DMX “A yo/ I’m slippin’, I’m fallin’/ I can’t get up/ I’m slippin’, I’m fallin’/ I can’t get up/ I’m slippin’, fallin’/ I gots to get up/ Get back on my feet/ So I can tear shit up,” -Slippin’ by DMX

Last night I was laying in bed watching YouTube makeup tutorials (as I often do before bed), when all of the sudden a wave of dense, black complete and utter sadness washed over me. It was a feeling that I am unfortunately all to accustomed to. “Here we go again,” I thought.

For some strange reason, I was hit with this fear of death. This happens to me every so often.  After my dad died, I went through a stage of severe depression that was directly linked to an intense fear of dying. This lasted for a few months. Months of feeling like literally nothing was worth doing because I was just going to die one day anyway. Ever since then, every once in a while, I will be almost end teleported back to that time in my life. It is a mix of fearing dying too young, wondering what is the point in anything, being saddened by how incredibly short life is, and worrying that I will not accomplish anything significant during my short time on Earth.

I turned 30 a few months ago. I have been having an almost mid-mid life crisis. I worry that I wasted my youth, my twenties, and that I am starting my life so late that I will not ever accomplish anything worthwhile. I live a rather closed off life. I trust very, very few people. On top of that, I have had to distance myself from a great deal of the friends that I hung out with for the last almost decade because they were my “get high buddies”. I often feel like Gatsby, where if I die, virtually no one will realize or care. It will be one of those situations where someone casually mentions, “Hey, remember that girl that we went to high school with(or worked with, or whatever)? She died a few months ago”. “Oh, that’s sad”. Followed by the people going back to whatever conversation that they were previously involved in.  The ironic thing is that while I am fearful of a funeral that is attended by three or so people, it is I who pushes everyone away.mi have just been hurt and fucked over far too many times. It is easier to be alone than to be hurt.

I feel like I am in a race. Against time, against the world, against my inner daemons.  Once I get pushed into the race and the gun goes off, I do not have the option to quit. I wish it were that easy. The race is not a fair one, either. It is not on a flat, even surface. I am at the bottom of a deep hole. I have to somehow make it to the top, but the surface is smooth, there is nothing for me to grab ahold of to climb up. It is not as if there is someone there to throw me a life-line, and honestly, I don’t think that anyone would take the time to throw me a rope even if they could.

To a person who doesn’t or hasn’t experienced chronic and severe depression, what I am saying probably makes very little sense. The thing that I find that people have such a hard time understanding is that there , doesn’t have to be something major to drop me to the bottom of the well, or the rabbit hole as I tend to call it. There can be, but there doesn’t have to be.

For example, we recently found out that my mother-in-law has cancer in both her lungs and ovaries. My father died of lung cancer in 1996, and I sat on the sofa with him and watched him die. Hearing this news, especially since she is truly a second mother to me, brought back floods of images of my father’s painful death. The good news is that they caught the cancer in the very early stages, very unlike my father. She will not have to go through the chemo like my dad. I watched the chemo take a strong, healthy 250 pond man who hunted, fished, did construction for a living wither away to around 160 pounds, unable to walk, talk. A man who was on so many medications that he was incoherent, hallucinating all the time. They did not catch his cancer early, at all. He had been having bronchitis every winter for three or four winter in a row. Then the fifth winter they did an x-ray and discovered that one of his lungs was collapsed and that he had advanced lung cancer. My mother in law’s situation is vastly different. The cancer is small enough that they can remove it, also she doesn’t need her ovaries, so they probably will go in and take out the ovaries entirely. She is going to be fine, I have been praying nightly.

I don’t know if it was this news, or that we are headed into winter, or the fact that my husband was laid off, but I am desperate to try to get out of this tailspin before I am entirely consumed by blackness. I don’t really know why I am writing about this. Part of me just needs to write what I am unable to vocalize. Maybe part of it is that I feel that you are only as sick as what you hold inside. Also, just like with addiction, talking about depression helps to de-stigmatize it. Hopefully someone will read this and know that they are not alone.  I have been this way before, and I have survived.

What is it that I need? Someone to care, perhaps? Will that make a difference? I need to not feel like an insignificant piece of nothing for some amount of time. Even if it is brief, maybe it will be enough to give me hope that I may be normal at some point. Here’s to hope, I supose.


