Running to stand still

I feel like I have spent the past year running. The problem is: I’ve been going round in circles.

It’s now the end of June, and I’ve been fighting my current bout of depression since last year. This time it has brought me to my knees and I’ve found myself back at home, living with my family in Cork, having had to give up my job and my life in London. (I say life, but in reality, life had shrunk to the point where I was confined to my room, barely able to function.) Coming home for some support was a last-ditch effort to find a way to get well.

Unfortunately, this has been the pattern of my life for the last number of years. I get well for a while, try to live my own life, and yet somehow it all comes crashing down and I have to come back home again. Here is the thing: I have been dealing with mental illness since my early twenties, and I always thought someday it would go away; that I would wake up one day and be happy. I thought moving to London would make it better: starting a new life, getting married, having a job I loved. And yet… none of it lasted. These things did help for a while, but the anxiety and depression were always lurking beneath the surface, waiting to pounce. That happiness never became the norm and here is the reason why: I hate myself.

Deep down, I blame myself for being raped, and I think I am disgusting. These are the sentiments that have defined most of my life and there is no running away from that. Everything I feel stems from this. I don’t think I deserve to be happy, I can’t accept myself the way I am, and I am consistently my own worst enemy. The inner voices in my head are always telling me I’m not good enough. I thought I had dealt with the rape and the trauma years ago but I’ve come to realise that isn’t the case. Getting divorced last year seems to have brought all the old feelings of shame and loathing to the surface.

Running home hasn’t made these feelings go away, but it has forced me to reflect on what’s going on in my head. I’m tired of running; tired of trying to escape myself. It’s not possible, of course. I have to learn how to like me as I am, and work out how to feel compassion for myself.

For now, that involves taking my medication and continuing with counselling. It doesn’t always feel like I’m getting that far, but at least I’m standing still and taking stock. That’s the only way I’ll create the space to change the conversation inside my own head.