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
Friday, May 31, 2013
didn't do half the readings, still got a 73. nice.
Well, I gave myself a deadline. I extended that deadline. Still no increase in mood. When I think I'm happy, it lasts a moment and I'm living in constant fear of falling back into the bad mood. Well, I'm here, and I'm stuck.
I'm not one for missing deadlines. This is no exception.
I'm too emotional for all this bullshit. I wasn't built right for this life. I'm always going to be hurt by everything and I'm always going to fall back into depression. I try so hard not to, I put up a real fight today. But it always comes back.
Tonight, I'm going to get really high and drunk, swallow as many sleeping pills as I have left, until I'm drowsy and the blood is pumping real quick through my veins. Then I'm going to cut. I don't know how deep yet. Perhaps just enough to numb the pain for another day. My new favourite spot is right above my veins, it's like I'm teasing the idea of...
This is so sadistic.
See what world I live in?
Well, I gave myself a deadline. I extended that deadline. Still no increase in mood. When I think I'm happy, it lasts a moment and I'm living in constant fear of falling back into the bad mood. Well, I'm here, and I'm stuck.
I'm not one for missing deadlines. This is no exception.
I'm too emotional for all this bullshit. I wasn't built right for this life. I'm always going to be hurt by everything and I'm always going to fall back into depression. I try so hard not to, I put up a real fight today. But it always comes back.
Tonight, I'm going to get really high and drunk, swallow as many sleeping pills as I have left, until I'm drowsy and the blood is pumping real quick through my veins. Then I'm going to cut. I don't know how deep yet. Perhaps just enough to numb the pain for another day. My new favourite spot is right above my veins, it's like I'm teasing the idea of...
This is so sadistic.
See what world I live in?
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Zero Motivation
I have my exam tomorrow-- and I can't bring myself to do the readings. I'm so not interested in this course but I need it for my program. It's just so boring. Ugh.
Well, maybe a good sleep and reading under pressure will be what kicks me into gear. We'll see-- tomorrow will just be a heavily caffeinated day. And then I get to relax. Finally. And sleep. Finally. And maybe enjoy life for once? I don't even care if I don't do well on it. I'm so over it already.
This friends with benefits thing... well, it sucks. I forgot how hard it is emotionally. Sure, I'm having a great time. He's an amazing friend and I like spending time with him, and the sex is always great, but I'm finding it harder and harder to hide my feelings and part of me feels like tearing myself apart over him isn't worth it. I know it's only going to end badly for me. Either I'll fuck up and lose him as a friend completely, or he'll become interested in some other, better girl and I'll have to watch him fall in love with someone else. This fucking sucks.
Worst part is, he's not over his ex from like 5 months ago. Seems like the beginning of my last relationship all over again, and look where that led me. Perhaps I should just forget about it. Would he even be interested in being my friend if it weren't for the sex? But as long as I'm offering sex, I'm just opening myself up to being used longer.. and I'm closing myself down for other opportunities.
All I want is a chance, but I'm never going to get one. And it fucking hurts. I'd like to say I don't know what's wrong with me, what's so unworthy about me... but truth is, I do. I'm erratic, reckless, over emotional, unappreciative, shy, completely weird, ugly, and fat. There's really not that much good about me, so I guess I understand why he would want to keep his options open. I'm never going to be fortunate enough to fall in love, and stay in love, anyway. So what's the point of falling if you're only going to crash and burn?
Well, maybe a good sleep and reading under pressure will be what kicks me into gear. We'll see-- tomorrow will just be a heavily caffeinated day. And then I get to relax. Finally. And sleep. Finally. And maybe enjoy life for once? I don't even care if I don't do well on it. I'm so over it already.
This friends with benefits thing... well, it sucks. I forgot how hard it is emotionally. Sure, I'm having a great time. He's an amazing friend and I like spending time with him, and the sex is always great, but I'm finding it harder and harder to hide my feelings and part of me feels like tearing myself apart over him isn't worth it. I know it's only going to end badly for me. Either I'll fuck up and lose him as a friend completely, or he'll become interested in some other, better girl and I'll have to watch him fall in love with someone else. This fucking sucks.
