Islands Don’t Cry

Well, I’m back in a Black Depression Period. I think this is the fourth of 202o and hopefully the shortest.

I know I’m in it when I think breathing is too much work and when I can’t see the color blue. I know it exists and I recognize it, but I can’t see it. So the picture below looks gray to me.

I write these periods out for a few reasons:

• Many of my Quora readers write to me on depression and they find it helpful.
• I can come back once I’m mentally healthy and see patterns. The more I understand myself in the storm, the more I learn on how to get out.
• It makes me accountable to myself to keep fighting.

Currently, I’m trying not to self harm. I’ve gone two years without it and I’m hoping to make it twenty more, at minimum.

I talked about why people self harm. The mental hurt feels so bad that you want the pain to make sense. Physical pain makes sense and creates endorphins, which make me feel better.

But it’s also really dangerous and doesn’t solve my problems. It’s a temporary high that just leads to a deeper crash.

But right now, dangerous stupidity makes sense. Because in this twisted wonderland of depression, up is down and life is pain.

The hardest part is that I am starting to wonder why I bother fighting.

It doesn’t get easier. Socializing is still a minefield.

I think back to that song “I Am A Rock” by Simon and Garfunkel and remember my uncle’s words explaining it to my cousins, in front of me. “Really smart people like Elke can’t make friends, so they learn to be alone and read.”

I was twelve. For those who know what my twelfth year was like, I appreciate the wince. For those who don’t, suffice it to say it was far from the worst thing that happened.

Still, I remember it because it was one of the first times I felt this terror that things wouldn’t work out and socializing would not be getting easier.

It’s only getting harder.

I’m trying to remember that this black period will end. I just have to keep fighting so it doesn’t end me.