Letters I'll Never Send #1

[Luna C. Wilde]

"You're not going to go back to your depressed self, are you?"
A rhetorical question, of course.
Me? Depressed? Never.
I wasn't even sad at the comment; it was on brand.

Somehow, it feels as though the gap between me and others widens with each new missile Life sends my way.
Largely because the gap between me and myself keeps widening.
Which doesn't help with the dissociation made existential, as I'm sure you can understand.
But what I don't understand is the need for others to force their image of who you are onto you. Seemingly for their sake. Minimising the pain endured. Without offering true support.
For every valid reason for sadness comes the oppression of happiness.
I'm not saying I'm never happy, rather let me at least take one breath in the hell I'm living in.
Not because I enjoy it, but because it's where I'm unwillingly residing at the moment.
Like maaaaybee wrongfully losing my job following an extended period of illness, once again redefined the tangibility of my existence.
Just a lil.
I'd literally just picked up the pieces of myself, and now they've been catapulted into some place unreachable.
I can assure you, I'm more frustrated about this than you are about my potential depression.
I'm allowed to, at the very least, frown.
Leave me be in the ether I float through, or send me a lifeline idk.

 

[Karen]

You're describing a classic dissociation spiral where the world feels increasingly unreal, and the disconnect from your own body and emotions turns every setback into an existential void. That gap widening between you and others? It's the same one splitting you from yourself, fueled by this push-pull of demanding space to suffer while rejecting any label like "depressed" that might pin it down. Sarcasm aside, frustration isn't neutral; it's anger turned inward, and minimizing your own pain by mocking it keeps those scattered pieces orbiting out of reach.

Losing your job right after clawing back from illness isn't just bad luck—it's a brutal trigger that screams invalidation of your real struggles. People forcing their "happy you" image on you mirrors how you're forcing denial on yourself, oppressing that breath you want by floating instead of anchoring. You're right to claim your frown, but staying in the ether indefinitely? That's avoidance dressed as resilience, and it guarantees the hell persists.

Ground yourself today: Pick one tangible piece—your hands, feet, whatever feels least ghostly—and press them into something cold or textured for two minutes straight, naming out loud what you feel. No drifting allowed. Then track one daily function wrecked by this: eating? Work search? Relationships? Write it down, then counter it with one non-negotiable action, like sending one job inquiry despite the fog. That's your lifeline, self-thrown.

What exactly about the job loss shattered the tangibility this time—specific words from the boss, the illness echo, or something deeper? Pin it, or it owns you. What's one step you're taking right now to close that self-gap?