The Duality of Depression In All Its Glory

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How to explain how I can exist in two states, suffocating void and consuming tragedy. It seems an impossible contradiction, to feel extreme apathy and yet be on the cusp of crying at any moment. And yet here I stand, in the middle of a depression that gives me nothing and everything at the same time. 

At one end of the spectrum, I feel an absence of interaction with the world. I float on by, watching with casual indifference to all I encounter. I keep my required appointments with a half hearted investment. I shuffle along, exhausted at each moment of the journey. I walk and wander through the labyrinth of underground tunnels in New York City. I bump into rushing passengers. I observe my fellow travelers on the subway for a moment too long. I look straight ahead into the window before me, the blackness outside the car allowing the glass to reflect my face back to me. A stranger stares back with an eerily stillness, eyes sunken in. I’m always struck by the sharpness of my cheekbones, razor blades cutting through each cheek. 

I show up and perform in both the literal and metaphorical sense as my profession is to pretend to be someone else on screen. When I see friends in a public forum, I impersonate myself. Instead of enjoyment, I swell with irritation and impatience. Self-consciousness pushes me to try harder for I fear everyone can see my lack of control. My obligations are tiring and after they are fulfilled I retreat home. There I can lie on my sofa for hours upon hours and stare into the television. I obsessively consume food, making an activity of these small meals rotating substance, salty and then sugar. If my phone rings, I don’t answer it. If I’m invited anywhere, I don’t go. Some hide in drugs, alcohol or other vices. I waste my life with inactivity. Who can say which squandering is more destructive. 

On the other end of this indifference is a rage that boils, ready at any moment to spill over. Just beneath this shell of protection is a steady stream of pain and pity. One trivial inconvenience, petty slight or poor performance can push me over the edge. In an attempt to pull myself out of my boredom and relentless introspection, I fill out an application to foster a cat through a local rescue. The kitten shows up and promptly gives my cat Sophie a parasite. I watch for a week as my pet withers away refusing to eat. She ends up in the animal hospital hooked up to IV’s. I worry but have my little sister at my side to distract and reassure me. 

On the second night of her admittance, I call the hospital to check in and a vet tech is curt and brusque. She’s not eating for us. We are busy right now. In a high stress environment, I’m sure it’s easy to fall back on rudeness. But this woman has no idea how close I am to the edge. I hang up and seethe. I call back and request her name so the establishment notes my displeasure. I hang up again and welcome a wave of despair.

I lean over and brace my face with my hands, rocking back and forth as I cry. Some people experience drops of wetness that spill from their eyes during heartache. Not me, my tear ducts are dry due to my medications. Instead my grief manifests itself throughout my whole body. Torment courses through my body and bursts out in moans and screams, frantic breathing and verbal repetitions. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God, I recite. My face flushes in splotches and jolts of pressure hit the bridge of my nose and temples. My stomach tenses as I heave, gasping for oxygen. 

My sister has been watching and tries to comfort. In-between howls and sobs I see the fear painted across her beautiful, porcelain face. Her voice is steady and composed but her eyes betray her. The terror at witnessing my thrashing. I feel guilty for letting her see me like this. She has never seen the manifestation of my disease, only abstract explanations. 

She asks me to breathe in for four and breathe out for four. I tell her I don’t want to. It hurts but at the same time feels warm and familiar. The bottom is steady and safe, I can fall no further. It is also cathartic, the pain is active and violent, wild and freeing. I alternate between exile ration and disappointment. I had convinced myself these last few months this darkness had left my person. I had told myself my emotional life was not as ruinous as the comparative experience of others with my condition. Maybe I was misdiagnosed. Maybe I am not really bi polar after all. Maybe my reactions to the trials and tribulations of life’s stresses were normal. Uncertainties in direction and purpose certainly cause distress. But what of the magnitude and depth of mine? The volatile swings that snap between extremes? 

I sit down on the floor and pull my knees into my chest. My sister runs off to get a pill. A little ball of salvation, in earlier days I used to reject in favor of torture. But now a days, a general fatigue welcomes the assistance in bringing about calm and drowsiness. I take one and continue to suffocate under the consuming tragedy. Coherent thoughts are blinded by surges of strong synaptic connections. Pain. Pity. Desperation. Destruction. Absence. Despair. Violence. Obsession. I take another one. I grow still and gaze away. I imagine the living room as a self-contained box. The air constrained and encased. Space grows static and I drift away. 

