup. Why should I? I don’t feel like looking pretty. I trudge in to work. I have no energy. But I have to push myself. It is so hard. But if I don’t, people will know. And I don’t want that. So I try and try and try.

But when I come home, I can stop trying. I get undressed. I go into my bed. And I start crying. I cry for a long time. Sometimes I fall asleep. I stay in bed for as long as I can. But sometimes I have to go to school. That’s really hard, to get myself up and out of the house again. And I have to pretend all over again. I have to smile. I have to talk to the girls. I have to pretend I’m normal.

My therapist says I’m normal. But I know the truth. I know I’m not. Which 20 year old girl cries most of her life? Which 20 year old girl wishes she could die? Which 20 year old girl is depressed besides for me??? I feel like a freak. I feel not normal.

They send me to a psychiatrist. I hate those days. I don’t feel like a person. Not when they ask me thousands of embarrassing questions and make me feel retarded. Not when they tell me I need medication.
But I take the pills. Every morning and every night. Why isn’t it helping already?! How much longer do I have to suffer? They say we don’t know what hell is like. But I know. I know pain. I know hurt. I know sadness. I know hopelessness. I know what it means to be in hell.

The worst part of it all is the aching loneliness. I am all alone in this secret world. It’s only mine. No one else knows what it’s like. No one but me. And I have to live like this. All alone. It hurts! It hurts so much! That’s why I feel suicidal. That’s why I want to die. Because the pain is too much for me to bear any longer.

Sometimes, I hurt myself. I stop eating. For days and days. And I get weak, and lethargic, and dizzy. But I don’t care. I don’t want to be here anymore. I just want to die. Other times, I take extra medicine. But it doesn’t help. I’m still here. They say that’s a good thing. But I don’t think so. What do they know? They say I can heal. Can I?

A large part of this awful depression is the shame and embarrassment and stigma. Why do you think it’s my fault? Why do you think I chose it? Why do you think I could have prevented it? Why do you blame me for being so sad? Trust me, I didn’t want it. It just came. So suddenly. So unexpectedly. And I have to contend with it, against my will. But the stigma is crushing. It keeps me quiet, too afraid to share my life with the world. Too embarrassed to admit my huge inner struggle. Too ashamed to be so different.

Thinking of the future scares me. I imagine myself in 20 years from now. Not married. No children. Alone. And depressed. Why would anyone want to marry me? Why would anyone want to marry someone crazy? I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t either.

I have to stop thinking about the bleak future ahead of me. It just makes me cry hysterically. They say I have to focus on getting through each day. But that’s so hard! Every morning I wake up with this dark, sad cloud hovering above me, threatening to crush me at any moment. And I’m supposed to live this way, fighting with every last bit of strength I have in me. The hardest part is the loneliness. The feeling that no one understands what it’s really like. Sure-they can imagine. Sure-they can try to empathize. But they don’t really know. They can’t begin to imagine the aching pain and biting sadness. I know they can’t know because had I not been the one feeling it, I would never imagine it’s this bad. I would never have thought it was possible.

But now that it’s become my life, I’m forced to face it every minute of every day. And it isn’t easy. Not for a moment. So next time I seem out of it, or next time I seem disinterested, or next time I seem to be ignoring your phone calls, or next time you think I’m making up too many excuses, stop. Stop and think for a moment that maybe there is something going on in my life. Maybe I’m fighting for the will to live. Maybe today I’m losing that battle. Maybe I’m crying in my bed, all alone. Maybe I’m lying there, wishing I was dead. Maybe tomorrow will be brighter. But please. Never ever judge me. I doubt you’ve been in this secret world of mine. I doubt you can truly understand what I’m going through. But please don’t make it worse by making statements about depression and mental illness in general. You don’t know anything about this secret world. You can’t ever know until you’ve been there. And I don’t wish that curse upon any of you. May you be fortunate to be happy all your life. And remember to count that blessing many times over. Don’t ever take it for granted. You don’t know how many people or dying, literally dying, to reach that happiness.
 
Reply
   
Quote
   
Top
   
Bottom
     



channafofanna
Senior Supporter

Posts: 1351
Joined: Jul 2009

7/6/13 10:48 PM
User is offline View users profile

CHEERS!!!! Ur amazing Momo for sharing that, seeing that it wil help people by being sharedl, almost as amazing as the author for writing it!!! =)
 
Reply
   
Quote
   
Top
   
Bottom
     



keep climbing
Senior Supporter

Posts: 704
Joined: Apr 2013

7/7/13 6:15 AM
User is offline

Wow!
What a touching letter!
I can relate to it sooo well.
But it does get better. It's not always that awful, I think.
 
Reply
   
Quote
   
Top
   
Bottom
     



wishtobehappy
Senior Supporter

Posts: 836
Joined: Aug 2011

7/7/13 11:12 AM
User is offline

you're incredibly articulate for a male. It's great that you can express yourself so well in writing.
 
Reply
   
Quote
   
Top
   
Bottom
     

View thread in raw text format
FORUMS > Depression < Refresh >

Navigation:

The information in this site is not intended to replace the advice of a doctor. FrumSupport disclaims any liability for the decisions you, the User, makes based on information on this site. By using this site, reading, viewing, posting or otherwise, you signify your assent to the Terms and Conditions of Use. If you do not agree to all these Terms and Conditions of Use, please do not use this site. FrumSupport may revise and update these Terms and Conditions of Use at anytime. Your continued usage of FrumSupport will mean you accept those changes.

If you think you or someone you know has a medical emergency, call your doctor, Hatzolah or 911 immediately. FrumSupport cannot and does not monitor forums and postings and cannot and will not pro-actively obtain help for users in need as FrumSupport does not have the funds or people power to accomplish such tasks and it will infringe on the anonymity of each user. Therefore, FrumSupport’s liability is limited by this paragraph and as further set forth in the Terms and Conditions of Use.