I think you know I schedule my posts for after I've gone to bed (usually around 11 PM to midnight - that way I can deal with comments and things in the morning). So I actually wrote yesterday's post during my free period at school... and for some reason, my brain did an emergency shut down the second I got home.
You know the drill: the emptiness, the tears, the whole shebang. Really deep, dark sadness.
For most of the evening I was still functioning, but then at around ten I had a panic attack. Usually when that happens I call somebody or listen to music - just something so I don't have to be alone. But none of family is here right now, neither they nor my friends were picking up the phone, my iPod was out of battery, and Spotify was glitching... so all in all, it was not the best situation to be in.
I finally ended up calling one of my online friends, and she was so wonderful about it. She didn't freak out or anything, like a lot of people tend to do - she talked me through it, and I managed to calm down, mostly.
Still, though. It was very, very scary.
Even so, I think the hardest part of all this isn't the panic attacks or the depression itself. I was hyperventilating, truly terrified - I felt like everything was caving in last night. And yet, took me a really long time to actually get online and email my friend. While part of that was definitely because I wasn't exactly in the best state of mind, I think a bigger part was because I was too proud to ask for help.
I know, it sounds kind of crazy. It's at times like these more than any others that I desperately need people on my side. I can't handle things like this on my own, no matter how much I wish I could - and yet, even when my mind is turning inside out, there's a streak of pride there that I find very hard to push back.
I've always been a self-reliant person, but the depression's made me realise more than ever that I am not superhuman. Some part of me sees asking for help as a weakness, like I should be able to deal with this on my own. The panic attacks had been happening for two years before I told my family, and even getting myself to a counsellor took way longer than I'd like to admit.
And even harder than asking for help is being able to acknowledge that no, I can't do everything I want to. Hell, some days it's all I can do to get out of bed and get through the day. Some days I can barely grapple with homework, let alone practise my instruments and edit Frozen Hearts and write a blog post. Some days I just want to curl up in a ball and let all my responsibilities disappear.
I can't do allll the things. There are going to be people I have to disappoint and projects I have to abandon. It's a bitter pill to swallow, because I used to be the kind of person who could take on every single opportunity that came my way - volunteer for them, even. Learning to take a step back and understand that there's only so much I can do has been one of the hardest parts of this.
Yes, sometimes I need help from others. No, I can't do everything I used to be able to. Tough lessons, I think. Maybe even worse than the depression itself, because at least that part I know for sure is out of my hands. This just feels like I'm letting myself down.
It's made me feel terribly inadequate. Which is completely illogical, and you and I both know that, but the thing is... it's so easy to say it. What's harder is actually making myself believe it.