Dealing With Me During Dark Times- Depression Is Anger Turned Inward, blog by Drem

I wrote part of this in response to someone asking about how to care for someone during a serious episode of depression. I think this sums up my entire life.


i just tell my mom to not talk to me. i live on leftovers and granola bars (mostly peanut butter Cliff bars). sometimes i eat a banana. if I’m in a really crazy mood, i’ll make toast. but that’s rare. i don’t answer the door. i don’t pick up the phone. because of that, i don’t order food.

she got a boyfriend to stay occupied. i’m happy for her. he’s nice.
that’s it. that’s life. i sit. i take my meds. i watch tv. i watch nothing. then flashes. flash flash flash of bad images. bad home movies. of my life. of me. in my past. i take more meds. i feel too much. but a vacancy is there deep within all around what is overwhelming me. and that vacancy hurts. and i feel the depth. a crevice in my chest i can put my whole hand through to caress my spine and rearrange my ribs.

sometimes depression hurts. it manifests itself. and i feel like i’m physically drowning. i feel the water rise up and down over and then just below my lips. my limbs ache. my mind tires. sleeping would make it easier but sleeping leads to nightmares. and morning depression. and morning depression is the worst depression. paralyzing sadness and fear coats my essence. essence sounds like a fake thing. i can’t describe it. it’s just, maybe, a paralyzing sadness and fear in every facet of me. every corner. outside and inside. in my mind and in my bones.

it’s the oddest thing. it is not rational. i am not rational. i am in me and stuck.

and if she does talk to me, she does set me off. because depression is anger towards inwards. and at any time i’ll turn it out if you press me to do things i really can’t do during states of my bad painful depression. it’s because i don’t want to be this way. i just am. i wish i wasn’t. and that frustration presses against the inside of my chest and puts pressure inside of my skin. it makes me want to cut myself out of me. i think about that all the time. i literally imagine doing that. it’s a scene out of American Horror Story. And it’s damn lovely.

i feel like i’m just living till the end. waiting to die. i don’t know if anyone feels the same about it. but that’s me at my worst.

nothing brings joy. not love. not attention. not sex. sex isn’t love then. not even God is watching. that’s the scariest part. being absent of God. it’s all numb. disconnected. i wonder if that’s how prostitutes get through it. just go through life as ghosts, numb as fuck to the intimacy and fruits of life sexually, spiritually, religiously, in partnership with others… to any emotions that would make life worth living. and it’s so very selfish.


Below is one of my FAVORITE songs. Listen.






24 thoughts on “Dealing With Me During Dark Times- Depression Is Anger Turned Inward, blog by Drem

  1. As a former ‘prostitute’, I prefer the term ‘sex worker’. It’s not as you describe. I worked as a legal, private independent sex worker and I enjoyed my work. Took pride that I was providing a service to predominantly men (but not exclusively), whom for the most part were very lonely. I developed some very good friendships/transactional relationships. I’m still friends with my very first client in 2006! It’s very rewarding but like any job, some days I didn’t want to go to work. I would switch off my phone, cancel appointments and chill for as many days as I needed. I miss it some days. The financial independence, me calling the shots. It was a very empowering job for me. Jx


    1. I refer to prostitutes as a separate being from what you described. The prostitutes I’m referring to are the ones in NYC who live on the streets under a pimp. So you can use that word for you- but I’m not describing the type of work environment you had.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. It’s probably not legal in your country to work so sex workers are being exploited by the system. It’s very sad but not all street sex workers are drug addicts, mentally unwell or alcoholics. They have the same statistics as the general population in that regard. Even street sex workers have regular clients they enjoy and see often and most work on the streets by choice. It’s only a small minority worldwide who are trafficked and exploited. About 1% of the total sex work population but the media and anti-sex work lobbyists don’t want that research getting out. Sex workers aren’t the ones spreading disease either…we can’t afford to be dirty. It’s young people getting drunk and having opportistic unprotected sex…

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I feel that unless you have been a sex worker people shouldn’t really comment. Most of these types of comments, negatively stereotype sex workers and their voices are marginalized. ..


      3. I feel like unless you have lived in my state and seen the abuse many of these women undergo under pimps, who live in cramped housing with other women in ghettos, getting only a small fraction of pay and get beaten if they don’t make enough (yes I have known some women in this situation) it’s not your right to comment on my interpretation when I clearly stated in my response to you what I was referring to.

        You can continue to go on and on about your experience, which is clearly irrelevant since your country is different than mine.


  2. First off, I love the line “a crevice in my chest i can put my whole hand through to caress my spine and rearrange my ribs.” Secondly, this resonated so much with me because it’s so similar to the way I feel when I’m having an episode. It was incredibly painful to read though, even when you feel the same way at times, to read someone else feeling the same way and the way that you put it into words, it just makes it real. I don’t know about anyone else but sometimes the depression makes me and everything feel surreal and like it doesn’t exist in the same reality as everything else but reading this definitely puts it back into the reality context where it does exist. Thank you for sharing this with us, it’s amazing. All the love.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You are not alone (: We are not alone in our invisible illness. We share so much yet aren’t physically connected.
      The brain is such an odd place… I think we have some similar chemical levels. lols.

      Liked by 2 people

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