I hate myself for having the luxury for such laments. For having won a genetic lottery that provides me many benefits and entitlements. I have the time and assets to lay about in depression, writing essays beguiled by the romance of melancholy. 

What a waste of such privilege.

stephanie12292 asked: I can relate completely with your article on hellogiggles. It's embarrassing, but good to know I'm not alone. I know it's bad for my skin, but I just can't stop. Maybe it's anxiety/stress related? Thanks for talking about those products, I'm always up for trying something new!

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Beauty Products To Reverse Facial Mutilation

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Check me out yo on hellogiggles

catharticcat asked: Hey, I just read your Hello Giggles article and wanted to thank you for writing it! I felt like I was the only one with the skin picking issue! If it weren't for my bad skin I probably wouldn't touch makeup with the 10ft pole. There's something oddly rewarding about picking though... until I have to do damage control on my face.

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“What Will You Do When We Are Finished?”

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I watched as he flopped around in the waves under a boogie board for a while. Then he bounced up to our towel, a childish grin on his wrinkled face and the bright piece of styrofoam dwarfed under his giant arm.

He collapsed next to me, “You should have come in.” 

I didn’t see much of Australia on that trip. Just that beautiful cove, white sand and glittering turquoise water trapped on either side by cliffs that held little houses.

Each morning an itinerary of his daily business obligations would be slipped under the door of our hotel room.

“You’d be bored,” he’d tell me. And then he’d leave. 

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Potential Suitors Beware

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“I’m making a video for him!” she yells.

She’s bored and has been up for hours. I appreciate the extra hour she’s letting me sleep. When she was a pre-teen this would have been impossible. She’d sit on the edge of my bed irritated, repeating my name until I slid out of bed to join her in consciousness. Thank God, she’s now a teenager and capable of entertaining herself. On this morning, she is perched on a bar stool in the kitchen talking into my computer making an important video.   

“Alright, I forget his, wait, his name again… Hi! I don’t like you. I don’t like none of Kristina’s boyfriends. First time, you got to give me money first,” she says.

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Twenty Eight Year Old Woman With Singular Cat

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Last fall, a guy friend suggested I join okcupid. I cried. I was walking into a Chinese restaurant about to pick up a ridiculous amount of noodles that I was going to consume alone on my sofa. With my cat. I had just gotten my heart broken by a man. He had moved out. My friend told me to do dating websites and instantly tears shot out of my eyes. I wailed, “Am I there?? Am I that person? Am I that desperate!? I’m not a forty year old woman with over three cats. I’m a twenty eight year old woman with one cat. Singular cat!” He dryly responded, "Well, you are having an irrational, emotional reaction to this." 

I mean, I was. Dating websites lack the stigma they once did. These sites are no longer for divorcees, people ready to get married five minutes ago and those stuck in the middle of nowhere with limited options. Now all sorts of people with various objectives have tried, are currently on or have succeeded at okcupid, match.com or my personal favorite Tinder.

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Swallow Love.

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I say, I love you too quickly. I don’t say it to every man and the four times I’ve said it, I’ve meant it. I’ve breathlessly announced in the midst of deep stares, intense bonding and mind blowing, neurotransmitter euphoria, a variety of “I’m falling in love with you.” It was always returned. In fact, the man said it first on several occasions. But I blame myself for I fear I was the one that brought the intensity. I showed up with the fire. I craved the whirlwind. The epic romance that hits you like a ton of bricks. I led the way into rapid relationship. 

Early twenties me, believed love to be arbitary, unstoppable and all consuming. Love when struck was unavoidable and inevitable. It was instantaneous. It was fate. It was a fairy tale. Late twenties me, believes love contains a promise. It holds obligations that one can not possibly be prepared to accept within first flush. Love needs to be earned. It needs to be planted in the right soil with the right match at the right time.

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"There is No Substitute for the United States."

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Several polls regarding the Syrian crisis have troubled me in the last few days. A CNN/ORC International poll that says that although 82% of Americans believe the Syrian government used chemical weapons to kill its own people, just 39% want Congress to authorize U.S. military action in Syria. In contrast, the mere suggestion of weapons of mass destruction including chemical weapons persuaded 64% to support using American ground forces in Iraq in 2003. A brutal dictator in the Middle East having chemical weapons used to be considered a grave threat to American security. What changed? 

