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Heat (OR Libby Love)
There was a night, must have been January of 1999, freshman year at Knox, right after we'd returned from winter break and I had found out about Allison and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skoriaan, a night in which Libby saved my life.
It was either Friday or Saterday.gender_euphoric was away for the weekend so I had the room all to myself. It was late, probably well after midnight, and I was in the midst of a crisis. Was racing headlong into the whole "God what is wrong with me, why do I scare everyone away, no one will ever love me" train of thought. I couldn't stand it. My head was caving in, suicidal impulse was really strong, and I knew I wasn't gonna make it through the night without some help. So I called Libby. I thought for sure she'd be asleep but I had to try anyway. Much to my relief she picked up the phone.
"Can you come over?" I croaked.
Without a second thought she replied, "I'll be right there."
Five minutes later she walked into my dorm room and without so much as a hello came over and put her arms around me. I buried my face in her shoulder and started crying. The two of us slowly slid down to the floor where we stayed for the better part of an hour. Libby didn't say anything. No trite platitudes. She just held me and stroked my hair until my tears subsided. I cried for a LONG time. And she held me. She was totally attentive the entire time, aware of where all the tension in my body was, aware of when that tension shifted. She was completely with me on every imaginable level.
After I'd cried myself out I started asking her questions. Stuff like "Will anyone ever love me? Am I doomed to be alone forever?" that sorta thing. And she gave me your garden variety best friend responses, "You'll find someone better. He doesn't deserve you," and the one that yanked at my heart strings, "one day you'll find someone who loves you as much as I do." That utterance triggered more hysterical crying because I knew she meant it. Because with all the tenderness, acceptance, understanding, and compassion she had shown me that evening I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she DID love me with all her heart. I cried because I had never been so certain of such a thing in my entire life.
When my tears died down again Libby told me I should get some sleep. She picked me up, put me into bed, and tucked me in. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked. I nodded yes. "Okay," she looked over at Melly's bed, "I'll be right over there. If you need me during the night, just wake me up." She kissed me on the forehead, turned out the light, and climbed into Melly's bed. She was still there when I woke up the next morning.
Thinking about this incident helped me get through last night. Knowing there was a person in this world who had once and would again if she could give me the exact sort of care and compassion I needed without any fear of being comsumed by my depression was comforting. That was what was most remarkable about that night, I was spinning wildly out of control, and she wasn't afraid. She wasn't afraid of not being able to help, or of saying the wrong thing, or that my sadness would somehow bring her down. She approached me in the way she would have wanted to be approached in the same situation, and she worked with the confidence that she was going to succeed not in making me feel better, but in making me feel loved. And she knew love would keep us both afloat even with the rock my my depression tied around our necks. In short, she has no fear of failure. She KNEW she was going to help me.
So few people in this world will love you when you are at your lowest. Libby is one of those who will. She realized that in order to love me she had to love ALL of me, and loving all of me meant showing love and compassion to the most disgusting parts. You can't pick and choose the parts of a person you are going to love. That isn't love or acceptance. Libby is all love and all acceptance so...the thought of her helped bring me back to myself last night.
Last night I found myself falling into this frame of mind. Hasn't been as bad today but chances are I'll still try and whip up a nice form of mundane punshiment for myself once I get home. Night time is always the worst. While I may be frazzled and stressed out during the day, at least I'm busy. At least there are ways to occupy my mind. At night there's nothing, just the oh so melodramatic and dark void of my head. Usually I can find someone to talk to online, reaching out to people helps a whole lot, but last night I was afraid to. I was afraid someone would say something to hurt me, so I shyed away from all online conversation. It was lonely.
I wish I had someone like Libby in my life right now, but I don't. I need her brand of friendship right now. That's what would make me feel the best. My friends have been growing more and more worried. They keep asking what they can do to make me feel better and I haven't been able to tell them. I haven't known. I still don't. But if I'm down and you're looking to make me feel better ya know what the best thing to do is? Try and make me laugh. I love laughing. I love being distracted by absurdity and silliness.silent_t has turned amusing me when depressed into an art form. Then again she turns most of the things she does into art :-) Being chronically depressed just like me she knows exactly what sort of humor will lighten up a suicidally depressing situation. I'm lucky to have a friend like her. Have I told you lately that I love her?
So...yeah, for everyone who has asked, if you want to help humor is a wonderful way to do so.
