Depression Update: I am not calm.

I am disappointed that I am not ravishingly, optimistically filled with happiness and satisfaction. I am upset that I continue to be enveloped by stress and anger at the world around me and at the incidence of my own existence. I am sick to my stomach of how unimproved I feel. I feel guilt hanging over me and constant worry and anxiety controlling me. I feel pessimistic that I will ever live a life I am content with.

And I have a headache, a bad one, and I am irritable. I want to shred everyone to pieces and scream at every small inconvenience and I can’t handle even the smallest mishap or mistake whether it’s by my own hand or not. I feel angry that I feel sick to my stomach and I feel angry that I am depressed and I feel the weight of Atlas’s burden on me, even though I know it’s not. Nothing in the universe can be so painful as being a human being.

This is unsettling and I’m not sure how to calm myself down anymore, but I am very aware that I am not calm. I seem to be fighting it, but I assure I don’t want to feel this way.

I am not calm. I am not fucking calm.

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Back to ER on Wednesday Night

[Written last night 02/19]

I’ve had a lot of stress to deal with and I’ve dealt with it badly.

I sat in my sheets counting sheep so sadly.

I fear being in a relationship. People say we’re in it for self interest but my biggest interest is not hurting someone else. Or maybe it is motivated by me—the guilt I don’t want to feel which is like living in hells.

I feel like I don’t deserve love and I don’t deserve to be cared about, despite how much I craved it? That I am made to be alone and that is how I will survive this. So often I’ll sit and I’ll dare myself to quit. But then I think of you and how we kiss, and then I think of him and how we’d kiss, and I know he’s not him but I’m in love with the past. I’m never letting go, that’s what this is about. Nonetheless, I still feel like I care so much more. Do you think of me, I asked? Does he think of me as his whore? Is he in it for the sex—and does that even really matter? Are our motivations the same, and if so, where is my shame?

Speaking of the past, academically, we’ve been asked to explore it. But I look at my hometown and I know I abhor it. I came home today, and as we drove around, I felt annoyed. This place is filled with failure, with people who don’t care. I feel frustrated at their fakeness. I feel destroyed by my weakness. I hate this place—this is a grief hole to me. Why take me down this path? I guess I just wanna get an A.

Often we’ll look at our global problems and feel small. Our emotions and our feelings are minuscule in comparison to the earthquake in Haiti, so maybe, it doesn’t really matter. I see so much hate and it hurts me inside. Why celebrate the death of those you disagreed with but never knew? Scalia was different, but he had a family too. The elections give me a headache, a heartache, in fact, it’s another earthquake, or are we taking it too seriously? Obviously, the truth is we don’t know what to do. But I don’t want to listen anymore to the bullshit that’s going on, at least I think I don’t. Yet my dad is so fascinating by what’s going wrong. At dinner tonight, I tried so hard to change the topic. But those are his interests so who am I to stop it?

I’ve had a lot of stress to deal with and I’ve dealt with it badly.

I sat in my sheets counting sheep so sadly. And that was what I was doing when I texted my friend. 

They gave me that white bracelet and I became a bar code, an item on the grocery list. They say I’m safe now but why did I feel so much more afraid? I didn’t know if I should have gone and that made me feel pissed. 

The first nurse’s name was Grace and she was nice to me. The tech’s name was Keeli and I can bitch about her. I knew her type and her type thought she was superior, the best nurse on the floor, the one who knew much more, who related much better, and was noble to the core. I only asked to make one call and nothing else? Was I in jail? I felt so trapped. I looked at Grace and she just said “well, honey, I think Keeli is probably right…” because she’s just a small woman who was influenced by her shit. “Keeli, you’re so nice, you’re so good,” I heard her say. “You know, I’m just trying, because if I were here, I would be terrified!” Great, because you are half the reason I’m petrified. Grace came to check on me in the beginning but eventually she left me alone, because that was what Keeli would do. All night I suffered and I cried and I was wrapped in a little ball in some purple night gown I’d been forced to wear. “I would never be mean to anyone,” I heard Keeli say with a bit of vocal fry. It made me so angry and all night I’d wanted to die. I didn’t want to give a urine test and she said “well, they have to check if you’re pregnant.” And she said that over and over again but it must have been a troll. Because if Keeli were so smart, she’d have seen I’m on birth control.  All night Keeli talked about the patients that were there. I heard her talk about me and she was judging me and I was scared.