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I’m Not Going to be Ignored, Dan.

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Glenn Close is a psycho. I mean she cooks a bunny in a pot. And there’s the whole attempted murder thing. But Michael Douglas really was a dick. I’m talking about the characters in the 80’s classic, Fatal Attraction.

Douglas cheats on his wife, doesn’t tell the other woman he’s married and tries to make her get an abortion when she gets knocked up. Obviously he was just supposed to be stunned, scared and then stutter, “What are you going to do?” But you can’t say from the jump, “Hey, I’ll give you the dough for the abortion.” Glenn Close tells him this may be her last chance to have a child, she’s getting older and he doesn’t have to be involved. Yet she says this all in a creepy tone with her eyes glazed over. Douglas is pissed he isn’t getting his way. He just wanted to raw dog and bail. And Glenn just won’t go away, hence the "I’m Not Going to be Ignored, Dan. " 

This brief synopsis is not really the point though. I actually just loved the gif and the quote. What this really is about is being ignored and then soon after losing your mind. I’ve been ignored by a former lover. Okay, that’s an understatement. I’ve been ignored by men I’ve been in love with and had significant relationships with. In those situations, being ignored is really maddening. In those moments, it seems totally logical to pop out of some corner in a subway station to confront your former boyfriend. Psycho? Sure. Common? I mean, I hope so. 

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And They Will Discard You…

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Kevin Spacey is sexy. I can feel your opposition as I type this but stay with me for a moment. After viewing in a marathon session the first season of House of Cards, I have concluded that in this context his presence to be appealing. His character, Francis Underwood is commanding, cunning, fascinating and relentless. Cross him at your own peril. Viewers should be revolted and appalled by his lethal blows. And yet, try taking your eyes off him.

In episode four, dripping in confidence and oozing power, Francis accepts Zoe Barnes’s (Kate Mara) sexual proposition. He appraises her apartment and body.

Francis: Do you have a man who cares for you? An older man.

Zoe: No.

Francis: But you’ve been with older men before.

Zoe: Yes.

Francis: Then you know they hurt you. And after they hurt you, they discard you.

Yes, I thought. Yes, this is true. I experienced this first hand at the age of nineteen when I dated a forty five year old successful, powerful man. I was adored, consumed and then unceremoniously spat out. And yet Francis’s come-on inspired in me a similar craving. Of coarse it’s an awful idea but there is something deliciously intoxicating about what Francis is offering. Many women have and will continue to be drawn into an arrangement that provides close proximity to a man of authority and strength often significantly older.

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Anonymous asked: why despite all the economy problems in the world the young and teen still dont care even if it's effecting them

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Anonymous asked: what does a political science course involve, and what kind of assignments do you usually do?

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Mass Killings: Getting Rid of the Dichotomy of Good vs Evil

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I am not going to engage in a full blown analysis of all the potential problems presented by Invisible Children’s "Stop Kony" campaign for that would take forever. But I do want to address this idea defining perpetrators of murder as 'evil monsters.' 

Yes, Kony is a bad man. And most likely, certifiably insane. But he is not the solo member of the Lord’s Resistance Army. As in most conflicts, ordinary men commit horrible crimes. They are not all mad men. The messy reconciliation and reintegration process ongoing in Rwanda showcases how unproductive and unrealistic it is to write off these men as ‘monsters,’ occupying a space outside of normal society. These perpetrators are fathers, sons and friends. They are not outside the bounds of humanity. They are not beyond the rules that govern our moral sensibilities. No, the potential to commit evil acts is a very real, inherent part of the human condition.

We must accept this in order to prescribe punishment and forgiveness. Even though it is uncomfortable, we must move beyond simplistic notions of good and bad guys in our analysis of atrocities.

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Congressional Stalemate: The Inequality of U.S. Taxation

Republican’s are Drawing a Line in the Sand regarding Taxes. They are refusing to raise taxes on the top 1% of Americans and opposing a measure called the Buffett Rule or Millionaire Tax. The average American makes $31,244 a year. The average top 1% makes $1,137,684. While the top 0.01% makes a whooping $27 million a year. God forbid we raise their taxes.

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Republican’s recently voted against the renewal of a Tax Cut on Payroll Taxes, which would keep it at the current rate of 4.2% as opposed to the normal 6.3%. This Tax Cut would be paid for by the Buffett Rule/Millionaire Tax.

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