Life in the slow lane

#depressed #firstworldproblems


I’m in my 40’s, I’m a white male, and I’m depressed. Who gives a shit, right? We all have problems, especially these days. There are very few people that this directly effects. So why write a blog about it? What is so special about my problems that I need to air them out on a webpage? I think part of it is that I’m wondering how many others there are out there who are like me. Sometimes when I see someone absolutely lose their shit about something stupid, like politics or in traffic, I wonder if the guy I’m looking at is dealing with the same types of issues that I am but just doesn’t know how masks work. Or maybe he does but he’s had enough of pretending. I just don’t know, and probably never will. Guys on average don’t spend a lot of time figuring out their feelings. They just…live. 

It’s just not working for me. Every single morning, no matter how I’m feeling, I have to get up and face the world. For myself or for my family, I pull on my mask and push on through the day. Most people are fooled by it. They think I’m a funny guy who gets the job done. They don’t know how afraid I am. They don’t know that often, if I had the choice, I’d be at home under the covers watching the world go by. I wonder if other men feel the way I do? I am part of a group of like minded people on Facebook, but 95% of the women in the group are women. They talk about the things that I’m feeling; about feeling worthless and not wanting to deal with things. So am I as alone as I feel? 

I guess I’ve been spurred to start this blog by two recent events, mostly. First, on Mother’s Day, I was sitting with my family and I started thinking about work. In due course, a suicidal thought passed through my head, and it was so unexpected that it shocked me. How can someone who has come as far as I have even contemplate something so selfish? Yet there it was; “wouldn’t it be easier to be dead?” Ugh, thanks a lot, brain.

The second event was that an acquaintance shared the horrible news today that his daughter killed herself. She was suffering from depression, and he watched her slide down into the abyss, powerless to stop her. It really hit me hard because I feel that the level of pain that must bring is something that I wouldn’t be able to recover from. He saw her getting worse, and he felt like he was doing his best, but for someone in deep, there isn’t enough power in the world to stop someone who has made up their mind to end the pain. Now he has to move on with this giant hole in his life. I can’t even imagine. Yet, those thoughts sometimes jump out at me and catch me unaware. Am I destined to survive this fight? Will it ever end?

Reading back over this post, it seems very self-serving, but why stop now. I hope it does me some good to get this stuff out of my brain. Maybe someone will come across this and empathize. Yet this is just another dark corner of the internet, and I know I’m talking to myself. 

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