The Mini Diaries

It's Saturday 8th December, 6.45pm. I'm about to conduct a little experiment. It may work, or it may not. I've tried explaining what depression feels like, but I don't have the ability to justify it's brutal nature in the space of a few hours. I want to build the feeling, treat it for what it is - A merciless demon. No one likes talking about this sort of subject. I'm fairly sure no one likes reading about it either, but then if no one educates themselves on what is a dangerous illness, how is the taboo to be broken? I can only talk of my own experiences, and if I can help just a single person open up, I will consider this constant berating of you all about a tragic subject, a success.

Even I, when I'm feeling on top of the world, as if nothing can touch me, can forget what it feels like momentarily. If you've ever felt the weight of the Earth on your shoulders, you'd want to forget it aswell. Living in fear of the monster is no way to be living life.. Right now, I am fine. It's Saturday evening, I'm readying myself to avoid The X Factor and all is well. I have spent my evening with surprising efficiency, revamping my CV with the help of Mr.Magic himself, and researching into a possible new career path. It is unlikely, as I have a tendency to doubt myself beyond reason, but a lot of people have said I should consider going into journalism. My blogs are good enough, people say, but I know that journalism as a career is a lot more than just writing. The research, the pressure, the competitiveness and the phone calls. I'm not so sure. But to know that people enjoy these waffling pieces of nonsense is quite reassuring. However, I have a constant black cloud just waiting around the corner. I KNOW that another "episode" will rear it's ugly head. It is almost inevitable. Hopefully, as I am trying to show the difference between "good" me and "bad" me, I hope I will have enough presence of mind to type what I am thinking in here when that "bad" time comes. Should I be living life constantly thinking about the next time I feel depressed? Probably not. But one cannot help it. Can you notice the difference?

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It is now Monday 10th December, 2:17am. I have spent the whole Saturday night and Sunday fighting, and I cannot do it any longer. It's been possibly the most boring weekend on record and I am annoyed I have spent the entirety doing fuck all. It is dark, with no one around and I have let the monster in. The previous words of this post were typed when my mind was in a secure place, but now, it is not. I've just read a letter I sent my parents about a year ago, and realise I am still in a similar place now than I was back then. I am yet to reach the irrational stage. I know this period will end sooner or later, (for my sake, I hope more than anything it is sooner), but it doesn't make it any easier. How am I feeling? I feel a bleak future ahead of me. I am looking at everything negative in my life and they seem so much more prominent than the positive aspects. I feel like I can be so much more, but I fear failure, which holds me back. This is the ugly me. The positive side of me would exclaim that I have it so much better than a lot of other people, but that is shoved to the background, with the entirely negative views in the fore. The negative views being that everyone else is so much better than me. So how can I possibly beat them? The only logical conclusion that a negative brain can reach is : I can't. This makes me feel useless. Even typing out this post right now, I imagine people reading it and saying, "I wish this guy would stop drowning us in sorrow - We don't need it". I'm sorry. I am desperate to help others, desperate to combat the stigma of this horrible, horrible illness and desperate to make people realise this is not an act. But, sometimes, people just don't care enough.

In the midst of the darkness, I don't want to see anyone. I lie in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and nothingness washes over me like a sluggish wave. Whatever is happening to me is somehow my own fault. I have done something wrong, something so huge I can't even see it. I am inadequate and stupid, without worth. The world is suspended, as I am no longer a part of it. This place is the scariest place for a mind to enter. Letting the thoughts stack up, as if it were a Jenga set, is a habit I am trying to cease, but it is extremely difficult. I have yet to reach the stage where the Jenga tower collapses, but it sure has wobbled a few times. Stuck in the middle of this - whatever "this" is - I cannot do anything. I have the inablity to move. Simply getting out of bed is quite literally impossible, because I am scared of what awaits on the other side of my bedroom door. Failure and unrest. Irrationality causes this. Somehow, you think everyone who has ever disliked you is waiting on the other side of that door, and although this is nion impossible, your brain somehow tells you that it is. "What if?" - The most dangerous phrase of the English language.

I'm typing things out, then deleting them, fearful that the words sound stupid and attention-seeking. I fear people at the moment, but at the same time, I want people to listen. I want help, but at the same time, I want to be left alone. It's impossible, I know. I'm going to stop writing now, in fear of babbling and destroying what this post is setting out to achieve. I hope I have explained well enough what this is...

