It is 2:15 a.m. and I hate myself.
I’ve been feeling it all week long, the push to get up and out of bed in the morning, that lethargic pull on my feet all the way to work. I’m what is considered a “functional” depressed person because I can do daily tasks and work 95% of the time. Never mind the crying fits I might have, the constant sudden need to sleep for hours upon hours, I’m still contributing to society and that’s generally how you get diagnosed with medication and such: How much of your life is spent making people above you happy with you?
My worries are multiple, and the worrying wears me down, like water on stone just slowly but surely. The job hunt, application processes, the various hobbies I keep up to keep me sane, continuously seeing friends who need more reassurance than I do, because that’s how I paint myself to the world.
I’m the stone, you can rely on me, I’ll always be here. Never you mind the raging river, I’m strong enough to brace against it.
I am the one people call when they need to talk, and I love that I am that person people call. I enjoy feeling needed, who doesn’t? But it always feels wrong to lean back. Showing my weaknesses, it’s always the hardest thing for me to do, because it always feel like I’m showing something ugly, distasteful, gross, or otherwise a nuisance. I was made fun of as a kid for crying, I was the “Drama Queen” of my family, always making something out of nothing.
I’ve been told kids of divorce often feel this way, especially the older ones, the ones who feel like they have to hold everything together (even though that’s not their responsibility, it can still feel like it is one anyway). I think in hindsight, getting the “Drama Queen” label only made me believe harder that my emotions were just invalid, ridiculous, useless, and otherwise…a nuisance. I know there was no ill intent behind the nickname, I know people just wanted me to “lighten up,” but even good intentions have consequences.
I have to be the one who has all her shit together, even if sometimes I’m fracturing a bit. I’m getting better about putting my feelings out into the world, prepped for the expected derision, but nowadays I’ve chosen better friends. My support base is amazing, my friends and family continue to grow and be more loving every day. I’ve also learned that people who don’t appreciate me as I am don’t deserve me, and I do now cut out toxicity.
But there are still moments I hate myself.
The trigger this time tonight was about my volunteer work. This whole year, I’ve secretly been counting up all the ways I have failed my groups, both in the higher and lower ranks. I didn’t get enough donations, I didn’t prevent problems (I couldn’t have foreseen), I didn’t work hard enough to get the business cards done in time, I could’ve done more on communication, the list just goes on and on and on in my head. I don’t say anything to anyone involved in the group, because it’s not really logical how I’m feeling.
I’ve done a lot too, because there were so many unexpected drop outs, changes in the system, but I always feel like I never do enough. I can’t just do the meetings, I have to set up interviews, I have to help with this event or network this thing, it’s a constant moving entity of side work. All the same, when I get like this, the list comes back, and I can’t reconcile logic with my depressive mind that is absolutely sure everything I’ve done is for naught.
I hate myself because myself is never going to be good enough for me. I’m a fake, I think, and one day everyone is going to wake up and see the impostor that I am. It sucks to think this way (because my logical side knows that is not accurate information).
I really want to do more, but the exhaustion keeps me from even trying. I will still get up tomorrow and do what I need to do, but I’ll be carrying this visceral hatred towards myself the whole time. Odds are no one will notice, odds are I won’t be telling anyone close just yet, I’ll just be me.
So far as they know, I’m still the rock in the river. They’ll see my shine, my smooth exterior, and never know the cracks under the waterline. And it’ll all be fine, eventually.