I want my “normal” depression back…

If you’ve made it this far into my blog, having read most/all of what came before, you have a decent idea of the severity of my mental health as it stands now, and a relative peek into why (see: The Plague). But for shits and giggles, I’ll put the whole “enchilada” (heh, see what I did there?!) on the table: PTSD, Anxiety, and Treatment-Resistant Major Depressive Disorder with Anhedonia. It’s a bit of a mouthful. I haven’t been evaluated for ADHD, but that’s in the works. I suspect I have the Inattentive type, maybe Combined. My last psychiatrist also mentioned being on the cusp of Borderline Personality Disorder… which initially shocked me, but only because I hadn’t done any research into it, honestly. Unfortunately, the summarized definition of what that is makes sense. C’est la Vie.

So, when I say I want my “normal” depression back… lol. It’s a bit of a lamentable joke, with an underlying – and very acute – seriousness. I’m always saying that I have a shite memory (no doubt caused by my mental health, etc.), but I can and do remember what it felt like to NOT be this FUBAR. Suffice it to say, I’ve had some form of depression almost my entire life… probably starting around 8 years old (a year-ish after moving to ArkanHell).

Side Quest: you know… 8 seems to be the general/average age when many people go through some seriously fucked up shit and it shapes the remainder of their life – negatively. Why is that?! Imma have to do some diggin… later… *resisting the ADHD urge* I CAN say that I know this is one of those “formative years” situations, though.

Aaaaand back to our regularly scheduled program!

When I was around 8, I gained the nickname “Eeyore” by my blood relatives (we’ll discuss what “family” truly means, eventually). If you know who Eeyore is, you know his demeanor – excessively gloomy, pessimistic, and prone to negativity. It’s actually pretty shitty that I HAD that – very apt – nickname and nobody ever questioned why. I brought this up to my Mom recently, as well, asking if she never considered what was wrong with me or why I was like that at such a young age. She said she hadn’t, but now that I’d mentioned it, she could see the signs. A bit late on the uptake, if you ask me, but… it is what it is.

All the same, back then it wasn’t nearly as bad as it is now. Hell, it wasn’t even this bad 5 years ago. But the fact remains, it’s been a slow, inexorable decent into this horrendous, dark hole that feels like it’s never going to get any better. It’s difficult to have hope, especially with the addition of the “treatment resistant” bullshit. Pretty sure I’ve mentioned that my body is an asshole… but, really, it’s mostly my poor brain. The deck was stacked against me when I barely started existing in this world and it was perpetuated for literal decades.

Seriously… I’ve suffered SO much for SO long at the hands/mouth of The Plague that it hasn’t even been a whole year since I went No Contact. Even after moving out and away as quickly after graduating (in May of 2000) as possible, circumstances brought me back under his roof. The longest I’ve lived away from him has been 2 years, once when I moved to Kansas City (failing out of my 3rd attempt at college and moving back to Arkansas) and later again when I moved to a tiny town in southern Missouri (with The Dementor, and again being forced to move back to Arkansas). I purposefully don’t include the 6 years I was married (technically 7, but a year of that was separation before divorce got finalized), either, but that stain on my life overshadowed quite a lot, because of Gravity and raising an autistic kiddo on my own (during and after marriage). It was a different variety of the same kind of hell I’d already lived through with The Plague.

Suffice it to say, there hasn’t been much time or distance from that asshat (until The Boyfriend came into my life and saved me… literally AND figuratively). Every time I’ve lived with The Plague has been toxic. And my Mom and I only really had each other in those times (Aiden was there, but… autism and my protective instincts). My brother was living his life elsewhere, doing his thing with not a single clue as to who The Plague really was – which was both a blessing for him and a curse for me and Mom later when shit hit the fan and The Mass Exodus happened.

So yeah… “normal” depression right now would be really nice. Manageable. Easier – by far – to exist and maybe even make some progress towards healing. As it were, I’m grateful to finally be in a place where I have the freedom and access to really great therapies, a state that doesn’t treat me as a hysterical vagina-haver, No Contact with The Plague whatsoever, and… The Boyfriend and our cats. I miss my son something fierce and worry about him constantly, but… there isn’t much I can do now that he is a legal adult. I raised him the best I could, and people keep telling me I am/was a good mom (despite my reticence).

Yep… I think the rambling is doing a happen… WARNING: BRAIN FUNCTION DECREASING… PLEASE BE ADVISED…

Aight. Peace out!