@Judi Yes. Yes.
It’s confusing. I knew I was loved (at least, on some level), but I didn’t believe it, really. What I thought was the only thing that would help would be more and more love. I don’t know if there is enough love in the world for me, but that’s what I thought.
In any case, I shouldn’t have said it like a sweeping generalization. I do believe it is true in a general way for everyone, but certainly it doesn’t play out the same way for everyone.
You said ”He didn’t feel deserving of our love somehow.”
I felt that same way. I still do, at times. Somewhere, deep inside, I know I’m unlovable. I know it. But at the same time, I want it so badly, that whenever I can, I try to get it. The mania is really good for that, because I feel so powerful and confident, and that works.
But at the same time as I know I’m unlovable, I also think that I would love me, if I didn’t hate myself. I have this idea that I’m a good person who may mess up a lot, but I’m essentially a person who really tries. But I also know I’m doomed to fail, and I will hurt people, and fuck it up really badly, and then I can’t forgive myself for that, and then I’m unlovable. Being unlovable is safe, because it kind of cushions all the other disappointments.
But when I’m depressed, I set out to hurt people in order to drive them away. Really, I’m hoping they won’t go. I’m hoping they can save me. But I feel so awful, and the only way I can explain this horribleness is to believe that I am essentially evil. Which I am. Except that I know that’s a lie. But it’s how I feel. And why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see that you need to be rid of me? Why can’t you see that I“m holding you back and I’m bad for the children and that every fucking thing is my fault and if you would only kick me out, it would be better and I could go die quietly and unlamented after spending some time being homeless.
Do you see the weird logic of it? It all comes from pain. An utterly, unbelievably black pain. For some people it makes the world look foggy and darkness seems to be creeping in wherever you look. And that pain, which is unreasoning and also implacable, makes us do all kinds of mental tricks to justify it. I can’t feel this bad for no reason. So I make up a reason, and the reason is me.
If you haven’t been there, you can’t possibly imagine. For 51 years of my life, I had no clue. I judged all those depressed people, and wondered why they just couldn’t get it together and get out of it.
So when I felt it, I blamed myself. I was an absolute failure of a human being, and if you can’t see it, I’ll show you. I’ll check out, and you’ll see how much better off you are. And all the while I’m hoping someone will show me it’s not true. But I put so many obstacles in their way, that they almost always give up. But when they do give up, it proves my point.
Depression is like a Kline bottle of defeat. A Kline bottle is a topological space where the inside is the outside, and vice versa. It only has one continuous space that is trapped inside itself. Imagine yourself believing the worst of yourself, and every time you think you’ve found the exit, you find yourself right back where you started. It can not be defeated!
But it can be irrelevant. It’s so not the point. And when I can do that, I can get some relief from the jangling nerves in my stomach and the weight on my shoulders and the pounding inside my head. It’s just not the point. Doing something else is. Like maybe writing these words so others can understand. But let’s not think about that, because praise isn’t the point, either. Doing life is what you do if you want to make the undefeatable darkness beside the point.
Although, I have to say, the depression is seductive. I’ll bet that sounds crazy, but there are times, like maybe now, that I choose it. But I have a reason for this one. When I feel it, I can talk about it. I think—hope, anyway—that my words are more convincing when they come from this place A thought which conjures up all kinds of inside-out thoughts, where good is bad and vice versa endlessly through time, until I can’t stand it and I stop it all forever. Let’s not go there, ok? Everything I create, I destroy. Everything I destroy, I create. Just so I can destroy myself, over and over and…. kind of reminds me of Kali…