Solitude. Part 2.

I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that's real

The needle tears a hole

The old familiar sting

Try to kill it all away

But I remember everything

--"hurt" Nine Inch Nails

I didn't know how to start this post. Or even, what I wanted to write for this post. Day 2 of depression is hard. Finding ways of being distracted is harder. As cliche as it sounds, the song "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails has been my void filler for decades. It hits the right spots when you need it to. Sure, it's depressing as all fuck, but sometimes you need it on the hardest days.

Hipnos always said I needed to listen to happier music. Get some Beatles in my life (when I was more a Stones dude. Fight me). He said the reason I was so depressed was because all the music I listened to was depressing. That I only connected to it out of convenience since it was part of my every day life.

Now, I'm not saying all my music was bright/happy. But I knew my catalog well. Point is, I knew that wasn't the problem. Still isn't the problem.

When it came to my own mental health, I knew Hipnos wasn't going to be there. I also knew the risk I'd run by seeking help without him knowing. The thing with Hipnos was that he was very narcissistic. One wrong move or one wrong thing said and it would be the world against him. He twisted things to make him the victim. It was exhausting.

So I made the jump. Without him knowing. I was fortunate that he wasn't trying to glare at my calendar. I mean, when I was out he would always ask me where I was, sometimes I'd tell him, other times it would just be the store. When I was seeing my therapist, I was at "the store."

I don't believe in hiding anything from my partner. With Hipnos, I told him mostly everything until I became the second mother to him. Then, I needed space. When I went to iHop for peace, I told him I was at "the store." Or even just poetry events.

It was a convenient lie. A lie I hated doing at first, but grew into the more he wondered where I was going. And since I lived in a household where we constantly needed things like chicken nuggets, sodas, soap, etc. etc. It was easy to just say it.

So I lied. And started with my first therapist. Starting therapy was rough. It was hard for me to even open up. I started with the surface issues. My crumbling house, shit job, the feeling of everything staying stagnant. I didn't approach my relationship at first, until she noticed the way I talked about him.

She said there was a sadness in my voice when I mentioned his name. Some emotions are too hard to keep down. So we talked about Hipnos. We talked about me having to take care of him, and the rest of the family needing me. We talked about the lack of me having space or even time for myself.

Looking back, I believe she was hinting at Codependence. But she didn't outright say it, and I'm terrible at reading between the lines on a good day.

We worked out some things to do just so I could get space from everything. They worked for awhile, but there was still something lingering and I couldn't escape it.

Our sessions didn't last more than 5 months. On our last visit, she read me a Dr. Seuss book, and that was it. It would be another year before I sought out therapy again.

I don't believe she was a bad therapist. A lot of it has to do with my inability to open up. I was afraid of how it would change the dynamics of my relationship. I still loved Hipnos and my first instinct was to protect that relationship however I could.

The second therapist despised Hipnos' lack of work. I was slowly starting to hate it myself, but I was also comfortable in the chaos we created between each other. I was comfortable taking care of him.

I was codependent, though by this time didn't know it and didn't even know what it meant. A part of me felt good by just being needed, even if it went across my own boundaries. It wasn't something I was ready to give up yet.

Isn't that what the marriage narrative is? You don't give up? Or Til Death Do Us Part?

I started to push Hipnos into finding work at first, but remained complacent when that didn't happen.

I still hated my job, but I kept it, knowing if I just up and left it would be detrimental. My job at the time was a weight. Some days I would go in at 5 in the morning, and not come home til 8 or 9 at night. There was just so much to do.

During these years, between being overworked, underpaid, and then coming home to take care of practically an adult child, the suicidal urges made their home in me. I self-harmed in the morning, burned myself a few times with my vape box. It was like a cigarette burn without the cigarette.

I made maybe three attempts within the past four years. Called the suicide hotline for one attempt.

I had been in a bad spot for what seemed like ages. So many ages.

Hipnos didn't come to find out I was seeing a new therapist until the second or third visit with my second one.

We argued, we talked, he read some of the pieces I'd written on it, cried. he said he'd do better. A phrase that became something he would throw out often yet rarely follow through on.

I don't hate Hipnos for these particular dark areas of my life. My mental health is mine to own. I don't know if it had been any different if I was more open on it. But I do feel I should have been.

Today is a tough day. Depression day 2. And I'm feelin' it this morning as I write this. The song by Nine Inch Nails is hitting all the right spots in my brain, though not on repeat, it'll come back around on my playlist.

It's 9:00am where I'm at. The coffee is doing nothing for how sluggish I am, but it's not really the coffee's fault. Let's see what the rest of the day has for me.