Why can't I stop to be ashamed about myself?
A page in the diary "Good mourning!"
Written by Luise 17. May 2008 05:40 AM
The worst part, or maybe even the only real symptome of my depression is a deep shame about myself which is so difficult to stop. I KNOW that there is nothing to be ashamed about. But I still can't stop to be so ashamed that I just want to hide. I feel ashamed because I can't be happy. Everybody else can deal with life – so why can't I? Why is it sooooo difficult to see things in a more positive light? Why is it so difficult to have hope although I KNOW that life will not be terrible like this forever? There are still so many possibilities of healing that I haven't tried yet - in fact I haven't had a real therapy, just some puzzle pieces with therapists that didn't fit to me?
Why am I so afraid of having to feel like this for the rest of my life, although in fact I have been living more or less happy, or at least feeling normal, for almost 30 years, and just for three years with this depression? Why can't I just mourn about the things that happened to me and make them part of my life?
Why do I have to be ashamed about being lonesome? What's the reason to be ashamed? I know that there are people who like me, and I know that I am a person easy to be friends with. Why is it so difficult to convince myself with the techniques of CBT that my feelings of shame are inapropriate?
I have lived losses. I lost my best friend Jako whom I really loved, when he married a woman he would never had met without me. Oh, how comfortable I felt with him. He used to call me every afternoon at five o'clock, just to ask how I was and make some silly jokes. He really liked me, and I enjoyed his company and the precious feeling of knowing there is a person who really, really cares for me.
I lost my beautiful Quebecois who in fact treated my like shit sometimes. My feelings for him are hidden somewhere deep inside me, and what's left is just a deep disappointment and the feeling of being betrayed. He never was what he seemed to be. I don't even know who he was. I just know he's far away from me, not just because of the 6000 kms between us.
I have lost my other best friend Karin. Times have changed. People marry and get children and don't have as much time for me as before.
I have moved to spain, in fact I have forced myself to go to spain, hoping that this change of life will change my mental state, but I just put a huge weight on my back which I simply can't carry. It's like I wanted to walk 1000 miles with a broken leg.
Sometimes I think I treat myself very cruel. Not knowing what I really need, what the abandoned, hurt child inside myself needs, I force myself to do things that leave me feelings even more lonesome, more hurt. Again and again I try to prove that I am strong. But what if I'm not? Who says I have to be the strongest, most courageous person in the world? What is so wrong with a simple, normal life?
I have already cried so much, but I still think if the walls really would break, if I really would feel all the pain inside myself, just all the real, normal pain about my losses of the last three years, it would be a deluge.
I would love to cry. I would love to feel it, just to feel alive, just to see a reason behind all this.
Here I am. Helpless. Far from home. Alone. Still courageous. Still fighting.