Because I don't believe in only making goals and life plans on New Years:
short-term goals:
- get lean. workout every day (yoga on some days, training on others)
- get in touch with your artsy side again (write often, read plenty, see things)
- learn guitar or piano... or both!
- hang out with your friends more- let's try to aim for 3 nights out a week?
- establish a loose routine
longer-term bucket list:
- see ireland
- see something amazing
- see the Northern lights
- go skydiving
- white water rafting
- pray on the grave of a holocaust victim
- fall in love, and be loved in return
- see New Zealand
That's it for now. I just want to experience things, see things, feel things. Time to start fresh.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Monday, March 10, 2014
I'm good.
"How are you?" She asks, without really caring about the question.
"I'm good." I spit out.
"Are you?" She drops her chin, her eyes immodestly scanning my expression.
It doesn't phase me anymore, the way they question me whenever I say I'm okay. Obviously I'm lying. Obviously a depressed girl is hiding so much under the surface that by asking how I'm doing the barrier will suddenly burst and all my deep repressed emotions will come boiling out, and they'll have the satisfaction of being that person I trusted to talk to. But I'm human; I adapt. I've learned the question is more for them, as a safety measure in case something were to happen to me, at least they could say they did what they could. So I smile and say "I'm great." A depressed girl can't fake a smile, I know I'm home free as soon as returns the smile and returns to her paperwork.
The truth, in case you were curious, is that I AM good. I mean, I think I am. What do I have to complain about? I have a job in a shitty economy, I live in a middle-class suburb and don't have to pay rent, I attend a great university and love what I study, I have friends and pets that love me unconditionally, I have dreams and aspirations that are completely within my reach. I have it all, and I am truly thankful for that. I have a good life, and the truth, if anyone asks, is that I love it. There is no other life I would ask for than my own.
Yet once, when I was at the darkest point in my depression, I tried to take it all away. I didn't want it anymore, I felt I was suffering more than I should and I didn't know what could be so wrong in my life to make me feel this way. So I downed a bottle of vodka and a concoction of pills while some sappy-sad music played and waited for my romantic death to come.
Instead, I woke up the next morning with a grisly hangover and acetaminophen poisoning. One 911 call later (by my then-boyfriend's father) and I was quickly escorted to hospital and stabbed multiple times with IVs before being psychologically evaluated by about 5 different health teams in the span of 8 hours.
"How are you?" They'd ask me.
"I'm okay."
But they didn't pry. They let me sit in my obvious angst and they'd check my vitals before giving me one last glance, one last chance to speak up or forever hold my peace. But I didn't even know what someone in my position is supposed to say. What's a casual, acceptable way of saying "My life is good and I love it but I'm just so sad"? Finally, a psychologist convinced me it would be a good idea to sign away my freedom for a few days and have myself admitted to the psych ward. There, I cried all the time, but they'd just turn away, not wanting to disturb me in my emotional state.
"How are you?" they'd ask me in my morning check-ups, at every meal, and at bedtime drugtime. It's their job to ask, so I answered as robotically as they asked.
Eventually, I said I was fine enough times to be convincing and they released me, my bed to be taken up by someone who has real problems.
"You know what my mom said?" My boyfriend said as we were cuddling in bed the night I got released. "She says. 'she doesn't want to die. She just wants things to be better'." And I've pondered that for years, even past the suicidal thoughts, past the break-up, I still thought of those words.
What needs to get better? There isn't a thing wrong with my life. I can't name one aspect of it that is irreparably bad, but I can name so many things that I love and am so happy for. My life can't get better, it's all in my head. My head needs to get better. It's fundamentally dysthymic, constantly interjecting my days with a heavy bleakness and weighing me down with an overwhelming sadness every now and then. I'm subjected to the guilt of sayings like "firstworldproblems" and the stigma that surrounds depression in a rich, White society like my own.
"What do you have to be sad about?" I can hear people thinking.
I don't even try to explain myself. I just put on my best smile and don't talk about my petty problems and do my best to show love to everyone so that nobody will question me.