I wrote something in the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
depression community yesterday that a few of the members really responded to, and that I am pretty proud of. It was just a general rant addressed to all the people who have the nerve to say "hang in there" without attaching any irony to the statement. Here's what I wrote:
You obviously have no concept of what the word CHRONIC means. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary the word Chronic is defined as a condition "marked by long duration or frequent recurrence." Ergo chronic depression would be depression that is of long duration and frequently recurrs. It is not the same as situational depression which is typically relieved once the situation causing said depression resolves itself. Chronic means the situation isn't GOING to get better. Chronic means that even if you make it through one bout of depression there is a 100% chance that you will relapse, and once you make it through THAT bout there is a 100% chance that you will relapse AGAIN!!! It never ends you see. Even if you go seven years without a significant depressive episode you still must live with the knowledge that a relapse WILL eventually come. There is no doubt in that. And every relapse will get progressively worse.
So the phrases "buck up" and "hang in there" and "it'll get better" become meaningless to one who is chronically depressed. For us it isn't a matter of hanging in there until the depression lifts because it never does. We have to "buck up" in order to make it through every fucking day of our worthless lives!!! EVERY. FUCKING. DAY. We have to "hang in there" to make it through each MINUTE. The amount of strength you attribute to making it through the entire depressive process can't be applied in the same way to a chronic because there IS NO END to our depression. That strength must be exerted towards simply STAYING ALIVE!!! Screw "feeling better" I'm just trying to make it through the day. Period.
Also: I had a dream last night about, of all people, Tristina! Dreampt I was back at Knox, rooming withsilent_t, and all was well only Tris's roomate had recently moved out on her so she asked me if I would be willing to be her new roomate. For some odd reason she needed a roomy toute suite or else she was going to get kicked out. She had this huge double in Williston so I was like "Sure I'll move in with you." So I tell T I'm moving out, she wishes me well, I pack up all my shit, and haul it over to Williston. Everything is fine and dandy until I dump my first box of crap into my new room. First thing I see upon entering are six ferrets!!! I gasp. "Tristina! You didn't tell me you still had the ferrets!!!" "Yeah," she replied. I am flabbergasted. "Well then I can't live here!!!" I say. And that was the end.
skoriaan, a night in which Libby saved my life. It was either Friday or Saterday.
gender_euphoric was away for the weekend so I had the room all to myself. It was late, probably well after midnight, and I was in the midst of a crisis. Was racing headlong into the whole "God what is wrong with me, why do I scare everyone away, no one will ever love me" train of thought. I couldn't stand it. My head was caving in, suicidal impulse was really strong, and I knew I wasn't gonna make it through the night without some help. So I called Libby. I thought for sure she'd be asleep but I had to try anyway. Much to my relief she picked up the phone. "Can you come over?" I croaked.
Without a second thought she replied, "I'll be right there."
Five minutes later she walked into my dorm room and without so much as a hello came over and put her arms around me. I buried my face in her shoulder and started crying. The two of us slowly slid down to the floor where we stayed for the better part of an hour. Libby didn't say anything. No trite platitudes. She just held me and stroked my hair until my tears subsided. I cried for a LONG time. And she held me. She was totally attentive the entire time, aware of where all the tension in my body was, aware of when that tension shifted. She was completely with me on every imaginable level.
After I'd cried myself out I started asking her questions. Stuff like "Will anyone ever love me? Am I doomed to be alone forever?" that sorta thing. And she gave me your garden variety best friend responses, "You'll find someone better. He doesn't deserve you," and the one that yanked at my heart strings, "one day you'll find someone who loves you as much as I do." That utterance triggered more hysterical crying because I knew she meant it. Because with all the tenderness, acceptance, understanding, and compassion she had shown me that evening I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she DID love me with all her heart. I cried because I had never been so certain of such a thing in my entire life.
When my tears died down again Libby told me I should get some sleep. She picked me up, put me into bed, and tucked me in. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked. I nodded yes. "Okay," she looked over at Melly's bed, "I'll be right over there. If you need me during the night, just wake me up." She kissed me on the forehead, turned out the light, and climbed into Melly's bed. She was still there when I woke up the next morning.
