For those of you who don’t know this, I used to work in a church. I made meals, I cleaned mats for shelter, I took out garbage, I organized volunteers, and I even cleaned toilettes in my early days until I met the fascinating invention called The Student Nurse.
Before I had my mental break down, I was a valued, and productive member of society, and then I remembered that I was used as a child sex slave and beaten, and tortured, and raped, for the better part of twenty plus years. Myself as well as several others I might add.
Now I am someone who is trying to document my mental health issues so that other people can
- Stop feeling alone
- Stop feeling like they are broken
- Stop believing all the shit they hear about themselves from the dark twisted bastard that is depression, and her stupid ass brothers Anxiety, and PTSD, fucking twats.
- And so “Professionals” can look at Loud Mouth Brown Girl and stop thinking that having mental health issues means that your life has to completely stop.
Yesterday I spent about ten hours on this fucking couch, trying to deescalate the trauma that I was experiencing that was triggered by the alarms going off every ten minutes, the lawn mowers and the banging outside my window, and the general TORTURE that is mental health issues.
Don’t fucking tell me that working out is going to make me feel better when I am sitting at my computer frozen in fear. Don’t tell me that cleaning my house is going to help me breath again when I’ve lost my breath and can’t seem to catch it.
Don’t tell me that “calming down” is going to make me feel better when I know damned well that it’s not.
Do you know what it’s like to tell police that someone has broken into your house and stolen a box of brand new chairs you bought but never opened? I fucking do, and I remember them looking at me like I was nuts, even though I KNEW that my abusers had been REPEATEDLY breaking into my house and stealing shit and moving shit around to drive me fucking crazy.
To this day I can’t prove it, but I know it happened, and so every night when I close my eyes, its with the deep seeded fear that they are going to come back not to mess with me, but murder me.
This is a fear that I live with every day, or it used to be, it’s getting better, but now it’s been so long I am starting to get paranoid which is precisely what happens when you deal with domestic abuse and then you escape your abusers. You start thinking that they are following you, or breaking into your house at night, LARGELY BECAUSE SOMETIMES THEY FUCKING ARE.
If I could just “get up off my fat black ass and do something different,” I fucking would, but I can’t always, some days I just don’t have the energy to move. Other days I am too afraid to move. I shower once a week MAYBE, because it’s a huge trigger for me that reminds me of the night that I was gang raped by so many men that I can’t remember anymore who did or said what or how many there were.
People who have NEVER had to deal with real and chronic depression have a list of solutions that they THINK will help you and I quote “obliterate” your depression, and it’s usually something like this:
- Build a support network – Motherfucker half the people I know tried to kill me and the other half of the people I know think I made it up. Fuck people.
- Reduce your stress – OH FUCKING REALLY?! HOW DO YOU SUGGEST I DO THAT WHEN I AM CONSTANTLY WAITING FOR A BOMB TO GO OFF?
- Improve your sleep hygiene – Oh just go fuck yourself
- Improve your eating habits – Bitch I’m poor I eat what I eat because I can’t afford to feed myself.
For the average person dealing with depression, these are the real life issues that prevent us from doing the things that YOU think would make our lives easier.
I remember a girl once being mad because I wasn’t interested in packing up all my shit to move to the states for some guy whose name I can’t even fucking remember, you know why I didn’t go? because I WAS EIGHTEEN AND TOTALLY NOT STUPID.
People seem to think that if you just open up to doing things THEIR way, then suddenly everything is going to get better and your life will miraculously fall into place and everything will be perfect and instead of pooping out shit suddenly majickal butterflies made of solid gold are going to come out of your ass, which I imagine is a lot harder than just getting rid of the processed food you stuffed your face with.
I promise you that no matter what you do with your life you are NEVER going to start shitting gold butterflies who have majick powers, it’s never going to happen, SO here’s a thought for all of you dealing with depression.
Do what you fucking can AND STOP GIVING A FUCK ABOUT WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS
This is actually a lot more difficult for me to do because often times I end up doing what I think I SHOULD do instead of what I WANT to do, and even when I know what I SHOULD do might kill me, I do it anyways because I know it’s usually important shit, but you know what? The war is done, and I am fucking retired.
For more than ten years while ignoring my own trauma I worked on the front lines never knowing if the person I spoke to yesterday was going to be alive today, and often times they weren’t. I tried NA, I tried Religion and then finally I threw up my hands and said fuck it and started doing the things that matter to me.
I paint, I draw, I write, occasionally I dance, but more often than not I talk to the walls and the Gods, Goddess, Angels, and even humans that I am spiritually connected, usually I’m telling them to fuck off, because they cause a lot more harm than I think they are worth, but they also remind me that my purpose here on this earth, is to be someone who shows other people how to get through the dark shit.
So here’s the number one rule about living with depression. Ready?
- DEPRESSION FUCKING SUCKS. LET IT SUCK. EMBRACE THE SUCK. ENJOY THE SUCK. FUCKING REVEL IN IT. LET THE TEARS OUT. SCREAM, CRY, YELL, DANCE, STOMP YOUR FEET, DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU HAVE TO DO TO GET THROUGH IT.
Then carry on as if it never fucking happened, and let the changes that your outburst caused in your life become a part of your world, because the ONLY way to deal with a depressive episode, is to let it pass. Sometimes you gotta watch tv, sometimes you gotta write, sometimes you gotta masturbate, but sometimes you just gotta lay there and be quiet until the voices shut the fuck up and make room for your voice.
Then you tell them what’s up, and you keep fucking telling them, over and over and over again, until they know the words better than you do, because it’s the ONLY way you’re going to prove that what you want is what you want, regardless of what other people want for you.
Depression is momentary, there are MOMENTS when the shit sucks, and MOMENTS when the gold is amazing, and you have to embrace it all, because it’s all a part of you.
Forget what it means, forget what it’s telling you and just let yourself experience it. Learn from it, study it, ask yourself:
- What are your triggers?
- How do they affect you?
- Can you prevent these triggers from affecting you?
- What do they look like?
- How can you create anti-triggers?
- What does your depression feel like?
The more information you have about YOUR depression, the more YOU can find ways to fight it, but no one else on this entire planet can do that for you.
And the next time someone tells you to get off your ass and work out to combat your depression when all you want to do is curl up and cry, projectile vomit on them, that’ll shut em up RIGHT quick.
Okay no it won’t, but they will probably stop offering you solutions and that’s just as good almost.
Sending all my love,
Devon J Hall
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