Giving In, Giving Up (Depression Confession Expression)

What do you do when the urge to give in to depression is so strong? How do you get out of bed in the morning when thoughts of giving up overwhelm you? When the stories you write to amuse yourself as much as anyone else (and these days they seem only for yourself anyway) no longer scream out to be told, and seem like as much a chore as dragging your ass out of bed, how do you shake yourself out of that?

When your interior critic asks ‘Why bother?’ What do you answer?

Several months ago, I decided to come off of anti-depressants, and when I did, after I’d gone through the horrid withdrawal, I found a creative energy I hadn’t had in years.  But now I’m starting to feel the way I did back when I first went on them. I am crashing, falling apart, crumbling into dust.

I’m writing this in an effort to just say something; anything — in the hope that it might spark my creative side to start running again.

God I hope something comes soon.


26 responses to “Giving In, Giving Up (Depression Confession Expression)

  1. Argh. It’s amazing how the ‘face’ we put on to face our public (friends, co-workers, the guy who sells you 20 Marlboro), can become so convincing that when you reveal just a little of what’s going on behind the scenes, everyone is taken by surprise.
    Just writing any old stuff is better than none at all.
    Really. And. Truly.
    Something will come.
    I’m not saying it will be easy.
    But it will come.

    • That’s what I’m all about, darling. Putting on the brave brash face. Meds turn that face into a plastic mask and so I can’t do that, but the depression I hope will pass once I’m back on the vitamin regimen I was taking that seemed to be working. Here’s hoping. Thanks for the encouragement.

    • What vitamin regimen are you using? I went off my anti-depressants a year and a half ago, and have been “episode”- (if that’s what you can really call it, and probably not) free for a year–until last week, when I was just leveled. This week is . . . better? But something’s still lurking.

      • I’m taking a Vitamin B complex, the highest Omega-3 Fish Oil I can find, and Panax Ginsing. I’m also supposed to be taking Zinc, but haven’t been.
        If you have the means to consult a naturopath, I’d highly recommend it.
        But, just as some free advice — I started taking the Fish Oils (Omega 3 — look for something that has 1000mg or more) before I consulted a naturopath to help me come off the SSRIs — that I got from community boards after doing a search.
        The truth is, you can replace the chemicals your brain is lacking naturally without going on drugs. But I’m not a doctor, darling.
        But I did see a Naturopathic Doctor, and she told me most depressives are lacking in vitamin B, and that Panax Ginseng is great for focus, and Omega 3s help rebuild neural pathways. So I don’t think you can go wrong with that combination. Good luck, darling.

  2. Oh my darling, I have walked in these shoes and they pinch a lot. I had a mantra of “This too shall pass”, but really it doesn’t because you live in fear of it striking again. I try to remember that even Winston Churchill had his black dog. But in all honesty, if not for the medication I wouldn’t leave my house. Without them I am a tightrope walker on really high wire, I can be superb, but when I fall I crash into smithereens with no safety net. With meds, the wire is a little lower, but I have safety net and can reach the other side more often than I fall.

    • I can’t do the meds, darling, but that’s just me. They killed my personality completely. Not only did they kill my creativity, but my very will to live. Nothing had any flavour or colour, and nothing gave me any pleasure.
      (see more here:

      BUT — I was taking a vitamin regimen that was helping as a natural substitute — but sadly, I think I may have been lax in taking them (ie. I’m feeling better — I don’t need these anymore — such a cliche, I know I know) and this just came upon me in the past week or two, and so I have started on the vitamins again today and hope that in a few days I will feel better. Thank you for your kind words and encouragement.

  3. after battling my inner critic for decades, I read in a book that he/she is common to many, and it’s possible to dialog with him — “That is not me… you say that but there is more to this situation…”

    It helped me immensely.

  4. Yeah these feelings are like they are forever. I usually write a short story and then have a glass of wine on the veranda. The short story may suck, but the wine is usually good.

  5. I have been there, Helena and I always remember Dory from Finding Nemo… just keep swimming. It’s a good adage, but then Dory always made me smile too so it helps on a variety of levels! I know you will ‘swim’ through it – your words and your voice are too strong to stay down for too long.

  6. Pingback: Back where I started – Depression | The X-ray of a relationship·

  7. I doubt there’s anything in particular I can add to the above, other to say that I live this. This is my life. Sometimes it gets so dark and hopeless and suffocating that I start to drown. I don’t want to fight. I just want to give in and be nothing. So yo, I can really relate, girl.

    But always, ALWAYS, some tiny little scene, some string of words, some spark of life’s sorrows and joys will capture me again; I’ll write something brilliant, someone will say so and before you know it you’re right back in the room. It will come. You can either be patient or you can hunt it down mercilessly. Go for a walk. Look at famous paintings. Old photographs. Anything to keep the embers burning.

    My best advice would be to live with it as best as you can, harness your pain and numbness and confusion and use it without letting it destroy you. Writing is that one thing that will see you through the darkness when you have nothing else. It will save you, darling. It has saved you before, I am sure xxx

    • That’s the thing, isn’t it? I’m not writing to be famous I’m writing because If I don’t, the little voice in the back of my head will just nag at me and nag at me until I do. It’s who I am, and who I’ve always been, in one form or another, since I first fell in love with stories as a child (Dr. Seuss should probably be picking up my therapy bills).
      So I may rail against it, and I may have my Why Bother days, but then someone will go out of their way to tell me how much they love my writing, and that is sometimes enough validation to get me going.
      And frankly, I want to know how it ends. I keep telling the story to see what happens next.
      That may sound strange, but while I may know what ACTUALLY happened in traffic court, etc, I don’t know how I’m going to tell the story of it, and how much I’m going to, ahem, extemporize.
      At the end of the day, I just want to share my writing, and I’m proud of it. I think it’s fucking good — the best I’ve ever been — and so damn right I want an audience.
      I’ve played that gig where the bar is empty, and I’ll tell you — it’s hard, and it’s depressing, and your heart’s not in it at all.
      I just want my heart to be in it again.

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