5 thoughts on “Slippin

  1. Are you on an antidepressant? I just ask because for me it has been a life saver. Although it made little to no difference when I was on meth, I wouldn’t have been able to quit without it. We don’t how much we’ve damaged our brains with prolonged use of drugs that deplete our dopamine or, in heroin’s case, serotonin levels. SSRI’s vs. MAOI’s, are especially helpful for people with a heroin addiction (past or present). I’m on Remeron (which is in a class of its own, but closer to an SSRI) and Abilify and it’s been a life changer. When I go off of it by accident, I realize how impactful it is. I still suffer from depression, both from years of addiction and because of my recent tragic loss, but without it, I would be in much worse shape. Death is something that I’m frequently haunted by. And what is going to happen in the afterlife terrifies me. Although I was raised Mormon and we don’t believe in hell, I do believe that if I live a good life I can live with my family who I adore forever. But I don’t know how my choices in life are going to affect that. But you are on a good path and there are people who care. As I unfortunately learned recently, we can all go at any time for any reason and there’s nothing we can do about it. But I hope you can take some comfort in knowing that it doesn’t matter what you did in your past, only how you are currently living. I don’t know if your Christian, but whether you believe in redemption by the Atonement of Christ, or another theology, every religion believes in forgiveness of sin and a promise of a better afterlife. I know that can seem like little comfort when it all feels so overwhelming here on earth now. But just from reading your blog, I know that you are on the right path. All we can do is try to be the best we can each day and love our families unconditionally, and although depression is crippling, fortunately it’s not flaw or something that makes you a bad person. No one is perfect, but we can all be forgiven for bad choices, the hardest part is forgiving ourselves as well. You have the unconditional love of your family, and the love of your higher power. The hardest part is loving yourself. Remember that your brain is still recovering and rewiring itself – and will be for years. Your lying addict brain wants you believe your no good and that life is meaningless. It’s the most powerful and prolific lie it tells you. I wish there was something I could say that would help you, but I know how all-consuming it can feel. But the longer you stay on the right path, the less power it will have over you. Addicts, past and present, I’m convinced have some of the hardest lives on the planet because our brains are wired so differently and are actually working against us. We have an extremely difficult time seeing the good in our lives and can be consumed with the negative. But you are making a difference in this life by raising a family, and that can be the most rewarding and most impactful thing any person can do. Ah, my heart goes out to you because I know exactly how you feel. I know words can seem meaningless, but hopefully you can draw some comfort out of some part of this. I know it’s an internal battle that you can win and there are lots of people out there pulling for you, even if you have a hard time seeing it sometimes. I haven’t been blogging much about it, but I’m trying to give Methadone a chance right now too. It’s helped me a lot already, but I struggle, going on and off wondering what the purpose is. But I’m trying to remember what a liar my brain is and that I can’t trust anything it tells me. You are doing, and succeeding at, one of the hardest things on the planet to do. Don’t forget that. You will be and are being rewarded or for it, whether you can recognize it in the moment or not. And life can and will get better.

    Sorry this went so long. My heart just ached when I read this and I related so much to it. I have so much respect for you for everything you are doing and want you to have the best life possible because you deserve it more than most other people out there.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much for your kind words. It helps to not feel alone. I was raised Catholic, so we were taught intensively about Heaven and Hell. I am still Christian in that I believe in God, Jesus, sins, etc., but I tend to live my life by more Buddhist teachings.
      I am not currently on anti-depressants or anti-anxiety meds, but I need to get back on them. I was on meds in college and they did help.
      I was so sad to hear about your loss awhile back. I hope that you are starting to feel a lot better, I know that no one can understand how someone feels after a loss, as it is a unique experience. I’m glad to hear that you’re trying methadone. It is a lifesaver for me. I know that it can get a bad rap, but when I was using, my habit was too bad for suboxone. I got way too sick way too fast to wait 24 hours to take it. I would end up holding out as long as I could, which would be like 12 to 15 hours, and then take one. It would just send me into worse withdrawal symptoms, so u would take more, cause I couldn’t do dope due to the opiate blockers. One time, my hubby and I were in Tennessee and thus happened. We first drove 45 minutes to Knoxville, only to find that it was a a crack town. We ended up driving 8 hours to Baltimore (a trip we made in 6). Methadone is better for hardcore users.


      1. Ugh, yeah that first 24 hours before you can take Suboxone is hell. The first time I tried it was the day of my parents 30th wedding anniversary. I took it about 12 hours in and had precipitated withdraws the entire time. It was awful. Even after the 24 hours, Suboxone only mildly helps the withdraws at first. I’m still sick as a dog until about day 3, then it starts working. Even still, you might not be as sick, but it doesn’t curb cravings at all. That’s what I like about methadone the most. The desire to use is significantly reduced. Suboxone doesn’t have that effect. On the up side, it’s much, much easier to come off of. You can kick it in just a few weeks, as opposed to Methadone. So I guess they both have their pros and cons. Whichever one you use, it’s always going to be a struggle.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Yeah, one of the best things about methadone is that it’s the only thing that I have found that lessens cravings. Obviously that’s important. It is much harder to kick than subs, but at least you can drop 1 mg at a time since it’s a liquid. You can’t do that with suboxone.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s