Depression As A Physical Illness- WHY THE FUCK IS THAT SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND!?!?!?!

I missed Grandma’s birthday yesterday. I slept till 11PM. I decided to put myself into a semi-comotose state and forget I exist for awhile because I’m still having withdrawal symptoms (not a drug addict. I wrote about this before. I was taken off two medications cold turkey because my doctor is an idiot). And, I also felt like it for personal reasons.


Later on, my mom came in with tears in her eyes yelling, “YOU WIN!” I have no idea what the fuck that was about. I don’t remember the conversation we had before that. I don’t remember a lot of things. Whatever. I won something. Maybe a car. Or a new cat. I like cats. I can’t drive. You can have the car.


Anyway, I was feeling really shitty that I missed grandma’s birthday. Truth be told, I couldn’t handle seeing all the rest of the people that were going to be there while in withdrawal. She wouldn’t understand that concept. To her, family is family. FAMILY IS NOT FAMILY. Most people are little shits. I didn’t know the headcount and who would show and I don’t want to deal with a bunch of ’em asking me questions and commenting on how I look (thinner, paler, etc). Ends up everyone who showed love and support me so it wouldn’t have been so bad at all. Perhaps I could have stopped by.


Then, at 3AM my phone rings. It was from my grandma’s number. I freaked out because I assumed she died. A dead person can’t use the phone, but why else would someone call someone else at 3AM unless to announce a death? She didn’t die. I know you couldn’t wait till the next paragraph to find out if she was dead or not, so there you go. She didn’t die. Thank God.


She was fine, just upset I wasn’t there on her birthday. We’re Catholic and Italian so let’s pile on the guilt, even though I certainly deserve it and took it like a champ. It’s my fault she’s upset and she has every right to be.


One thing that always sticks out, though, is when anyone asks- “What was wrong? Physical or mental?” She doesn’t take my depression/anxiety episodes seriously. AT ALL. Which is fine. I think it’s her generation. I don’t hold it against her in the least. I love her very much.


I do hold that small-mindedness against the rest of the fucking world for their fucking continued ignorance no matter how hard I try to explain.


Depression/anxiety can manifest itself physically.

The drugs we take can make us coo coo for cocoa puffs for days. The mood swings we endure- move over. We wanna rip our skin off and then go eat cake. The irrational fears that consume us and cause us to shake and faint. Those are just some of the physical manifestations. And those are the less bloody ones.



I got a “What can I do to get you out of the house? Take you for ice-cream?”

I responded with something like, “If you knew me you would know the answer. You don’t. I only see you for 3 hours on Christmas. You talk to my mother. You know the deal. Cut the shit.”


Now, if that was a one time deal I certainly would have responded differently. I would have been nicer. But, I’m not nice anymore really. And, she knows better. And, they all know better. They just don’t think before they speak.


Everyone talks for the sake of talking. Nobody thinks anymore.



If the world spent more time thinking instead of speaking wildflowers would bloom in the middle of January.





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