Overview and Case Study: What It Is

“It’s your fault they denied you. You were selfish. You had no self-control and YOU did this. You’re a fucking terrible person, who drove away the people who tried to care about you. Because you’re depressed. Because you’re anxious about everything. And it’s your fault for being sick in the first place and showing them reasons to be scared. You hurt them with your sickness. They suffered because of you. If you hadn’t… If you didn’t… It’s all your fault. You fucking idiot. It’s all your fault.”

And, eventually, all that exists in this distorted reality is the destruction of the relationship in my life that I valued the most. In this reality, I can only hate and I can only feel anger and it’s all directed at myself. And then it leads to sadness. And emptiness. And hopelessness.

Maybe in this chaotic world, where I can’t control anything – where everything is seemingly random and really the only control I have, the only thing my fate relies solely on is me and my choices – it is my fault. Everything bad that has happened is because I let them happen. And in this randomness and insecure need to place blame, that blame goes to myself. Everything I’ve ever accomplished means nothing. Either I forget I did those things or I feel like I didn’t deserve them. Sometimes even both.

It’s my fault. And I ruined the one thing that I realized I want the most: human connection. I hurt the people I cared about the most. I hurt the people I wanted to be in my life, the people I allowed myself to see a future with. I fucked it all up because I’m sick and I let them care. I fucked up because I should have known that to be vulnerable to people meant that they saw who I was, who I am. And it wasn’t a pretty sight. And I hate myself because I let that happen, because a part of me is surprised that love in my life even lasted that long and all of me mourns and grieves for that loss and part of me wants to hurt myself for hurting the people that I cared about and for allowing myself to be a part of their lives because I knew what my depression and anxiety was capable of. Because in this life of recurring bouts of depression, I HAVE to be alone. Otherwise, all I’m going to do to people is hurt them. So it’s all my fault.

I’m a burden. I don’t deserve to be happy. And I’ll do things to prove those thoughts. Sabotage to the nth degree my relationships – because how could anyone love me? How could anyone see me, this terrible human being, and want me in their lives? I want them, but they’ll never want me. Or they think they do, but they’ll leave me. Forever. And I can’t blame them. And then in my fear and terror and clinging onto the things and people who I believe will be gone – it makes them leave. It pushes them away. And then in the end, I’m alone, and it really is my fault.

Description: What It Might Be

In those moments, everything bad that has happened has happened because of me. I’m to blame. And in this reality that’s the only thing I can believe in, I’m stuck. I’m stuck with myself, the person who ruined my life, the person I hate the most and more than anyone or anything. I’m stuck and I can’t see anything else. Because to hope means to ruin something else I care about. To hope is not an option. And in all of this, I feel the heat of suffering, heed the flames of my loved ones suffering, and suffocate on the smoke of my depression. And then I’m pushed to the ledge because of this fire that I started. Who knows where it actually came from and who cares – what matters is that I feel like I started it and now I’m stuck. And there’s no other choice but to jump.

When I get into a severe major depressive episode, the first thing that goes is self-respect. And that’s an understatement. What really happens is self-respect disappears and is replaced, quite prominently, with the most intense self-loathing. Every little thing about myself – good, bad, either or – becomes negative no matter what the issue is objectively. And then that’s all I think about. That’s all I hear. Self-loathing turns into a way for me to deal with the guilt of self-pity.

In my attempts to better understand my own mindset, I’ve been trying to figure out why. WHY. Why do I hate myself in these moments? Why do I direct the worst thoughts, the most aggressive and demeaning thoughts, things that I would never in a million years say to another person, and say it to myself. Actually, when I’m in those moments, it’s like I’m screaming at myself. That’s all I’ll hear. Now, I can feel when these moments are happening (they usually go hand in hand with panic attacks. Fun times.). I feel my thoughts becoming more and more self-destructive, and I know that I’m about to get in the worst fight of my life. Again.

Maybe it’s because I grew up in a culture that promotes shame. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have a model  of self-love that I could really look up to. Or maybe it’s a way to deal with the shame and guilt of feeling depressed. Of feeling anything. Maybe if I focus on everything I did wrong, I can make everything else around me right and the only thing, the only person I’ll have to blame, is myself. And then the self-hatred leads to self-sabotage.

Results: What It Affects

I often joke about how I self-sabotage. I think it’s my way of coping with when the real self-sabotage happens. The awkward ways I destroy my social life is a joke compared to the very real and very destructive ways in which I destroy my every-day life. And it all goes back to hating myself, blaming myself, reminding myself that I’m the worst person and everything is my fault. Because if I self-sabotage, then I can punish myself. In all the guilt and shame, I can hurt the person responsible and if everything is my fault, then I can destroy the one thing that makes my life a living hell: me.

But the real joke of it all is that it isn’t my fault. It’s that my mind is legitimately playing tricks on me and I believe it. It’s the only thing that’s real. It’s pitting me against myself. In those moments of depression and anxiety and panic, I lost my freedom to choose for myself. I lost the ability to take care of myself. And in looking back, it brings me guilt and shame and self-disgust. Until I hate myself. But that’s the terrible part of it. I never wanted to hurt the people I loved. I never wanted to put them in situations where they feared for me, where they had to go looking for me, where they had to sit there to comfort me. Why would I ever choose to do that? I never wanted those things, but my mind and body went into survival mode, and that’s what came out of it. And those things happened. And then I hate myself for that.

Take Home Assignment: What It Could Be

But it’s not my fault. I wouldn’t blame someone with asthma for having trouble breathing. I wouldn’t blame someone with Alzheimer’s for forgetting my name. I wouldn’t blame someone with cancer for crying out in pain. I need to stop blaming myself for panicking and feeling hysterical when I was in the heart of my melancholy.

The hardest part, the most challenging, but honestly, the most rewarding part is believing it every day. It’s recognizing that a panic attack is coming and dealing with it in the ways that I’ve learned how to. Or even better, recognizing that one is coming and preventing it altogether. It’s realizing that with all of the things that I’ve had to deal with and will possibly still continue to deal with, that I am. That self-loathing and waking up exhausted and considering running away are things that exist for me, but I’m still going. Not only that, I’m fighting it. And every day I get out of bed, every day I talk to my friends, every day that I do something is a win. And if I can do that and still be who I am – still work hard, still set goals, still try to achieve, then I’m more than enough and I believe I’m worth fighting for. I can feel those accomplishments. I can feel my own pride. 

To figure out one of the most difficult acts of compassion – forgiving myself. And to forgive – to forgive anyone – isn’t about looking back. It’s about looking forward. Reminding myself that I’m okay – I forgive myself. And I don’t need anyone else to make me happy. I can do it on my own. I want to do it on my own. That to live, to try, to believe in myself, and believe that I am more than worth it – is beautiful. That despite all of the hardships and all of the times I’ve wanted and tried to give up, I am here. I am thriving. I am living. And it’s a beautiful life. And how could I not love that?