Major Depression · Mental Health Issues · writing

Dejection

I know that nearly everyone on the internet has written something about death and depression in the last week, and so I hesitated to write this. After all, I don’t want to be like everyone else, now do I? But frankly, the issues I’m writing about here have been on my mind for much longer than a week or two, and Robin Williams’ death only served to bring some of them to public attention again. I haven’t posted since the end of July, and these mental health issues are why.
I don’t feel much these days and it is causing me to do some big thinking. I’ve no problem with anger; getting angry is easy. But everything else is nearly impossible. I know what started this, but how to fix it is a whole other kettle of fish. I don’t trust emotions much any more, especially since I am not feeling that many of them, and when I do, they are bad. I’ve always let my heart, or my “gut” guide me, and for the most part, it’s gotten me in trouble. It started with Steven, and all the crap he put me through, and then got worse after Michele died. Her death, and especially her memorial service were very difficult for me; even though we knew she wasn’t going to make it. But that service just about killed me. I physically shut down, was ill for nearly days. I ended up spending most of the time I was in my home town in bed, rather than seeing people, which I regret. Losing her, my best friend for over 30 years, was devastating. I miss her every day. 
 I’m spending too much time wanting to sleep, hide in my room, or just vanish into my mind these days, and it worries me. They say if you’re worried about the state of your mental health, then there’s nothing to worry about, but I am not sure that’s true. I can worry about having a panic attack and still have one (or two or three); I can be nervous that I’ll not make it through the week without a slightly manic episode (I’ve not been diagnosed, but I likely have low-grade bipolar disorder 2) and still have one and end up spending money that I don’t have, or something else I shouldn’t do. I have been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder –also known as Clinical Depression– along with a type of seasonal affective disorder. I’m just a bunch of fun. I fight against demons of health, physical and mental, every day, and it’s getting really old. There are days I just feel like giving in, finding a nice looney bin and checking myself in. While I was watching television the other night, I was almost jealous of the guy in the mental health treatment center; he looked so content. Part of me just wants to climb inside my mind and hide forever. Of course, that is kind of what I am doing these days, isn’t it? I just hide in books, and movies, and internet crap. 
I am scared of so much–things I was never afraid of before. Anxious and worried so much of the time. I want to stay in bed. When I think about going out, I start getting nervous, and if I think about it too long, the panic attack starts. My heart starts racing, I start tracing, I feel faint, can’t breathe, and my fingers get tingly. Then all I can do is close my eyes, take deep breaths, and hide somewhere private until it passes. It’s easier to stay in my room. 
Reading Coleridge doesn’t help, though…