Herbert is an Asshole!

What is depression?

I could look up the definition, copy and paste it here, and sound incredibly intelligent text book wise, but I’m not going to do that. Instead I’m going to give you a first hand look into what depression actually does to a person, Well, at least to me. It’s different for everyone but I am sure those of you reading this, who struggle with depression, can relate.

The first thing I notice when I begin the metaphorical downward spiral is grumpiness. I wake up with an overall felling of blah, and the attitude that everything sucks. I pretty much hate every thing.

Little events, such as my experience this morning with my piercing jewelry falling out, become sources of extreme aggravation, and what should seem so simple to most, start the days tally of reasons why everything sucks. These events, no matter how small, or how big, equal out to the same level of unhappiness. I’m guessing because at this point my so called meter is broken.

Another thing I have noticed is that my taste buds don’t work the same. The mind is so unhappy that it dulls the other senses.

Coffee, which is an essential part of my existence, tastes bitter and unpleasant. Normally, coffee brings me joy, but again, the spiral has started and joy is not to be found. This only fuels the fire.

After a couple of “normal” daily occurrences happen, and my frustration level has reached maximum capacity, I start to create a “sadness bubble”.

This bubble is basically my negative energy spilling out into the universe, creating my own reality. Events which follow after are thusly perceived as an attack on me by whatever that great power of above is. I get combative with the positive.

People always try to tell others in depression to look at the positive. What you “normies” have to realize is while you are just trying to help, it makes things worse.

Feelings of inadequacy arise.

Questions such as:

Why can’t I just be happy?

Why am I so broken?

Why can’t I see the good anymore?

Only reinforces the negativity and self loathing.

The bubble grows bigger and the anger turns to sadness.

I mope about. The sun actually begins to hurt my eyes, birds singing their songs hurts my ears. Again, the meter is broken and the senses are altered.

Because of this I hold up in my room with only a lamp on. Curtains are drawn to blot out the painful sun, and music becomes my last hope. I listen to music all day, hoping it will bring joy to my soul. It doesn’t. After that I’ve reached the point of no return.

The music selection becomes more somber and exhaustion sets in. I’m not talking about a little, “I’m tired”. I’m talking about every limb seeming to weigh 50lbs and the act of getting up and going to the bathroom takes everything I’ve got.

Shamefully I’ve even thought about just holding it until I peed the bed, but that thought only occurs once I’ve reached the final stage of depression. We are not there yet.

Soon, the lamp is turned off and darkness is all encompassing.

The exhaustion becomes more severe and I physically start to hurt. My muscles cramp and my bones ache.

Logically I can say that most likely due to inactivity and I should get up and moving but my now 80lb limbs won’t cooperate.

Sleep is now the only option.

So I sleep, and sleep, and sleep. After I wake up 12-14 hrs later, I ask myself, “What is the point of being awake?”, and find I don’t have a good answer. So, I go back to sleep.

After 24 hours of not hearing from me, my friends become concerned. I get the, are you ok messages. My response is, No.

Again, people who don’t have depression have no clue how to respond to this. They sincerely want to make it better, so the You Should’s start.

At this point in my depression the, YOU SHOULD’s just seem like preaching as opposed to helpful suggestions, and even more self loathing kicks in.

Crying becomes as common place as a toaster. Tears flow uncontrollably until I am now emotionally exhausted as well, so I sleep.

When I awake again I put on more somber music, or at least I perceive them as somber.

I don’t know if this next stage is common for others, but for me I begin to hear a voice inside my head telling me to kill myself.

I call this voice Herbert.

Herbert is an asshole!

He nags at me, “You should cut your wrists.”

I tell Herbert to shut the fuck up and switch to headphones to try to drown him out.

Kate Bush is singing, Dream of Sheep in my ear, and my next thought is, I should sleep, so I do.

After awakening on what is now day 3 of my on again off again coma, I check my phone. It is full of missed phone calls and messages. I SHOULD be happy that so many people care about me, but my sadness bubble has reached the other coast and turned into a steel cage.

Every time I try to make an attempt to pry the lock on this cage, Herbert chimes in with his predictable statement of, You should kill yourself.

We are reaching critical mass!

I find myself entertaining the thought of death. My thinking is altered into a very unhealthy cycle of, Everyone would be so much happier if I was gone. This is not self pity. This is years of conditioning from childhood up until the present.

Let me rewind a little…

I have, as many have had, extensive trauma from an early age. My issue lays with being seen as the one to blame rather than the victim.

I am the black sheep of the family. There is a sort of separation between the family dynamic. There is Their family and me. I hang out on the outskirts of this dynamic. I am after all, the problem.

When holidays occur I am not invited to the festivities. This increases the feelings of worthlessness which is an open invite for Herbert to speak again.

You SHOULD kill yourself.

The bubbled cage is about to explode.

Pink Floyd’s The Wall is my next step and after this step comes the final step, Attempting oblivion.

I have to date attempted suicide 5 times. 3 by hanging, one by consuming copious amounts of pills, and one by attempting to drown.

The attempts always get to the point where I am about to end this mortal coil, things go black, there is nothingness, then boom, something miraculous happens and I am awake. Others who have attempted what I have, have not been as lucky.

This is a Devine intervention meant to remind me that my work as a human is not done.

I have a cathartic revelation that my life, as much as I may hate it at the moment, has purpose.

This is ultimately what snaps me out of the depression.

Not kind words, not Should’s, not sleep, but awareness that despite what others may think of me, something more powerful than any of us believes I am of value.

The renewed sense of self worth starts and I begin to enjoy the taste of coffee again.

The sun no longer hurts.

The birds songs are joyous, and ol Herbert has gone back to his hole in my subconscious.

The only advice I can give to help others is, HOLD ON!

We are all here for a purpose and when you find yourself in that bubble cage, remember that the universe loves you and you are a miracle! Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you. Not even family.

Love you all and may your day be filled with sunshine and singing 🐦’s.