Worst part is, he's not over his ex from like 5 months ago. Seems like the beginning of my last relationship all over again, and look where that led me. Perhaps I should just forget about it. Would he even be interested in being my friend if it weren't for the sex? But as long as I'm offering sex, I'm just opening myself up to being used longer.. and I'm closing myself down for other opportunities.
All I want is a chance, but I'm never going to get one. And it fucking hurts. I'd like to say I don't know what's wrong with me, what's so unworthy about me... but truth is, I do. I'm erratic, reckless, over emotional, unappreciative, shy, completely weird, ugly, and fat. There's really not that much good about me, so I guess I understand why he would want to keep his options open. I'm never going to be fortunate enough to fall in love, and stay in love, anyway. So what's the point of falling if you're only going to crash and burn?
Thursday, May 23, 2013
I just don't know
I've lost all motivation to do anything. Study, go to work, see friends, watch tv, play with my cats, go to the gym/gymnastics. I do what I have to do to live and that's it. I told my psychiatrist today that I was having violent mood swings daily and he called that 'normal'. I think he's an idiot and shouldn't be in that position. He also claims I have a drinking problem. I drink maybe twice a month at most, but because I drink to get drunk/pass out, it's a problem. Fuck him. He just sits there and judges me the entire time I'm there. I hate seeing him.
I don't want to do anything. Why can't, just once, I fall asleep and never wake up. Is that so much to ask?
They say it helps to make plans for the future, so here's my plan. I give myself until next Wednesday to snap out of this. To find something that makes me even remotely happy again. I'm tired of feeling like this and hearing 'it will get better' 'you'll feel better' 'what would everyone else think if you killed yourself'. Right now, I don't give a shit. Why am I selfish for wanting out of this hellhole? I can only name a few who would be affected by it anyway. And even then, they'll move on. I've been living like this for way too long and can't take it anymore. I constantly feel so ridiculously sad and like I want to cry all the fucking time. I'm just irritated by people. I'm tired of faking a smile at work. It's the only place I have the energy to fake it anymore; everywhere else- school, with friends, doctors offices, home- I'm just dead, inside and out.
So, one week, things get better or I'm fucking done with this shit.
I don't want to do anything. Why can't, just once, I fall asleep and never wake up. Is that so much to ask?
They say it helps to make plans for the future, so here's my plan. I give myself until next Wednesday to snap out of this. To find something that makes me even remotely happy again. I'm tired of feeling like this and hearing 'it will get better' 'you'll feel better' 'what would everyone else think if you killed yourself'. Right now, I don't give a shit. Why am I selfish for wanting out of this hellhole? I can only name a few who would be affected by it anyway. And even then, they'll move on. I've been living like this for way too long and can't take it anymore. I constantly feel so ridiculously sad and like I want to cry all the fucking time. I'm just irritated by people. I'm tired of faking a smile at work. It's the only place I have the energy to fake it anymore; everywhere else- school, with friends, doctors offices, home- I'm just dead, inside and out.
So, one week, things get better or I'm fucking done with this shit.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Forgive and forget
I feel like I'm the poster child for the saying forgive and forget. I've been wronged by so many people and I instantly forgive them and forget it happened. Now that doesn't mean I'm dumb enough to let them hurt me, it means I'm not going to hold hatred for them. I might stop talking to them, get them out of my life, or just put up an emotional wall, but if you wrong me I forgive easily. Sometimes it sucks, I just want to be mad. I want to be mad at my parents for splitting up and finding new families, leaving their old one in the dust. For making me feel like not even my own parents love me. For not protecting me from all this. I want to be mad at the friends who ditched me for popularity. Who saw me going through a rough time and told me I'm selfish and a bad friend and never talking to me again. I want to be mad at Zach for moving on so fast, doing things with her he never did with me. Making me feel like I really was nothing to him. Well at least he's happier and better off now.
