Of apologies.

I tried a short while ago to curl up and get some rest, but I was unable. I had boiled the kettle, and chose to disregard it, but now am taking myself up on that cup of tea. Sitting at the computer, I was prompted to update a program on my hard drive, and it’s driven me to go ahead and clean up some of the shit that’s collected.

And so in such a spirit, and within the vein of honesty, I’ve decided to address something intensely personal, and of which I am extremely sensitive: I am clinically depressed. It’s no secret that I became incredibly dysphoric back in September when my relationship ended, but it didn’t stop. I continued descending in spirit for a couple of months, until I finally had a complete emotional breakdown.

Things continued along those lines for awhile, and I eventually attempted other relationships. But the truth of the matter was that my heart wasn’t in it; I was only pretending to heal, pretending to get better for the sake of everyone else around me. I got tired of people telling me that they wanted the happy, energetic, extroverted Bobby back. Thinking on it now, it’s hard to believe such a person really exists.

The real truth was that I was still very much in love with Nicole, and couldn’t do anything to get over the fact that she was no longer mine. She had gotten over me, was with someone else, and I had no love or joy left in me. I continued this way until February, when I saw her again, and she told me she felt the same for me, that she wanted to be with me again also. And so it was.

And perhaps foolishly, I expected things would get better. In a lot of ways, they have; I have a source of love and joy again, but she lives far away. And the pain of the distance seems compounded by the depression I’ve been suffering so long. Feelings of abandonment, issues left over from the collective of my life… I’ve become almost as many ugly shades of a person I can think of. I’m neurotic, jealous, paranoid, deeply disparate, unable to eat, and an insomniac, subject to horrible attacks of anxiety… to begin.

I’m not gaining anything from being so honest here, and in fact stand a chance of having my condition held against me and suffering certain circumstances from it. But I’ve been silent so long, letting none but Nicole in, and only getting worse in the process. In fact, the last few weeks I’ve been completely unable to control my emotions at all, breaking down daily during fits of hyperventilation.

Part of what’s made me feel especially bad lately is that I’ve been making Nicole suffer along with me, allowing no one person but her know anything that’s been going on with me. She’s had to listen from a great distance, attempting to coach me in breathing and relaxation while I sob and stutter and apologize. I’m not going to get into the depths of my malaise, but it’s been very rough, and I know it’s bothered her in ways I’d rather not have.

I first attempted to get help a couple of months ago, in February. I had gotten back together with Nicole, but finally being able to tell the truth, to let everything go and just be with her again only made the months of lies resonate within me, and I went into counseling through an employee services program through work. Those sessions were limited mainly to me discussing my thoughts and feelings with little reciprocation, and expired before I was awarded any insight or perspective.

Currently, I am pursuing further counseling, but in both cases I’ve been urged to get professional help, to get proper medical attention. I took the first step a few days ago, when I went to the hospital here in London to seek out proper psychiatric care. Now, early this afternoon, I have an appointment to get help through an urgent care facility downtown.

Only time will tell if writing about this was a good idea or not. I have no idea what lies in store for me; I’ve avoided medication for some time because I’ve been afraid of its effects. I’ve been very much afraid to lose my personality to medicine, to lose the creativity and intrigue, but honestly I haven’t felt much of any of it for a long time. I just want to become stable again, to become a better person for my daughter and the woman I love.

I know this post will come as a surprise to most, as I’ve been trying very hard to keep my condition a secret. This will come as explanation to some, those few times I’ve slipped against better judgment and sent messages or made phone calls in especially troubled states. This will come as clarity to others, who’ve noticed the eccentricities in my behaviour (or, for example, the lack of any substance in my writing for some time – I’ve been too troubled to write anything personal) and expressed concerns that I’ve sidestepped.

But what I really want to say to all of my friends and family is that I’m sorry – I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I’ve only recently begun actually talking about it. I’m sorry that I led you all to believe I was okay; I guess I felt I’d get over everything in time, but everything just got over me. I don’t know what happens from here, but I know where I’m going this afternoon, and I can only hope that more of the journey reveals itself then.

One Response to “Of apologies.”
  1. ulyssesred says:

    There is nothing to be ashamed about.
    Don’t be afraid to ask for help.
    Writing helps. Trust me on that. Writing helps.
    Take it from a tangentially challenged person who has difficulty thinking like other people.
    Keep posting. Keep writing. Let me know if your alive.

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  • About

    My name is Bobby.

    I write about random things a lot. I write a lot about random things.

    I write occasionally for Smashing Magazine and the London Community News online, and weekly for Interrobang, the student voice newspaper at Fanshawe College in London, Ontario.

    I've also been published by the Canadian University Press.
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