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Interesting. It's Wednesday 12th December, mid-afternoon - about 4pm. You see, reviewing the two different phases as I look back on them, even I learn something about myself. Seeing it all on one page allows me to find out what I'm like when I'm good and what I'm like when I'm bad. When I'm good, I am considered, thoughtful and honest. When I am bad, I have a tendency to contradict myself, (Notice the two phrases, "I am yet to reach the irrational stage" and "Irrationality causes this"), and I think I want attention, using swear words to try and make myself sound more desperate. I'm going to keep this post on hold and type out a couple more random entries, when the time feels right. Hopefully, one more when I'm feeling very ambitious and happy and another when I'm not. (Frankly, I hope it takes months to come to that bit, but I can guarantee it won't!)

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Quite funny really that the next negative stage can hit one-quarter of a day later. These stages have the ability to materialise out of nowhere, with the surprise of such feelings having the ability to hit hard. I'm not feeling as bad as I have done recently, but I'm reflective. I've just written another blog post about my recent bout of problematic thinking - something I feel the need to document so I don't bottle it up. This is an "in between" phase if you like. The middle man between where I was on Monday night and me at my best. I am rational, but thinking negatively, heading in one direction only. Thankfully, its late. I'm tired and it has been a long day so sleep shouldn't be hard to come by. I look forward to tomorrow as I show more of the delights of Bedford to a new friend, and we can catch up on recent events over a nice lunch. Sunday is the day I will start to feel great, as my "old" friends begin their return for Christmas. I'm always best when I have my best friends around me. I feel safe. A feeling I haven't really felt for a while...

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Sunday... No... Monday 17th December, 00:01. I have to wake up for work in 7 and a half hours, but I am in such high spirits. My weekend has been of the immense variety, as those who were once at university have converged for the Christmas festivities. I imagine the next few weeks are going to be great. I had a night out last night, in which I took it easy and managed to have huge fun in the process, which made me think why I don't always just "take it easy". Today I had cricket practice, had a catch up with Magic Man at Harvester before going to the pub to fail at the weekly pub quiz but have many laughs along the way. My face aches because I laughed so much. I have a long and busy working week ahead of me, but the memories of this weekend, and the anticipation of the next should be more than enough to keep me going. I do have to remind myself to not get carried away though. Keep my feet on the ground, but there's nothing to stop me enjoying what is a good patch at the moment. I'm happy.

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Thursday 20th December, 16:25. Nothing can touch me now. I'm on cloud nine as Christmas approaches and I am surrounded by people who are in the party spirit, which is much more my style. You'll probably be waiting until 2013 for that crappy mood blog. Frankly, that's a good thing.

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Christmas Eve, 23:02. I'm not in a good way. Even I didn't see this coming. The realisation of what Christmas really is has made me thoroughly unhappy and that won't go away until everything is back to normal. Despite spending weeks upon weeks looking forward to the festive period, I now want Friday morning to come. Back to work please. Back to normality.

I'm about to sound like a right idiot. A moron, a loner and an absolute scrooge. This family business is really, really getting to me. I feel like I should be with them, because everyone else is, but I really don't want to go downstairs. I fear them. I am actually scared that they will say, "Oh, nice of you to join us", or something as equally degrading or cold. For the past couple of hours, I've been reading tweets like:

"Gathered around the tree, with a cold beer and surrounded by family. This is perfect"

"Christmas TV. Food. And great company."

"Christmas is the greatest time of the year. A time you appreciate everyone and everything".

Sorry, but I don't think I do. I know that's probably wrong and bad, but then who dictates what is wrong and bad? Why am I not allowed to sit here on my own and do what I want? Why do I feel under extreme pressure to do what everyone else is doing at Christmas? Why am I different?

I'm fairly certain I don't have the same thought processes as most people. I don't understand why people do the things they do. People complain about doing something and then do it anyway. Why? The common joke of visiting the in-laws at Christmas as being dreadful, but people do it regardless. Why? Apparently I'm good at writing down what I think, but I'm pretty sure you're all wondering what on Earth I'm talking about. Fuck rationality.

This is awful. I despise myself when I am like this. I am jealous of everyone else as they glide through their faultless lives, watching TV without a care in the world, whilst I drown in sorrow, scared of even confronting my own family. I know tomorrow, I am going to have to fake a smile and fake enjoying myself, for the sake of everyone else, and to avoid "being selfish". When in fact, if you stop and think about it, it should be the other way round. They are the selfish ones for completely ignoring the most dangerous illness, for the sake of a Pagan festival. For asking me to put on an act to avoid ruining it for everyone else, completely forgetting what I might actually be going through. I'm suddenly expected to not play up, so I don't upset anyone else.