I want to be mad at Paul, but I don't have anything to really be mad about. I put myself in this situation by establishing a sexual relationship before a friendship. I defined our relationship and now I have to deal with that. I knew he didn't want a relationship, I knew he was still struggling with getting over his past relationships, and I knew he's probably just looking for sex. Well, you can't be mad at him for that, he made it clear from the start. I can only be mad at myself for falling for him anyway.
See, I just don't have it in me to be mad at other people. There's just no reason to hold hate. It's a quality I both love and hate about myself. It causes me so much pain to just put a smile on through all this bullshit. What did I do to deserve this?
I want to be mad at Paul, but I don't have anything to really be mad about. I put myself in this situation by establishing a sexual relationship before a friendship. I defined our relationship and now I have to deal with that. I knew he didn't want a relationship, I knew he was still struggling with getting over his past relationships, and I knew he's probably just looking for sex. Well, you can't be mad at him for that, he made it clear from the start. I can only be mad at myself for falling for him anyway.
See, I just don't have it in me to be mad at other people. There's just no reason to hold hate. It's a quality I both love and hate about myself. It causes me so much pain to just put a smile on through all this bullshit. What did I do to deserve this?
Monday, May 20, 2013
Panic attack?
Symptoms-- choking feeling, racing heart, racing thoughts, upset stomach, hot flashes, heart pounding, feel nauseous. Yep, it's a panic attack. oh great.
Calm down, don't fall into this again.
I don't want to fall into this again.
Calm down, don't fall into this again.
I don't want to fall into this again.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
What does depression feel like?
It feels like you're walking in public, wanting to scream at the top of your lungs, but people will think you're crazy (meanwhile you know you are). So you hold it in, and the tension builds and builds until you feel like you're about to explode.
It feels like even when there are a million reasons to stay, there's a few that are screaming for you to go.
It feels like you don't even know who you are. Are you really who you were a year ago? A week ago? Yesterday? What does having an identity feel like? Who the fuck are you?
It feels like... nothing, and everything, all at once. It's butterflies in the stomach, static in the mind. It's screaming from the inside and the greatest silence in one. You don't know up from down anymore.
It feels like the devil is whispering in your ear. You're worthless. Hopeless. Why are you even here? What's the point? When will it get better? All your insecurities are in the spotlight. And they're all true.
It feels like the calm before the storm. Even when you're happy, you know it's soon to be taken away from you. You don't deserve happiness. You deserve pain, and you thrive on it.
You want to rip yourself open, free all the demons inside you before they destroy you first. You don't want to live the rest of your life like this, but there is no alternative.
But if you let yourself go into the unknown, you'll be judged. Suicide is selfish. Suicide is cowardly. Suicide is shameful.
But they just don't understand.
Selfish is everyone else wanting to keep me here in this eternal pain. Selfish is watching me suffer without lifting a finger to help. Selfish is ignoring the warning signs because you think they won't do it; they're just attention whores. You say I'm selfish? Many of my friends are dead, but the pain felt from depression is far greater than the grievance of a fallen friend. It's not something that can be comforted. It's not something that heals with time.
Cowardly? Fine. I'll take that. I'd rather die a coward than live a tortured soul. But I'm afraid. What is there after life? Probably nothing. So what happens to my soul? Death is scary for everyone, but for a person with depression, life is scarier. So yeah, I'm a fucking coward. But that's my problem, not yours.
Shameful? I'm sorry I disgraced your name with my shameful exit. But you're the shameful one. You watched it happen. You made empty promises. You abandoned me. You judged. Only God can judge, right?
That's what depression feels like.
It feels like you're walking in public, wanting to scream at the top of your lungs, but people will think you're crazy (meanwhile you know you are). So you hold it in, and the tension builds and builds until you feel like you're about to explode.
It feels like even when there are a million reasons to stay, there's a few that are screaming for you to go.
It feels like you don't even know who you are. Are you really who you were a year ago? A week ago? Yesterday? What does having an identity feel like? Who the fuck are you?
It feels like... nothing, and everything, all at once. It's butterflies in the stomach, static in the mind. It's screaming from the inside and the greatest silence in one. You don't know up from down anymore.