I cried all night and I was shaken to the core. They thought I was asleep but really I was in shock—I couldn’t move anymore. Everyone else was so nice, the CNPs and the psych team. They tried to help me out but in the end, I was living a war. There was Scott, he was a resident, and so kind to me. But in the end I didn’t take it, I was mean. The last thing Scott said to me was “come back when you want to stop feeling this way.” Scott broke my heart.

I’ve come home now and I still feel so terrible. There’s so much shit I can’t handle. A relationship I don’t know if I want. Schoolwork I don’t want to be taught. I don’t eat well or sleep well, but the last thing I want is even more therapy. Thank you, for staying with me, Reader. I’ve written this all so oddly and maybe that’s because I wish this was a story and not real.

I have a lot of stress to deal with and I deal with it badly.

I sit in my sheets counting sheep so sadly.

Belated Birthday Post

Odd or significant things always happen around my birthday. I will make a list of 10 things, because lists are great.

  1. 7236280952_b569727cd1_o.jpgI quit my job.
  2. I finally met with my therapist again.
  3. I had meager sex. Sex is always a big deal for me.
  4. I began a relationship with a person. So I’m dating someone? I don’t know.
  5. I realized I still have feelings for my ex.
  6. My ex texted me.
  7. This kid I had a huge crush on finally texted me.
  8. I slept through an exciting event I registered for months ago.
  9. I really, for real bullshitted two essays in ways I haven’t bullshitted essays in ages.
  10. I turned 21.

 

It was good to meet with my therapist again and it went better than I thought.  have to take better care of myself. I quit my job–perhaps a mutual separation is a better word–and this is a bit of a closing on a part of my life. I really enjoyed that job and I go back and forth on whether I have good justifications for my actions.

This guy…I wrote about him before. We had a terrible date night, I gave him another chance, and I guess things are okay now. However, I’m not sure I want to be in a relationship. In fact, I know that I don’t. Oops. How did it become “official?” I asked “so are we in a relationship?” He replied with “yes.” I said “are you sure?” He replied with “yes.” That was it.

So, I am unsure and I don’t know if I want to do this and I don’t know which action to take would be most fair. I’m not going to end it so soon; I don’t want to make any drastic moves.

Besides, he hasn’t been able to retain an erection, and I feel terribly about it. Of course the first thing a woman’s mind jumps to is “am I ugly? what am I doing wrong?” In reality, he just has some performance anxiety and I just want him to know with all of my heart that I truly am not judging him, am happy just to lay next to him, and I don’t mind waiting and have complete faith it will happen. So then I think, how rude it would be to leave him before we REALLY even have sex? At the same time, how obnoxious of me to think such a thought? What do I believe I will do in such a scenario? He’ll ejaculate, I’ll lean forward, kiss him on the cheek, and say “I don’t think this is working out,” and that’s the end? Certainly not.

No, I don’t know for sure if I want to be in this relationship or if it’s a great thing. My depression hasn’t scared him off yet although he’s aware it exists. I have no desire to make drastic decisions. I’m sure I will have to make some mental choice to stay or not but I will take some time and I want to consider his feelings. Over and over I am told in treatment to be a bit selfish, and that to recover I must be a bit selfish, and that’s okay. I don’t want to be cold hearted though. If he wants it, maybe I should let that influence me more than the doctors insist it shouldn’t.

Because honestly? Much of my reservations lie in the fact that I want to experience more things. Go on dates with guys. Sleep with Aaron again (who I noted, actually texted me!! I thought those hopes were gone in the dust, but half an hour before my birthday, I got a hello message. I was surprised and told him so and it’s probably a bad idea to go out with him but we have so much in common and damn he is beautiful) or have another one night stand, or meet people on Tinder, or actually have a relationship, sexual or non, romantic or not, with a woman, which I crave a lot. In negative terms, I keep thinking that I am here, wanting to leave a good relationship I have barely tested the waters in, just to slut it up.