I shouldn't say this, but I'll say it anyway. Right now, I want to go. I just want to run. As far away from everyone as possible. I am dreading tomorrow. So, so much.

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Boxing Day, 02:43. I bottled it, big time. Frankly, lying in bed at 9.30 this morning was the most difficult stage of my life in recent times. I was completely torn between not wanting to go downstairs, and making everyone else upset - which made me feel worse knowing that was a possibility. The possibility that me, being me, had the potential to ruin Christmas. I did make it downstairs, eventually, after a lot of tears and a splattering of welcome understanding, but opening presents was absolutely dreadful. I despise present opening. The magic of being a kid has been well and truly washed away and replaced by having to come up with an original phrase of thanks for every gift - None of which I felt I truly deserved. I still don't think I should have got any presents, for I don't think I have deserved them. I have not worked hard enough, I have been a constant pain in my own family's year and I fear even my friends are starting to wonder why they put up with me and my monster. Why buy presents just for the sake of it? I did say I didn't want anything, ages ago, but I gave in to the persistance that I must have something to open on Christmas morning. When this morning came, I wish I hadn't given in.

Knowing I didn't want the presents I had been bought made me feel worse, as if I should just act as if I wanted them, but after a morning of milling around, trying more than anything to be cheerful and "christmassy", I just could not do it any longer. After lunch, I made my way upstairs and disappeared. I don't even remember last Christmas being as bad as this one.

And now it's 3.30am. I have to be awake in 4 hours to make the trek to Manchester, and I feel bad, if not worse, than I did earlier. Once more, I fear the morning. I simply do not want to go. But at the same time, I do not want to make everyone upset, and I do not want to be the reason to ruin the festive season. I almost know what's going to happen. I'll drift off to sleep, wake up laying in my own tears, and cry amongst my family imploring me to get up, before I hear the loud, crass shouts of my Dad saying, "Just leave him, I'll go on my own". Leaving me to feel like I've let everyone down, as usual. Almost the worst thing about this, is that I had completely and genuinely forgotten what Christmas does to me. Why didn't I remember this time last year? The internal fighting in my brain, the drama of Boxing Day, the anxiety. Why did I think this year was going to be different?

This is terrible. Really, really terrible. Prolonged agony across a time that is supposed to be joyous. If you're one of those people that claims depression is just a figment of the imagination, a reason to avoid the challenges of life, consider this. Despite not being that fussed following Man Utd, I LOVE going to Old Trafford. It doesn't happen very often. The buzz of a matchday is a feeling I never want to forget, but this morning, that buzz has been completely wiped out by a fear. A fear of your own flesh and blood. Just imagine that. Irrational fear of something I know has developed inside my own head, but I cannot get rid of. There is simply nothing I can do but hope this goes away. Nothing. And after 3 days of constant torture, I'm starting to fear that maybe this time, it will not disappear. I want out.

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Friday 28th December, 1:07am. I never even made it to Manchester. I never even made it out of bed. Frankly, it was impossible. I avoided the potential episode of despair I envisaged by leaving a post-it note on my bedroom door, telling everyone else on the other side to leave me be. That bedroom door of mine was the tangible symbol of the barrier between Heaven and Hell. Bearing in mind, I was in a state of absolute terror, having gone past that "irrational" stage on to a period that I cannot even explain with words, the decision to tell them via post-it note was probably right. I shouldn't have to do that, but in these extreme circumstances, it was probably the best way. I have no idea what a slanging match with my family would have done to my insides, but the result would not have been good. After spending Boxing Day in a worse state than Christmas Day, I am officially very disappointed and drained though. I honestly believed I would enjoy the festive period, but the anxiety of it all got to me in a way I have only ever experienced a few times in my life. It was vicious, unequivocal and raw. Naturally, my sleeping pattern is ruined, and it's gone 2am with me wide awake, but about to go to bed anyway, as I try to gain some sleep before the return to normality tomorrow. Work beckons, and frankly, I'm relieved that is the case. After one of the worst Christmas periods on record, I'm looking forward to getting back into the swing of a normal life.

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I think we'll leave it there. This experiment didn't really pan out as I had expected. Yes, it just turned into a set of mini-blogs, but I was secretly hoping to spot some sort of pattern to the madness of depression. What is has taught me instead, is that it is random. It is lethal and unforgiving, and although I am now feeling a lot better, I am still wary. The next few months are going to be very tough indeed, and knowing that this is practically a certainty doesn't make me feel well at all... I don't like Winter, and Winter doesn't like me. Bring on Summer!