It feels like the devil is whispering in your ear. You're worthless. Hopeless. Why are you even here? What's the point? When will it get better? All your insecurities are in the spotlight. And they're all true.
It feels like the calm before the storm. Even when you're happy, you know it's soon to be taken away from you. You don't deserve happiness. You deserve pain, and you thrive on it.
You want to rip yourself open, free all the demons inside you before they destroy you first. You don't want to live the rest of your life like this, but there is no alternative.
But if you let yourself go into the unknown, you'll be judged. Suicide is selfish. Suicide is cowardly. Suicide is shameful.
But they just don't understand.
Selfish is everyone else wanting to keep me here in this eternal pain. Selfish is watching me suffer without lifting a finger to help. Selfish is ignoring the warning signs because you think they won't do it; they're just attention whores. You say I'm selfish? Many of my friends are dead, but the pain felt from depression is far greater than the grievance of a fallen friend. It's not something that can be comforted. It's not something that heals with time.
Cowardly? Fine. I'll take that. I'd rather die a coward than live a tortured soul. But I'm afraid. What is there after life? Probably nothing. So what happens to my soul? Death is scary for everyone, but for a person with depression, life is scarier. So yeah, I'm a fucking coward. But that's my problem, not yours.
Shameful? I'm sorry I disgraced your name with my shameful exit. But you're the shameful one. You watched it happen. You made empty promises. You abandoned me. You judged. Only God can judge, right?
That's what depression feels like.
Monday, November 12, 2012
don't remember feeling this way in a long time..
I feel empty. completely empty. there's hardly anything to talk about because really, nothing matters.
walking is hard. I feel like I'm walking in slow motion. The images aren't going away, either, and they're becoming more prominent.The message is clear--I want for me to die. Everywhere I look I see some way that I could kill myself. Walking by a second story window at all the little happy people just makes me sad. Nobody would notice if I just slipped away. I look out the window at the gray, uncaring world, unchanged by my presence or absence in it.
It would be nice, to not live anymore. But what happens next? Do I just slip into an eternal blissful sleep? Or does blackness just creep over me until my mind disappears? Is there an afterlife?
That's what's holding me back. If religion is true, then surely I'd suffer in hell for eternity. If there is no afterlife, what happens to the soul?
I want to find the highest point I can and step out onto the ledge with my toes lingering over the drop. I want the wind to tingle my fingers and my face. I want to say one last goodbye then freefall. Feel the wind pushing me back, feel the rise and drop in my stomach. And then watch the earth come closer and closer.
This is how I want to die.
I feel empty. completely empty. there's hardly anything to talk about because really, nothing matters.
walking is hard. I feel like I'm walking in slow motion. The images aren't going away, either, and they're becoming more prominent.The message is clear--I want for me to die. Everywhere I look I see some way that I could kill myself. Walking by a second story window at all the little happy people just makes me sad. Nobody would notice if I just slipped away. I look out the window at the gray, uncaring world, unchanged by my presence or absence in it.
It would be nice, to not live anymore. But what happens next? Do I just slip into an eternal blissful sleep? Or does blackness just creep over me until my mind disappears? Is there an afterlife?
That's what's holding me back. If religion is true, then surely I'd suffer in hell for eternity. If there is no afterlife, what happens to the soul?
I want to find the highest point I can and step out onto the ledge with my toes lingering over the drop. I want the wind to tingle my fingers and my face. I want to say one last goodbye then freefall. Feel the wind pushing me back, feel the rise and drop in my stomach. And then watch the earth come closer and closer.
This is how I want to die.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
I feel like I belong in a mental institution
After months of being 'numb', it crashes back down with a vengeance.
I thought the numbness was a good sign. It's at least better than the depression/anxiety that has plagued my adolescence. I thought it was my bridge to happiness. At least there were times I could feel happy and enjoy what I have.
But now it's back and I don't feel relatively sane anymore. To say I hate this feeling is the worst. This feeling truly makes me want to claw my stomach apart, scratch my face, rip my hair out..jump off a bridge. Anything. Anything to make the feeling go away.
I can't even describe the constant feeling that doesn't go away, doesn't weaken.
