“Life is only a dream"

“My heart is warm with the friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing,
Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,
No matter where it's going.” 
― Edna St. Vincent Millay

I have been giving my life a lot of thought recently, in between watching old episodes of Doctor Who and tweeting Q & A. I already knew that I was deeply unhappy - hence the diagnosis of depression, but certain things; social interactions and the foundation of my relationships, disturbed me. Thinking about the behaviours of my friends and family, in regards to me, uncovered a lot of problems. Most of which are entirely my own fault.

One major problem for myself and perhaps other people like me, is that the people I know always assume they have to SAY something. No, false. They don't need to say anything, they only need to be there, that's enough. I know you're there, I know how you feel about me sitting by myself, unresponsive - don't vocalise it. I know. I'm aware. I feel the same way, just stay with me.

Another problem is my dislike of being touched. I have an aversion to being touched by strangers. I can't stand being shoved in a queue or being sweated on in a mosh pit. It drives me crazy. Everyone who knows me, knows this. Unfortunately, this aversion was taken by family and friends to the extreme. Most of them believe that I don't like to be touched, at all, ever. I've even been introduced to friends of theirs with the line, 'this is Georgia, she doesn't like to be touched.' This was a joke of course, but I didn't find it amusing, I found it embarrassing. What kind of human being detests physical contact? We are tactile creatures, we like to touch and to feel things, including other people. Which is why, in the darker and most recent moments of my life, a hand to hold or another person to touch - to know I could be felt too, would have been a joy, a blessing even. It wasn't to be though, and probably never will be. 'The myth of the untouchable', it's ironic, because people touch me deeply with their words and actions. It's not me who is untouchable, it's everyone else I know, that I can't reach or feel anymore. I don't know when someone last held my hand or let me hold theirs.

If you can't physically reach out to someone, if you can't express with words how you feel, you're doomed to be alone. I mostly find myself alone, which as an introverted person, isn't all too bad. However, there is a fine line between being alone and being lonely. If you spend all day, every day, by yourself, just thinking, nothing good can come of it. Believe me. You try and find ways to entertain yourself, to fill the chasm of silence and the distinct lack of other people. Sometimes it's harmless, other times - much less so. No matter what I do, whatever distraction I try, like Twitter for example, I always end up alone with my thoughts. They're not happy ones. 

Recently, I've damned the person who said 'time heals all wounds.' That's rubbish. Maybe for those who allow a wound to scab over and then to heal, but not for those who continuously pick at it, so it eventually scars. I pick. I pick at everything until thoughts are indiscernable tiny pieces, which don't make any rational sense. Whenever I try and express those jumbled thoughts, that's when people tend to leave me. Friends have absolutely no obligation to understand my craziness, or to talk me out of a depressed state. They don't have to be there holding me hand or drying me tears, they have a life too. 

When I used to have a lot more friends than I do now, I couldn't bear to see them leave me or to be unresponsive when I thought I was telling them something important. They thought, and rightly so, that it was the ramblings of a mad woman, that I just needed to 'think more positively'. I used to think, 'it'll be okay, I'll be happier, just please God don't leave me, not now. Please not now. I can't do anything, I'm empty, I'm sad, but I still love you - just don't leave me. Please - stay with me. Just STAY with me.' I didn't understand, it used to make me cry more after they had left. To know someone knew you were beyond despair and to see them still leave - it was heartbreaking. I've never felt so unloved and insignificant in my whole life. It wasn't until a friend later told me that she couldn't bear to see me in tears and so ill, that I realised I was being selfish, that I was making her suffer too. She understood, but she couldn't take that pain away.

I stopped silently pleading for people to stay with me. I stopped trying to connect with people. For other friends who are depressed, for anyone who suffers generally, I would say that's the worst thing to do - to be isolated is death. It's maddening even. I just can't rationalise asking someone to stay, if it only causes them unnecessary pain. I'd rather bear it alone.

From past experiences, from this year alone, I know that probably means a shorter life expectancy for me. I've had so many close calls. In some cases, on the brink of life and death, I did think 'this was a mistake, let me live please and I'll try harder. I'll be better, I'll be perfect, I'll be anything people want me to be, just let me live.' Most cases weren't like that though, usually I was happy to end such a sad affair, the thought that I couldn't hurt anyone or disappoint my friends and family, eased me of all my pain and distress. Coming to again, I realised I had done the very thing I thought I was sparing people from. I caused others anguish, when I never wanted to make them unhappy. I just didn't see it as being selfish, what's one less burden in the world? One less person for them to have to deal with? But having friends like mine, who never spare me from their opinions and tirades (which I love) was a bit of a reality check, for a while.

In those moments of limbo, I thought of family and one specific friend mostly, who never leaves me. That caused my heart to swell with love and gratitude, but also with shame. I didn't have to be in such a position. I didn't have to harm and punish myself, because I'm just too sensitive to bear the pain of other's disappointment in me. I didn't have to do this - but I couldn't stand to keep on breathing without living, without love and acceptance. There's only a single person in the world who has ever said that they didn't want me to change and when they did, I cried. Probably not the typical response from others, but it was because that one statement was both touching and damning. As one of my favourite poets Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote, “What should I be, but just what I am?” This is what I am. How can anyone possibly love or even, like this?

Unfortunately for me, depression seems to have become such an intrinsic part of my personality - I can't divorce myself from it. It's as if we temporarily separate, but eventually work out our differences and make up again. We're a bitter couple. Depression is the most seductive and hurtful mistress any person could have, a selfish lover, who is entirely possessive of your mind. No matter how hard I try and stay positive, I'm always dragged back into darkness. I'm an adult now, it's not like when I was a child, running over to my Dad because I hurt myself falling over. He's not going to sweep me off my feet, kiss it better and say 'Georgia, you don't need a band-aid, you just need to air it, it won't hurt soon.' There's not really anything anyone could do, even if they wanted to. I'm not sure what I'm even supposed to be doing. This just doesn't feel like living, I don't feel alive. It's like Bill Hicks said, "we are the imagination of ourselves" and my imagination is telling me that I'm close to drowning, simply treading water - until I physically can't anymore.