Expression

Over the years, I became so accustomed to being by myself and independent in order to get myself out of my worst bouts of depression. At one point in my life, I might have attributed it to the notion that I was strong enough, that I was the only one capable of getting myself out of the pit precisely because I had been the one to get myself into it. I would have (maybe?) prided myself in the fact that eventually and over time I overcame it and got back to a functioning state, all on my own without anybody's help. (Except my therapist and a couple others.)

At that time, and to this day to some extent, I would have told myself that there was no point in reaching out to anybody anyway, because the very few people I had in my life that I trusted at the time weren't able to give me what I needed. Or so I told myself. Ask, but you won't receive. So why ask in the first place? But the truth was that I never explicitly stated what I needed or even wanted, so it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, really.

Now I am less afraid of asking -- whether it's because I set my expectations low to begin with (like usual) or because I am now more practised in it, I'm not quite sure. Probably both. 

Yet now what I am actually afraid of instead is seeing the responses.

Or was I always afraid of that to begin with, but just never had much reason to feel it so acutely because of how rare it was? Whatever the reason, now I find that the anxiety doesn't come so much when I reach out and open up, as when I see the responses. They have yet to be bad. None have been as devastating as I had catastrophised in my mind (maybe a couple were disappointing, but those were expected). Still I find myself too overwhelmed, too afraid to even look at the responses, even though when I do eventually, they are all extremely supportive -- to the point where I question whether I deserve them (but that is another matter).

Why am I so afraid of seeing those messages, of receiving that love and support? Is it because I feel pressured to respond in kind and don't feel up to that task? Is it that I truly don't feel like I deserve it? Or is it that I am honestly so unused to it that I just have no script, no practised or rehearsed reaction that I feel is satisfactory? Maybe it's all and the same. Because I'm so used to getting nothing back (that I thought I felt I needed or wanted), I have no idea what I'm supposed to do or say when I finally do. Is it enough? How do I appropriately express the extent of how I feel without it sounding fake or scripted or repetitive? How do I say -- without actually saying -- that I saw it, read it, and I truly and sincerely appreciate it, but just don't know how to express all that?

How do I prepare myself for something so unexpectedly good?

Rope

I was in a very bad place. While I'm still trying to make sense of what exactly the triggers were (I have some idea, but like everything else in life, it's complicated), what I do know is this: I was lonely. Miserably so. So many distorted thoughts swirled around my head in an endless typhoon. Through all of it, the irony was not lost on me that it was a hell of my own making.

By isolating myself, withdrawing, and closing myself off from everyone, I was making the loneliness worse. But the worse it became, the more I withdrew. The vicious spiral whirl-pooled me into the bottom of my all-too-familiar pit of depression and despair. At the depths of it, the distortions became overwhelming and repetitive.

Nobody cares about me.
I'm worthless.
If I don't do things for people, they will leave me.
I am useless.
Nobody gives a fuck about me.
I am just being used for <whatever>.
Nobody wants me in their life.
I am not worthy.
I am not enough.

And yes, I do realize that a lot of these are contradictory. That's what happens though. Distorted thoughts are never rational. That's why they're so sinister. But I tried to keep reminding myself -- had to force myself to remember that--as with any emotion or thought, even positive ones--those distorted thoughts aren't forever. They may swell and crest like seemingly endless tidal waves, but eventually they do fade away back into the ocean.

It helps when I get those brief interrupts of evidence contrary to the thoughts--the rational, factual, objective signs that pierce through the distortions. For me, it was all the people who reached out. Every little message, every emoji and thought, every meme may have been small in gesture, but each one was a length of rope, another extension to make the rope longer until it was finally within my reach and I could use it to pull myself out. Instead of thinking, 'Nobody would notice if I was gone', there was a message staring right at me saying, 'I have noticed you haven't been around'. Instead of, 'Nobody cares', there was, 'I care about you.' Eventually the rope was long enough to reach me at the bottom of my pit, and there was no longer any way for me to continue denying that here actually was a way out -- an escape.

Yet that's not the end of it.

The rope is there. It's within reach. If only I could just grab a hold of it. The work still remains to be done of actually pulling myself out using that rope that the people in my life have extended to me. It's not easy. I am still struggling, and each step, each little upward pull is draining because the gravity of the pit keeps pulling me back when I try. Sometimes I slip and I slide back down again. But the important thing I keep telling myself is to keep trying. Keep hold of that rope. Keep getting back up even after I slip. Keep taking a step, and then another, and then another. Keep hold of that rope.

I can see the top of the pit again. I can see where the rope begins, where you, my friends, hold onto the other end and anchor it while I slowly pull myself up to where you are. Part of me is scared that the rope will suddenly go slack, that it'll come loose or it'll be yanked away from me. Vulnerability and trust is scary. But I'll keep trying anyway, so I can reach the top of the pit.

I’ll be with you soon. In the meantime, thank you for holding onto your end of the rope.