It's almost like a strong anxiety; like vicious butterflies attacking my insides, the unsettling feeling strong in my stomach and builds all the way up to my chest, where my heart races and feels like it's thumping hard in my chest. A choking feeling in my throat, like I'm trying to hold back tears all the time. Nothing's happened that has made me want to cry, yet the feeling has been there all day, without a break. My head hurts. Probably from all the racing thoughts that fleet through my head, so brief that I can't even put into a sentence what I'm thinking about. But all of them are bad. All of them feel like some evil force inside my head trying to bring me down.
I can't eat, and I don't know if it's because I don't want to eat, or if I actually can't. I want to stand on the highest rooftop and just scream. Liberate the demons inside me.
Too many thoughts. Too much racing inside me. I can't even decide what to do. I want Zach here, or do I? I DON'T EVEN KNOW. And it breaks my heart that I can't explain the reason to him. Not that he wouldn't understand; explaining all this is just way too difficult for me. It's hard to put such a feeling into words.
I feel like the only way to make it all stop is to release it. The only way to do that is to cut...
But Zach would be sad. and I don't want to make him sad.
Ugh, I don't know what to do :/
I thought the numbness was a good sign. It's at least better than the depression/anxiety that has plagued my adolescence. I thought it was my bridge to happiness. At least there were times I could feel happy and enjoy what I have.
But now it's back and I don't feel relatively sane anymore. To say I hate this feeling is the worst. This feeling truly makes me want to claw my stomach apart, scratch my face, rip my hair out..jump off a bridge. Anything. Anything to make the feeling go away.
I can't even describe the constant feeling that doesn't go away, doesn't weaken.
It's almost like a strong anxiety; like vicious butterflies attacking my insides, the unsettling feeling strong in my stomach and builds all the way up to my chest, where my heart races and feels like it's thumping hard in my chest. A choking feeling in my throat, like I'm trying to hold back tears all the time. Nothing's happened that has made me want to cry, yet the feeling has been there all day, without a break. My head hurts. Probably from all the racing thoughts that fleet through my head, so brief that I can't even put into a sentence what I'm thinking about. But all of them are bad. All of them feel like some evil force inside my head trying to bring me down.
I can't eat, and I don't know if it's because I don't want to eat, or if I actually can't. I want to stand on the highest rooftop and just scream. Liberate the demons inside me.
Too many thoughts. Too much racing inside me. I can't even decide what to do. I want Zach here, or do I? I DON'T EVEN KNOW. And it breaks my heart that I can't explain the reason to him. Not that he wouldn't understand; explaining all this is just way too difficult for me. It's hard to put such a feeling into words.
I feel like the only way to make it all stop is to release it. The only way to do that is to cut...
But Zach would be sad. and I don't want to make him sad.
Ugh, I don't know what to do :/
Monday, July 2, 2012
DO NOT CALL
He's waiting for ME to call HIM. But I just have to remember that if I do, it's just going to come crashing down again in a matter of weeks...
There will be more lying, pretending, talking behind my back. There will be more pain--not the good kind.
If he doesn't want to try, then neither do I. He gives up just as easily as I do, so maybe that's reason enough to call it quits.
must think of new blog name....
There will be more lying, pretending, talking behind my back. There will be more pain--not the good kind.
If he doesn't want to try, then neither do I. He gives up just as easily as I do, so maybe that's reason enough to call it quits.
must think of new blog name....
"You feel the tingling below your flesh, are saturated by the screaming thoughts in your mind, listen to your strange reflection’s persuasive words. Do it. Just once. It will make it all go away. It will make you feel better. Burns at first because you are too terrified by what you are doing to yourself. A curling iron, a lighter, cigarettes. Your trembling hand then the bite of the heat and goosebumps racing over your skin. Then you embrace the behavior and move on to cutting. It is a beautiful transition, as if you had been a cutter all your life. Your hands quiver until you fall into that heavy trance. The world falls silent except for your thumping heart. The sharp knife twitches in your hand. An awkward, tentative cut then another – deeper, deeper, always in a line. Your body disappears; you feel nothing but the slice and the thick tranquility to follow, letting the blood escape in front of the other in the mirror. She always smiles.