Thinking about this incident helped me get through last night. Knowing there was a person in this world who had once and would again if she could give me the exact sort of care and compassion I needed without any fear of being comsumed by my depression was comforting. That was what was most remarkable about that night, I was spinning wildly out of control, and she wasn't afraid. She wasn't afraid of not being able to help, or of saying the wrong thing, or that my sadness would somehow bring her down. She approached me in the way she would have wanted to be approached in the same situation, and she worked with the confidence that she was going to succeed not in making me feel better, but in making me feel loved. And she knew love would keep us both afloat even with the rock my my depression tied around our necks. In short, she has no fear of failure. She KNEW she was going to help me.
So few people in this world will love you when you are at your lowest. Libby is one of those who will. She realized that in order to love me she had to love ALL of me, and loving all of me meant showing love and compassion to the most disgusting parts. You can't pick and choose the parts of a person you are going to love. That isn't love or acceptance. Libby is all love and all acceptance so...the thought of her helped bring me back to myself last night.
Last night I found myself falling into this frame of mind. Hasn't been as bad today but chances are I'll still try and whip up a nice form of mundane punshiment for myself once I get home. Night time is always the worst. While I may be frazzled and stressed out during the day, at least I'm busy. At least there are ways to occupy my mind. At night there's nothing, just the oh so melodramatic and dark void of my head. Usually I can find someone to talk to online, reaching out to people helps a whole lot, but last night I was afraid to. I was afraid someone would say something to hurt me, so I shyed away from all online conversation. It was lonely.
I wish I had someone like Libby in my life right now, but I don't. I need her brand of friendship right now. That's what would make me feel the best. My friends have been growing more and more worried. They keep asking what they can do to make me feel better and I haven't been able to tell them. I haven't known. I still don't. But if I'm down and you're looking to make me feel better ya know what the best thing to do is? Try and make me laugh. I love laughing. I love being distracted by absurdity and silliness.
silent_t has turned amusing me when depressed into an art form. Then again she turns most of the things she does into art :-) Being chronically depressed just like me she knows exactly what sort of humor will lighten up a suicidally depressing situation. I'm lucky to have a friend like her. Have I told you lately that I love her? So...yeah, for everyone who has asked, if you want to help humor is a wonderful way to do so.
I wrote something in the
depression community yesterday that a few of the members really responded to, and that I am pretty proud of. It was just a general rant addressed to all the people who have the nerve to say "hang in there" without attaching any irony to the statement. Here's what I wrote:You obviously have no concept of what the word CHRONIC means. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary the word Chronic is defined as a condition "marked by long duration or frequent recurrence." Ergo chronic depression would be depression that is of long duration and frequently recurrs. It is not the same as situational depression which is typically relieved once the situation causing said depression resolves itself. Chronic means the situation isn't GOING to get better. Chronic means that even if you make it through one bout of depression there is a 100% chance that you will relapse, and once you make it through THAT bout there is a 100% chance that you will relapse AGAIN!!! It never ends you see. Even if you go seven years without a significant depressive episode you still must live with the knowledge that a relapse WILL eventually come. There is no doubt in that. And every relapse will get progressively worse.
So the phrases "buck up" and "hang in there" and "it'll get better" become meaningless to one who is chronically depressed. For us it isn't a matter of hanging in there until the depression lifts because it never does. We have to "buck up" in order to make it through every fucking day of our worthless lives!!! EVERY. FUCKING. DAY. We have to "hang in there" to make it through each MINUTE. The amount of strength you attribute to making it through the entire depressive process can't be applied in the same way to a chronic because there IS NO END to our depression. That strength must be exerted towards simply STAYING ALIVE!!! Screw "feeling better" I'm just trying to make it through the day. Period.
Also: I had a dream last night about, of all people, Tristina! Dreampt I was back at Knox, rooming with
silent_t, and all was well only Tris's roomate had recently moved out on her so she asked me if I would be willing to be her new roomate. For some odd reason she needed a roomy toute suite or else she was going to get kicked out. She had this huge double in Williston so I was like "Sure I'll move in with you." So I tell T I'm moving out, she wishes me well, I pack up all my shit, and haul it over to Williston. Everything is fine and dandy until I dump my first box of crap into my new room. First thing I see upon entering are six ferrets!!! I gasp. "Tristina! You didn't tell me you still had the ferrets!!!" "Yeah," she replied. I am flabbergasted. "Well then I can't live here!!!" I say. And that was the end.
no subject
No platitudes from me.
no subject
no subject
no subject
*proud of you*
*Amy sends all her love*
Re: *proud of you*