Depression? Me? Nah! — My Story

I’m don’t feel sad or blue.  I don’t break down crying for no apparent reason.  I still go to work — maybe begrudgingly, but I go.  My appetite is normal. I am not suicidal. Everything is fine.

But it’s not!

I sleep A LOT.  I fall asleep watching TV, reading, or even playing a video game.  But it’s because I am tired, or bored — nothing more.

I don’t really take care of the chores that I need to take care of.  The dishes can wait.  I will cut the lawn tomorrow.  I will pay bills on payday.  Nothing is pressing.  Until I get worried about it and then it’s the most pressing thing the world, a near total panic moment.  But that’s because I am lazy and a procrastinator, simple as that.

I don’t talk much, or pay attention to what other’s are saying.  My wife will comment on the show we are watching and I will be paying attention to the show and not hear her, or respond as if I had hear her and later have no memory of what she said.  But this is because I was focused on the show, which I don’t remember much of either — but I have never been known for my awesome attention span.

I don’t really feel like gaming — it’s just seems like work–it seems like the effort to invest in immersing myself into the game world is too much.  The hours spent in the game world of Fallout 4 — hours that have felt like I was transported to an exciting and dangerous post-apocalyptic landscape — seem unachievable now.  I just know I couldn’t sustain, or even want to try for, the investment to jump over the game/real-life line.  But I work all day, why come home and work more in a video game — seems kinda silly.

I tend to kinda drag myself around the house — mostly because it doesn’t feel like there’s any reason to hurry.  The dogs will get fed and let out.  The TV will still be there if I take my time to get to my chair.  I feel kinda heavy, like I am weighted down, but again, I have put in eight long hours at work, which is stressful and I just wanna be lazy.

Then while sitting there in my chair, not paying attention to my wife, the TV, or whatever I start worrying about work — about how my efforts at work are being perceived by my coworkers.  Which makes me wonder if I am doing enough, am I  worth while.  Do they even need me?  But, I am just paranoid, that’s my low self-esteem talking.

Really, I don’t feel like much of anything — just kinda blah, empty.  Depressed

But I don’t really KNOW it, or add these things up.  I can’t really see these as the signs.  I won’t or can’t spend the time for introspection — to look inside and see it overall — to see it for it what it is — to see the forest for the trees.  And if I do — if I get a glimpse behind the curtain —  I sure as hell won’t talk about it.

It’s an internal thing — an ugly beast that, once uncovered, will come charging forth and all will be lost as it drags me down into its dark black lair.  So it shouldn’t be externalized intentionally — that would let it out, that’s the very weakness it needs — it exploits — to take over.

No matter how I struggle, I am not going to tell anyone, because then I would have to admit it to myself, admit that I am not in control, that I am not the master of this beast, that I am locked in battle with myself.  But to say something, to ask for help, to let my wife know, or a friend know, or anyone know, is to admit that I am not man enough to do battle with this monster — this monster that is myself.  And to lose that battle — to show such weakness that you can’t even deal with your own mind — is so crushing, so immasculating, that even the thought is terrifying.

So, I will continue to muscle through, with my head down.  It’s just is what it is — life sucks — and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Or is there?


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