Don’t get me wrong, I had a lot of fun as a kid. But no
matter what I was doing there was always a little voice in my mind telling me
that it wasn’t good enough, or I wasn’t good enough. Some people might call this “low-self esteem,”
but doing so would imply that I thought ill of myself. In fact, I wasn’t doing
anything of the sort.
A voice inside my head, but outside of myself was
constantly trying to convince me that I was nothing. His voice closely
resembled mine, but I knew it wasn’t me. My tormentor was just an excellent impersonator.
The thing that wasn’t me.
Before you start thinking that I’m a Schizo, just reflect
for a second.
Do you not have this voice? I hope you do, because that
voice is commonly referred to as a conscience, and if you don’t have one, then
there’s a good chance you’re a psychopath. In a healthy mind this voice will
let you know when you’ve screwed up and need to correct your course. It will
call you out on all of your lies. It is essential to survival. It is the compass
we use to navigate through life. It is so vital and yet so poorly understood.
Do you control your conscience, or does it control you? Can
you turn it on and off at will? If so, I would love for you to teach me how to do that.
Everyone has a conscience, it’s just that most people’s consciences aren’t as oppressive
as mine. The thing that keeps mentally balanced people in check, is greatly exaggerated
and negatively amplified in the mind of depressives. If you struggle with
mental illness, you know what I’m talking about. The conscience in depressives
has a parasitical tumor that aggressively distorts reality and the ability to perceive
it. The dark glass of mortality is a few to several shades darker for me.
As a kid, I would get so sick of that taunting voice that
when I was in the bathroom by myself, I would often look into the mirror,
addressing the darkness, and with rage say, “F**k you!” I’ve never told anyone that before.
My teachers wondered why I couldn’t focus. The principal wondered why I got in so many fights. I think my parents thought I was fine. I
was a very good actor. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t know what was happening
either. All I know is that I hated being distracted. I hated being angry. But what was a kid to do? It wasn’t cool to talk about your
feelings then. I can barely tolerate talking about them now.
Sometimes, looking into the bathroom mirror, I’d dismiss my
darkness with less determination. And the shadowy part of myself would spew daggers
at me while my confidence floundered. Instead of my dismissal I’d hear:
“Suck it up p**sy!”
“You’re such a piece of sh*t.”
…
“Why don’t you just kill yourself?”
…
And although the presence of that voice was almost constant,
I got occasional breaks from it while watching a funny movie, lifting
weights, or playing football. In high school, I coped by focusing solely on football.
But this coping strategy doesn’t work too good for adults.
My other coping strategy was, as I mentioned before,
dreaming about the future.
Kids are so full of hope. I understand completely why Christ
said that we must become as little children in order to enter into the kingdom
of heaven. You could even say that the state of being full of hope is the
definition of heaven. I would dream about playing college football or competing
in the world’s strongest man. I dreamed
of marrying a hot girl (this one came true), of being super successful at some
career, and retiring to my cabin in the woods at a young age. My dreams of the
future kept me going.
By some miracle, on my LDS mission I was able to overcome my
self-consciousness to a great degree and flourish. I’ve never been so happy and
fulfilled in my entire life. But to my dismay, my old demons came back pretty
soon after returning home.
The paradoxical thing is that in addition to being tormented
by darkness as a child, I was also a hopeless romantic. I found myself in awe
and overwhelmed by the beauty of the world on a regular basis. It deeply
affected me. I was in awe of the beauty of nature, and God, and girls. I never
tried to express this to anyone. I was just too self-conscious and emotionally
fragile to allow myself to be that vulnerable. I dreamed of being invisible.
When depression is at its worst it is all but impossible to
appreciate beauty. You don’t even see it. It’s in that giant blind spot that
consists of everything good, just out of the periphery of self-perception. The
only evidence that beauty ever existed is the fact that I seem to be mourning
its death constantly. Every morning when I wake up I feel like I am mourning
the death of beauty itself.
But if hope is heaven, and you’re severely depressed brain
tells you that there is no hope regardless of what you’re experiencing,
where does that put you? You could be succeeding at pretty much everything you
do, and the shadow side of your psyche will still tell you that it can’t go on like
this forever. Eventually your luck will run out.
Without hope, eventually mental illness overcomes your power
to resist and your perceived reality starts to confirm your worst fears. Then
your brain tells you that it will go on like this forever. A hopeless eternity is a hellish prospect, and the only one
you can count on acquiring. A hopeless life is, in a word, a living hell.
The thing that is depression, the illness in your mind, the
shadow on your heart, tries to convince you that nothing can go on forever;
nothing good anyway, and once you’ve adopted a hopeless heart, the
depression has the upper hand. It can tell you whatever it wants and knows you’ll
bend to its will.
Every night, I start thinking, “Oh no, I’m going to have to
start this whole battle again when I wake up! Oh, dear God! Please help me!”
My depressed mind knows that tomorrow will be more of the
same. After six years of this I have to say he’s got a lot of evidence on his
side.
My only dream now is that my kids will turn out okay and
that when I die God will say, “You did your best. You passed the test.”
But I don’t feel so sure I will pass that test, sometimes. My
dysfunctional brain often bombards me with doubt and discouragement.
All I know
is this, I will press on.
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