Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

Today, I had a disturbing thought, wondering if my friends were tiring of hearing me talk about my current struggle with depression? Revisiting recent conversations, looking for subtext, listening for nuance – all to convince myself that I was indeed disturbing them.

And that’s the deadly moment where many of us who won’t want to be a burden or drag stop talking. We might pretend things are okay, we might downplay our feelings, we know how to change the conversation. We know that very few people are going to sit down for a ‘come to Jesus talk’ about how we got from “I feel pretty depressed” to “nah, I’m good” …

I made dinner, drank some iced tea, watched a sweet romcom with my cats. A nice quiet evening. I’ll go to sleep and wake up feeling a little better.

No, that’s not true. I will wake up feeling probably the same. Depression doesn’t just dissipate like a waft from a vape pen. All along, I’ve been doing the things – taking my meds, going to therapy 3x week, talking to my doctor. I eat, I try to do things – I saw two plans and enjoyed them. I had dinner with my youngest nephew last night and oh, he made me smile and laugh. I go outside and look at the sun. I watch distraction tv. I have an actual list of things to do for myself to resist the depression.

Among them has been talking about it. I blog about it, I post on social media, I talk with my friends IRL.

The pain of going through this alone after having a life partner for 20 years is hard to describe.

I work hard at my recovery and an active participant in my treatment.

But I’m not getting better. I am so so sad in my unique and painful way. See, I can still say that even though the silencing thoughts crept on me. Do you recognize them?

• I’m talking too much, I should listen more.
• Why haven’t they texted/called me? I told them I need them.
• They criticized my writing/cleaning/dancing so they must feel sorry for me.
• They stopped helping me with tangibles because I’m demanding.
• I miss my parents.
• Maybe I should try to tone down the generational trauma talk and just get alone with my family?
• Did they cancel because they got a better offer?
• If I ask ‘why” – they will be angry or dump their stuff on my far too weakened shields and because I can’t show up for them, they will abandon me.
• They might abandon me.
• They will abandon me.
• They have …
• If they read this, will them come at me to sort it out and talk about it and tell me how they are feeling about my depression?

In my experience if I put this out there, some of my friends will read it, assume it means them, and feel the need to explain. I don’t want explanations. Words don’t penetrate this darkness. I’ll pretend they do and try to fix it with you. Or take it all back. Or assume their emotional loads.

I’m not asking for complicated things, but asking for time even just a few moments is a big ask. Not being able to show up as an equal participant in those moments might feel rough.

Bipolar disorder is a chronic and complex disorder that is associated with reduced quality of life, functional and cognitive impairment, and premature death – average life span is 67 years. Researchers are starting to understand that reducing moods to a binary is a dated view. My therapist used the term “spiral” to capture that I’m moving up and down and left and right and inside out. Teasing out the threats isn’t actually helpful or necessary.

We are intense and can be difficult. I’m irritable and perpetually low-key craving the high of the hypomania even though I know it is not good for me. There are also comorbidities, in my case severe anxiety, complex trauma, and childhood neglect and abuse. That’s a lot.

The programming by my grandmonster instilled in me a deep rooted belief that I do not deserve help, support, or compassion. Every time in my life when I have asked for any of that, I struggle with those inner demons. I was taught I had to earn the benefits of human interactions. Thus when I’m depressed and really need help getting to the pharmacy or out to lunch or a million other things, I usually cannot make myself do it.

That’s another red flag – I pull away at even the hint of disgust, inconvenience, or hesitation. If I accept help, I’m probably better.

But I’m not going to give up on myself like so many others did. I’ll keep posting some variant of this. Our average lifespan is 67 and I do not plan that to be my exit date. I deserve a happy and peaceful final chapter.

No matter who you are – friend, reader, subscriber, follower – depression touches the lives of people you know. Are you listening to what they are – or what they are not -telling you?

I have a good circle of friends. But I have to be careful b/c blogging makes me a little more high profile. I have three local men who have harassed me for years so I have to be careful. I’ve been doxxed, TERFd, screamed at, shut out, canceled, and threatened. It would be foolish for me to have lunch with someone I don’t actually know. I have some acquaintances who refuse to acknowledge boundaries.

I’m vulnerable so shields are up. And I think that’s a normal thing for people feeling vulnerable.

I didn’t write this post to request that you help me. I mean some of you, yes. But as I wrote earlier, there people in your life with depression of different types. They need you. A trip to the grocery store and lunch is far better than a regretful post-mortem blog post. Text messages, helping clean the kitchen, figuring out a new bus route, planting flowers and showing up regularly to tend to them – mostly listening to what they identify as a need and offering to help before they ask.

I know someone on Facebook who is part of a mutual aid group. Each Monday, she shares a few needs some that are very modest and asks her network to donate. I sense she’s successful each week. She changes lives by being that connector. And doing it week after week. You don’t have to do that, but you could donate when you can. Or brainstorm how to show up for your friends and neighbors.

What do I need?

Me? I need this.

• text/dm/pm/phone calls on a regular basis. check on me. don’t wait for me to reach out to you. if you do, I won’t. and when you explain why you didn’t, I won’t again.
• help me get access to basic needs – groceries, pharmacy, appointments – for as long as I have no car.
• lunch, coffee, etc
• boundaries. if i set boundaries, don’t take my depression as an invitation to renegotiate. That’s just cruel. don’t guilt trip me.
• I get a lot of chances to review live events – be my +1 (and ride?)
• casseroles – anything that will get me eating decent food is good. I eat a lot of turkey sandwiches and yogurt.
• don’t interrupt me no matter how hard you want to say a thing
• don’t tell me how hard it is to deal with me. I’m well aware and that’s unkind.
• contribute some pet food to that project
• contribute to my legal expenses fund bit.ly/HelpLGBTQBlogger Venmo @Pghlesbian Paypal.me/Pghlesbian

Most of all, acknowledge me. You have to do the heavy lifting right now because I am hurting. These are symptoms of a disease that might get better soon, might not. But it will never be cured.

And right now, I’m feeling the weight of that. So are other people in your life.

If you or a loved one are experiencing crisis, in Pittsburgh you can reach out to RESOLVE Crisis Line 1-888-796-8226 or nationally The National Mental Health Hotline at 866-903-3787, I can no longer say with authority that either is LGBTQ+ competent, but I sure hope so.