Deeper and Uglier (or, Where Is the Love)

Just when I think that I have seen the worst it will be for me, and that I can hold onto brighter times in the future, things get worse. And uglier. And my sorrow and anxiety and all those bad feelings delve so deep. If I had the option, I would have had weeks of not getting out of bed. Things have been looking pretty bleak. The world is pretty hard on people struggling with depression, especially when they mess up. Even people who have that shared experience are hard on you. In some respects I think they are harder on you. I am struggling to find an explanation for why friends who say they love me, who have been through some form of this, have so little tolerance for my misery. Perhaps it is because things haven't been as bad for them. Perhaps it is because their ways of coping are different from mine, and they don't understand why I'm not coping like they do. Perhaps it's because they are just as critical of themselves, and this is more about projecting than truly judging me. Whatever it is, it feels devastating to me sometimes.

This perhaps reflects my personal issues with wanting to please people. I really, really, really, want my friends and loved ones (and bosses, and coworkers, and the waiter, and the bus driver...) to think I'm great. I want them to think I'm smart. I want them to think I'm trustworthy, honest, and a solid friend. It's not enough for me to know those things myself. I need other people to see that, and acknowledge that. But, also, I think that most "normal" people would feel a little forsaken if their friends had indicated, when it was taking everything in them to hang on, that they weren't doing enough, and that they were not good enough the way that they were.

I think of one friend in particular. If she were to read this, she would probably dispute it, and say that she had never said I am not good enough. I've seen her do this to other people, so I shouldn't take it so personally, right? The bottom line is, though, that she sends the message, with her irritation, and her dismissal of the things I have to tell her, that if I were more on top of things, I would be more healthy, and my misery is due to my own laziness. Perhaps there is some truth to this. Depression is an ugly tangly thing, and the apathy and lack of interest in activities can lead to being more sedentary, which can then lead to feeling more depressed... it's one of the ugly truths of the disease. But, I spend a lot of time and effort pushing past that. And it's exhausting. That's where I feel like she needs to cut me some slack.

Really, I need to stop worrying about what she thinks. I know that's the healthy thing. But the reality is that we care what people think of us. Especially people we love. We want them to be proud of us. We want them to respect us. We want them to support us.

Why does it have to be so complicated?