I've learned if I can't get rid of the emotions, I can learn to accept them and live with them. I've learned to enjoy the happy moments, and ride out the bad ones. I've learned to accept the limitations my mind places on my life and do my best to overcome it, but not to admit defeat if sometimes I can't. I've learned to comply with my body when it begs me to crawl into bed and stay there for a day or two and to resurface when I've gotten enough sleep to fuel an army. I've learned to smile when I'm sad and say "I'm okay" when I'm not sure that I am. To many, learning to accept my depression may seem like I'm letting it overpower me. But to me, it's just part of dealing with life. It's what I am, and it sucks sometimes. But putting effort in to show a smile to the world is I how I will show them that I am stronger than it. And instead of tiring myself out trying to be happy all the time, I ride the emotions my mind feels I need to deal with while reminding myself how beautiful life is.
Sometimes, happiness comes easy; sometimes, you have to create it for yourself.
"I'm good." I spit out.
"Are you?" She drops her chin, her eyes immodestly scanning my expression.
It doesn't phase me anymore, the way they question me whenever I say I'm okay. Obviously I'm lying. Obviously a depressed girl is hiding so much under the surface that by asking how I'm doing the barrier will suddenly burst and all my deep repressed emotions will come boiling out, and they'll have the satisfaction of being that person I trusted to talk to. But I'm human; I adapt. I've learned the question is more for them, as a safety measure in case something were to happen to me, at least they could say they did what they could. So I smile and say "I'm great." A depressed girl can't fake a smile, I know I'm home free as soon as returns the smile and returns to her paperwork.
The truth, in case you were curious, is that I AM good. I mean, I think I am. What do I have to complain about? I have a job in a shitty economy, I live in a middle-class suburb and don't have to pay rent, I attend a great university and love what I study, I have friends and pets that love me unconditionally, I have dreams and aspirations that are completely within my reach. I have it all, and I am truly thankful for that. I have a good life, and the truth, if anyone asks, is that I love it. There is no other life I would ask for than my own.
Yet once, when I was at the darkest point in my depression, I tried to take it all away. I didn't want it anymore, I felt I was suffering more than I should and I didn't know what could be so wrong in my life to make me feel this way. So I downed a bottle of vodka and a concoction of pills while some sappy-sad music played and waited for my romantic death to come.
Instead, I woke up the next morning with a grisly hangover and acetaminophen poisoning. One 911 call later (by my then-boyfriend's father) and I was quickly escorted to hospital and stabbed multiple times with IVs before being psychologically evaluated by about 5 different health teams in the span of 8 hours.
"How are you?" They'd ask me.
"I'm okay."
But they didn't pry. They let me sit in my obvious angst and they'd check my vitals before giving me one last glance, one last chance to speak up or forever hold my peace. But I didn't even know what someone in my position is supposed to say. What's a casual, acceptable way of saying "My life is good and I love it but I'm just so sad"? Finally, a psychologist convinced me it would be a good idea to sign away my freedom for a few days and have myself admitted to the psych ward. There, I cried all the time, but they'd just turn away, not wanting to disturb me in my emotional state.
"How are you?" they'd ask me in my morning check-ups, at every meal, and at bedtime drugtime. It's their job to ask, so I answered as robotically as they asked.
Eventually, I said I was fine enough times to be convincing and they released me, my bed to be taken up by someone who has real problems.
"You know what my mom said?" My boyfriend said as we were cuddling in bed the night I got released. "She says. 'she doesn't want to die. She just wants things to be better'." And I've pondered that for years, even past the suicidal thoughts, past the break-up, I still thought of those words.
What needs to get better? There isn't a thing wrong with my life. I can't name one aspect of it that is irreparably bad, but I can name so many things that I love and am so happy for. My life can't get better, it's all in my head. My head needs to get better. It's fundamentally dysthymic, constantly interjecting my days with a heavy bleakness and weighing me down with an overwhelming sadness every now and then. I'm subjected to the guilt of sayings like "firstworldproblems" and the stigma that surrounds depression in a rich, White society like my own.
"What do you have to be sad about?" I can hear people thinking.
I don't even try to explain myself. I just put on my best smile and don't talk about my petty problems and do my best to show love to everyone so that nobody will question me.
