a fucking sad idiot

During my adult life I have lived with depression to varying degrees. I am frustrated at failing to fix all my anxieties by myself. For the past twelve months I have steadily opened my fears and worries. I had even begun to believe I might banish the dark depressive clouds and maintain a happy head. Just when I begin to feel level and calm a small worm creeps under my skin. A previously tranquil day becomes hell on earth inside my head.

If I am angry or sad or frustrated I want to try to say what is on my mind but my words appear condescending and sulky. So I retreat into my head and stay quiet all day harbouring resentment that the cause of my irritable mood ought to be obvious but isn’t.

No one loved me as a child. I was never given praise or made to feel valuable. With that background I try too hard to be honest and compassionate so I always sound reproachful and false. I am incapable of expressing my emotions.

I deserve to be the hated person that I am.

I realise I am unlovable.

I believe myself to be valueless.

I deserve ill fortune.

…..

Starting thirty years ago my wife and I had simple sex but we never made love. Twenty years ago my lover and I had lustful sex but still we never made love.

Now I make love but I am uncomfortable as the initiator. Rejection would ruin my already pitiable self-esteem. How could anyone wish to be intimate with such an ugly old fool as me?

I can’t make decisions – why would my ideas be liked anyway? My preferences are easily over-ridden as they are ridiculous and unimportant.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I am.


***
update 20 Jun 2014
Re-reading this causes me some embarrassment! It's fair to say that I had bouts of depression several years ago but there is little in my above diatribe that I recognise as me. Today I have a good deal more self-esteem than before.