You need to lie to disguise all of these distractions. Tell your parents you’re working or staying at a friend’s house when you are out drinking or having meaningless sex. The cigarettes and the smell are your friend’s, not yours. The burns are from the popcorn popper at work. You convince yourself that your lies are true in front of your parents. If they question you, you get so enraged that they simply believe you. You learn to lie fluently; it becomes easier than the truth.
Cradle all the consequences of your destructive behaviors close to you. You need to dwell on every one, turn it on yourself, blame yourself completely. Make decisions that you can torture yourself over for years. They are excuses to hate yourself, reasons to be fucked up. You go back to bed with the same men or always the same type of men. They don’t care about you, and you feel dead inside. It must be because you’re worthless; it must be because you’re not good enough for better. You miscarry a child before you know you are pregnant. You must have drank it to death; it must have rejected your body. You take the wrong drink from a guy and are too drunk to fight back when he pushes himself on you. You must have drank too much; you must have let him. It all has to be your fault. Perpetuate your self-loathing, and dive deeper into your disease. "
http://bipolarswirl.blogspot.ca/2006/08/writing-how-to-kill-yourself-slowly.html
This is me. This is who I am, have always been, and will always be. To convince myself I'm fixed, better, is to convince a maggot he is a butterfly. It would be a lie. And I hate being lied to, by anybody.
I can't be fixed. I can only numb what's lingering inside me for a short period of time. It isn't long before a thought--an ideation-- comes clambering upwards. I could try to repress it; I have been doing that for months. But it's just so exhausting. Hiding myself deep down in dark crevices of myself.. that's not me. I'm not me.. This is who I am.
And you, you are nothing but a distraction.. or perhaps I am the distraction. I think we're using each other as such.. you to distract yourself from everything in your life that has told you you're inadequate. Especially she-who-shall-not-be-named. Me, well, perhaps I've used you too. To cling to someone who might actually care about me. But pain is my pleasure, and I can't kid myself for a second to believe I'm happy when I'm happy.
You need to lie to disguise all of these distractions. Tell your parents you’re working or staying at a friend’s house when you are out drinking or having meaningless sex. The cigarettes and the smell are your friend’s, not yours. The burns are from the popcorn popper at work. You convince yourself that your lies are true in front of your parents. If they question you, you get so enraged that they simply believe you. You learn to lie fluently; it becomes easier than the truth.
Cradle all the consequences of your destructive behaviors close to you. You need to dwell on every one, turn it on yourself, blame yourself completely. Make decisions that you can torture yourself over for years. They are excuses to hate yourself, reasons to be fucked up. You go back to bed with the same men or always the same type of men. They don’t care about you, and you feel dead inside. It must be because you’re worthless; it must be because you’re not good enough for better. You miscarry a child before you know you are pregnant. You must have drank it to death; it must have rejected your body. You take the wrong drink from a guy and are too drunk to fight back when he pushes himself on you. You must have drank too much; you must have let him. It all has to be your fault. Perpetuate your self-loathing, and dive deeper into your disease. "
http://bipolarswirl.blogspot.ca/2006/08/writing-how-to-kill-yourself-slowly.html
This is me. This is who I am, have always been, and will always be. To convince myself I'm fixed, better, is to convince a maggot he is a butterfly. It would be a lie. And I hate being lied to, by anybody.
I can't be fixed. I can only numb what's lingering inside me for a short period of time. It isn't long before a thought--an ideation-- comes clambering upwards. I could try to repress it; I have been doing that for months. But it's just so exhausting. Hiding myself deep down in dark crevices of myself.. that's not me. I'm not me.. This is who I am.
And you, you are nothing but a distraction.. or perhaps I am the distraction. I think we're using each other as such.. you to distract yourself from everything in your life that has told you you're inadequate. Especially she-who-shall-not-be-named. Me, well, perhaps I've used you too. To cling to someone who might actually care about me. But pain is my pleasure, and I can't kid myself for a second to believe I'm happy when I'm happy.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
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