I've learned if I can't get rid of the emotions, I can learn to accept them and live with them. I've learned to enjoy the happy moments, and ride out the bad ones. I've learned to accept the limitations my mind places on my life and do my best to overcome it, but not to admit defeat if sometimes I can't. I've learned to comply with my body when it begs me to crawl into bed and stay there for a day or two and to resurface when I've gotten enough sleep to fuel an army. I've learned to smile when I'm sad and say "I'm okay" when I'm not sure that I am. To many, learning to accept my depression may seem like I'm letting it overpower me. But to me, it's just part of dealing with life. It's what I am, and it sucks sometimes. But putting effort in to show a smile to the world is I how I will show them that I am stronger than it. And instead of tiring myself out trying to be happy all the time, I ride the emotions my mind feels I need to deal with while reminding myself how beautiful life is.
Sometimes, happiness comes easy; sometimes, you have to create it for yourself.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
unlovable
I can't get a grip right now.
I can't be perfect for you. It's not fair that that's what you want from me. I slip up under the constant pressure and just once and I'm not worth being in your life. It's not fair. You fuck up too.
All I wanted was for you to think I was beautiful, sexy. I put myself out there and got nothing back.
They say "forgive him, you love him", but love isn't everything you know.
I could love you to the moon and back and it wouldn't mean anything to you.
Am I really that unlovable? You can't decide if you want me, so you look for any reason to say you don't. You don't want to deal with me. Am I that much to deal with?
I feel sick, shaky. I can't believe this is happening. I fucked up, but you did too. It's not fair that it's always on me.
I hate you so fucking much it's unreal. But I love you so fucking much too and that's what I hate the most.
I don't want to eat anymore. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve to live either. I just want to not eat until I disappear. I don't want to deal with these emotions anymore.
So that's it, I'm not eating anymore. You can call it a hunger strike, until I feel like I'm worth living; but the reality is I'm all I've got, and if I stop fighting for myself nobody's going to do it for me.
I'm done eating. Forever. I'm disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, revolting. I want to throw up at the thought of myself. I don't want to be in my skin anymore.
I think part of myself is hoping he'll realize he was wrong and apologize. And part of me wants to say 'shove it, I deserve better' and the other part wants to try better for him but I know the problem isn't just me. And then I remember, he doesn't want you. He's not going to realize that, and even if he miraculously did he's a lot stronger than you, he'll never come to you. For once, I'm not going to apologize. Maybe I deserve better, maybe he does too. I'd rather be alone anyway. I hate people, I hate everyone, I hate this life and I hate every fucking part of it.
I really just want to die but I can't do that to myself. So I won't eat and hope that this all just works itself out.
Peace
I can't be perfect for you. It's not fair that that's what you want from me. I slip up under the constant pressure and just once and I'm not worth being in your life. It's not fair. You fuck up too.
All I wanted was for you to think I was beautiful, sexy. I put myself out there and got nothing back.
They say "forgive him, you love him", but love isn't everything you know.
I could love you to the moon and back and it wouldn't mean anything to you.
Am I really that unlovable? You can't decide if you want me, so you look for any reason to say you don't. You don't want to deal with me. Am I that much to deal with?
I feel sick, shaky. I can't believe this is happening. I fucked up, but you did too. It's not fair that it's always on me.
I hate you so fucking much it's unreal. But I love you so fucking much too and that's what I hate the most.
I don't want to eat anymore. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve to live either. I just want to not eat until I disappear. I don't want to deal with these emotions anymore.
So that's it, I'm not eating anymore. You can call it a hunger strike, until I feel like I'm worth living; but the reality is I'm all I've got, and if I stop fighting for myself nobody's going to do it for me.
I'm done eating. Forever. I'm disgusting, disgusting, disgusting, revolting. I want to throw up at the thought of myself. I don't want to be in my skin anymore.
I think part of myself is hoping he'll realize he was wrong and apologize. And part of me wants to say 'shove it, I deserve better' and the other part wants to try better for him but I know the problem isn't just me. And then I remember, he doesn't want you. He's not going to realize that, and even if he miraculously did he's a lot stronger than you, he'll never come to you. For once, I'm not going to apologize. Maybe I deserve better, maybe he does too. I'd rather be alone anyway. I hate people, I hate everyone, I hate this life and I hate every fucking part of it.
I really just want to die but I can't do that to myself. So I won't eat and hope that this all just works itself out.
Peace
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