On riding the struggle bus of disconnection and depression

I’ve written a lot lately about muddling through heartbreak and trying to get back to me. And it seems that when I get close to making progress, I encounter a setback. I’m not blaming my circumstances or the universe or pulling the victim card here – I’m simply stating that there appears to be more than one obstacle, and how I react to those obstacles appears to be incredibly telling.

But let me back up for a second.

A couple of months ago, I wrote about a relationship (a term I’m choosing to use, as he and I never defined it as such) that had failed. I was a hot mess for awhile, couldn’t really figure out how I’d let it fall apart. We blamed our communication issues on each other, but the truth was that I hadn’t been with anyone in a serious capacity in about four years. And while that relationship hadn’t necessarily been easy, it was a cakewalk compared to anything I’ve experienced since then.

I couldn’t help but take a majority of the blame for the dissolution of whatever we were. I’d thought that I’d pushed him too hard for too much and too soon. How was it that I always seemed to be one step ahead of whoever I was pursuing? Why was I always waiting for them to catch up to me? I wondered if I’d ever be on the same wavelength or if my sensitivity and capacity to feel would destine me to perpetually wear my heart on my sleeve.

It’d been a shitty couple of months, but I was starting to feel like a human again.

Until a series of misunderstandings with someone new shoved me back a few hundred yards. This one left merely a crack – I haven’t known him as long and it never even went beyond flirting. In fact, I pretty much misread the entire situation – even felt vibes that weren’t there. He was just a nice, friendly guy. That was it.

A nice, friendly guy with a very serious girlfriend.

 I couldn’t shake the way I’d reacted to it. Nothing had happened and yet I’d spent a fair amount of time consumed with misery over a guy I hadn’t even dated. Why?

Something that I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember is validating my emotions. I have a tendency to try to reason myself out of a feeling – that I shouldn’t be allowed to feel it because of a, b, c, d or e. My depression is often accompanied by a sense of irrationality – that my reactions to an event are stronger than the event warrants.

My latest minor heartache would be the People’s Exhibit A.

So, of course, logic tells me that there’s something else going on – it’s more than simply being rejected and it’s bigger than my desire to be in a committed relationship with someone, something that has always been important to me (and yes – I’m perfectly fine with myself and being on my own. The idea that anyone who seeks to be involved with someone else must be desperate or pathetic is bullshit).

So what is this thing then, that’s bigger than me, that sucker-punches me when I think I’ve gotten my feet on the ground?

It’s quite simple, really –

It’s disconnection.

When I look back at my history with depression, it’s undeniable. The illness doesn’t work the same for everyone and many who suffer experience an onset that’s not really caused by anything at all. But for me, there always seems to be a catalyst or a pile of catalysts that sits on my chest until darkness falls.

When I was first diagnosed at 17, I felt really removed from a lot of people in my life. And in fairness, some of that was my own fault – ironically, while disconnect seems to be a contributing factor to my depression, the illness is great at tricking you into thinking you want isolation – but a lot of it wasn’t.

My mom and my ex-stepfather stopped getting along and I felt like I was living in a house with acquainted roommates, rather than a family. I fell in love for the first time with a boy who didn’t love me back. I wasn’t connecting as well with my teachers at school that year – a place I’d otherwise always loved to be. My connection with my friends had started to fail as I pushed them away, (seemingly) content to be alone in my hole of despair.

I don’t imagine that my depression will ever be as potent as it was then – complete with self-injurious behavior and suicidal thoughts. I’d like to hope that that’s a kind of pain that only comes once in a lifetime.

And now, in my current ride on the strugglebus, my want for connection is just as strong as it’s always been. But I’m failing to reach my quota.

Before August, I hadn’t lived in my hometown full time since I was in high school. Naturally, many things have changed in those six years. Many of my closest, richest friendships were not made here and cannot be satiated through a text or bi-monthly skype call.

Friends and family that do remain have their own lives – and rightfully so. They have their own mini-families within our larger one. Cousins have gotten married, had children. And while I am my mother’s daughter, I am no longer my mother’s child. I’m on my own now, for all intents and purposes, stuck in a lonely phase between being someone’s child and having a mini-family of my own.

And between working all the time and trying to just figure out the whole adult thing, there just isn’t a lot of time left over. Maybe I would be happier if I saw my family more or carved out more time for friends. But then I have to sacrifice something else and upset whatever balance I’ve created for myself.

I crave connection. And I’m just not getting it the way that I need it. I think that’s why I react so strongly to mini break-ups and rejection –

They’re just more severed connections, deeper in their demand to be felt as the loss of an opportunity to be the closest to another human being as emotionally and physically possible.

As for what happens now –

I’ll let you know when I figure that out.