Someone I love dearly beyond words or measure asked if my depression being unmedicated was creating havoc on me. And I think it is. I know it is. I’m an uninsured American with multiple problems that all intersection with a dose of depression. Sometimes I write, to let it out. To let the inky, dark, crawling emptiness face some blinding light.
I can’t and don’t trust myself in many ways. I trust myself professionally without hesitation. I trust my writing, my abilities to create and craft research. I trust my own instincts, but I can’t always trust my own goodness. I can’t see the part of me helping illuminate my good points, not just bad.
I do things for people because it’s right, it’s being part of humanity and a community. But I can’t take that into account in a ticking ‘good’ column since being decent isn’t really award-worthy in my mind.
Oh, I’m my harshest critic–make no doubt. Nothing you can say will match my own hard truths I deliver all the time. If you’ve ever graded my work, or proofread anything, you have no idea how truly cold I can be. Bloodless bath of misery. Part of my tendencies to strive for perfection.
But sometimes it feels like so much more…
Continue reading The Voiding Darkness of Depression