My new boyfriend (I hate this word for some reason) has the same birthday as me. This is real significance if you believe in cosmic fate. He is of the same religions and nationality. I could pull it off with him in the long run. What if this is the end for me and I don’t experience all those other things? Wouldn’t I regret it? But Young Artist, I say to myself, you’re so freaking young. Why are you thinking so far ahead? Then I get into a spiral that I myself despise.

I didn’t really do anything significant on my birthday, especially not drinking wise. Looking back I feel kind of mad because I missed half off tattoos and free drinks. But I do want to say that it wasn’t a terrible birthday, because I felt remembered and loved byy my family, both biological and non. By friends who sent me such sweet, encouraging text messages and co workers who remembered what I had mentioned weeks ago. When I re-created a Facebook my senior year of high school, I kept my birthday private. I always thought anyone who really cares can text me. That was also a contradiction in my head because a lot of people forget anyway and who really cares about me? No one does. But I did get many messages from people who love me without having had my birthday announced on social networks, and that made me feel so entirely warm and happy inside. I’ve been able to look back at my old self and tell her to stop being so stupid. People do love you. They remember you. It made me feel as though my life is worth living.

My ex even texted me happy birthday. This is huge. It comes only moments after writing my last post about the text I wanted to send him. I assumed I would message him again sometime. I thought I would wait until summer. I haven’t checked his social networks or anything like that (I am so proud of this). I still haven’t even though I had some very, very tempting moments this past week. That was when I realized I still liked and missed him even though I was in a relationship with someone else. This is a painful thought that made me feel like killing myself. How can I ever be in any healthy relationship ever? Bo ruins everything for me. Miles and miles away, he ruins it. And I will never recover.

My train of thought was going in several directions in the past second, Reader. What I am saying is that in these spats, I am always the bigger person. I am always the person who gives in the ‘hello’ first. Sure, this time I didn’t think we would get back together but I still assumed I would message him again in the summertime. A catch up. An apology. It would be me, because he certainly wasn’t thinking of me. But I was wrong. He sent me a happy birthday message. “I’m sorry,” I wanted to scream. What I said wasn’t real. All I want is happiness for you and we will keep our distance but I don’t hate you, I never have, never will, and I’m sorry if I ever hurt you by saying that, I just really hope life is going well and you’re happy.

Instead I said “Thank you, Bo. This really made my morning. Have a good day.” It was a perfect reply. Once again, I am proud of myself.

He said the same for me on my birthday, I reminded him I don’t have great birthdays, and that to remember I am always here for him if he needs anything ever, so my message got across. And he knows. Of course he knows! Who am I to think he ever believed that shit I spout out during a panic attack or to have so little faith that he’d forget I am there for him if he ever needs me, although I know he will never actually take advantage of it. Once again I forget the kind of person he is and I am lucky to have spent the brief time I spent with him and to have had him as my first love. It is painful, very much. There is no doubt I am curious if he is still with that girlfriend but I will not do anything to check. Part of me hopes he’s not and the same part reasonably thinks he’s not, because I don’t have faith that girl could put up with some of his shit or that he could put up with hers, and another part of me wants to be mad at myself for thinking that way and only hopes he’s happy. I know there’s a wonderful woman out there for him.

I feel very much at peace that he sent me that simple happy birthday message. He has no idea how much it means to me and I won’t necessarily be able to tell him that ever but the feeling of graciousness exists and I suppose that’s enough.

Nothing else on that list is worth writing about. I’m equally proud and ashamed of my bullshitted essays. Another story in the books for the grandkids at what a terrible mess of an academic I was.

I can’t believe I made it through another year. It is melancholy. The thought “21 is a good year to die” passes through my head often. But I won’t linger on it. Thanks for sticking through this one with me, Reader.

 

texts I didnt Send

Hi B,

I know it’s been a while, and the last time I talked to you I said I hated you. Just wanted to say I don’t hate you, sorry that this is kind of out of nowhere or random. I just wanted you to know if you ever need anything, ever, I’m here for you, I’m always available for you, that offer still and always will stand.

That’s all.