People say, if I can’t have hope for the future, my future, they can have that for me, for now. And that’s the only way I have any hope at all.
People say, depression lies. I say something awful, and they tell me it’s the depression, that’s what it does, like a mouldy grey filter on everything.
People say, ‘you’ll find youself’, or things about listening to my gut. I’ve been trying, but mostly all I hear is what other people have said, or what I imagine they would say. All of them. Completely contradictory and conflicting. Or I hear the depression. Or I hear Steve, the collection of ideas and thoughts that seep out from the back right hand side of my brain, a low-level but constant reminder to keep things even, not show distress, and remind me that I’m awful… like I’m being held hostage at gunpoint by a hidden intruder, but ordered to never reveal that to the person in front of me. Sometimes it screams, if I step outside the acceptable boundaries, reveal too much.
My guts tell me bad things, horrible truths. They churn every hour I’m awake with anxiety. Sometimes GAD gets distracted by nonsensical (but always deeply horrific) worries, sometimes it motors on with only the idea of my existence to fuel it.
I’ve managed to somehow seek out a tiny online circle of people who will tell me good things (for which I am immensely grateful). Things I want to believe over all the bad stuff. And since my faith in myself is non-existent, I can defer to them and hold the ideas they give me as possible truths, alongside the ones being hissed or screamed at me from inside.
I don’t know where I’m really going with this, except that I don’t know how to have faith in myself when all that’s keeping me pushing onwards is a half-belief that everybody else is right and I am definitely wrong. I can’t reconcile it, I’m absolutely stuffed full of internal conflict, and I can’t tell my own opinion in here above the noise of all the others.