inspired by x
inspired by x
and I’m like…
Time to clean everything in my apartment in hopes that it’ll tire me out and I can actually get some sleep tonight.
This is called coping.
Peanuts was one of the first comics about depression.
Left my apartment.
I guess that’s improvement.
today’s a day where I want to absolutely rage, to throw everything breakable out of the window and watch it smash, just so something else is as broken as I feel. for some reason, that would make me feel less alone.
but I don’t do that. today I didn’t get dressed. it was too hard. the only times I left my bedroom were to eat, to use the bathroom, and to take a shower.
I think the worst part about having a mood disorder is not being able to definitively discern which emotions are true/accurate from those which are inflated or deflated by the rush of faulty chemicals in my brain. Forget the mixed moods or the rapid cycling—not being able to tell real from not real is the worst.
why does my brain still, stillentertain this desperate hope that something good is going to happen to me? oh, what I would give to simply put this part of me out of its misery. to keep hoping that something, anything, would get better is what’s crazy. after all, isn’t that a definition of insanity—to believe the same thing over and over but expect a different result?
I have been believing for MONTHS that my life would improve. I have prayed desperately for something to change.
And it’s just gotten worse. what good does it do me to expect anything different? this is just what I get.
I get so mad when people tell me to hope…like that’s an easy thing to do, like hoping is as simple as flicking a light switch. Gee thanks, I didn’t think about hoping before; thanks for the suggestion. It’s not easy.
sometimes I think fighting depression (or any chronic mental illness, really) is like fighting that robot from The Incredibles, the one that learns from the attacks you make the longer you fight it. mental illness definitely works that way:
Sure, you friends have been there for you before, but you’re such a freaking drain. They’ll eventually get fed up with you.
Don’t you realize that the only reason people help you anymore is because they don’t want to feel responsible if you do eventually go off the deep end?
You are so. freaking. exhausting. Get your fucking act together. Everyone else has their shit under control; you have no excuse.
Your brain negates any other good qualities you might have.
And this is why you’re alone. Nobody wants you; in fact, they want the exact opposite of you.
If you vanished, nobody would notice. Wouldn’t make one lick of difference.
Everyone else is moving forward and you’re STILL RIGHT HERE! What a horrible loser. This is why God doesn’t answer your prayers; he knows better than to waste energy on a lost cause like you.
Nobody wants to hear about your juvenile, stupid, vapid problems. NOBODY. This is why people stop being friends with you.
You must really want to be this pathetic. You must not want to get better. You must like being a sick, sad, whiny, pathetic drain on everyone you know. emotional leech.
Nobody’s ever gonna love you. Why would they?
Like you could ever help anyone. What a complete hypocrite you are—all you write about “things getting better” and “good side of having a mental illness”…what a steaming pile of crap. You can’t even help yourself!!!
People are so sick of you. It would be so much better if you’d never been born.
All the time…all the time.
When people talk to you from the presumption that if you had just made different decisions in your life, you wouldn’t have a mental health problem
Because you could have totally avoided it if you had just studied harder and passed that 7th grade history test or started taking pilates class or eaten more salad and less pizza or went to church more or been more responsible for caring for the family dog or smiled more or bought a Chevy instead of a Ford or something
you don’t “beat” depression. you don’t “defeat” eating disorders. you survive them. stop making severe mental illnesses sound like something you can overcome just by throwing the right punch.
Things still aren’t getting better. Today I managed to be productive, to clean and to study, and I still ended up spending an hour crying on the floor of my closet for reasons I wasn’t entirely sure of.
What’s the point in hoping anymore? This isn’t exactly a rhetorical question. For such a long time I’ve hoped that a variety of situations in my life would turn around, or at least improve, and instead, things have just crumbled more. My personal life. Health. Finances. Family.
All doing terribly. And I’ve tried desperately to change all of them, to no avail. In fact, they’re all doing even worse. I can’t even rely on the Law of Averages here, because that’s just a fallacy.
My spiritual life is in tatters, and I fought so hard to keep that intact too. So, so hard. I have no idea why a God who would claim to love me would simply disappear like this. I feel like I’m in this spiritual desert, chasing mirage after mirage. Nothing at all makes sense, not in my day-to-day world, nor in the global sense. I can’t keep staying alive for other people; it’s too exhausting, too painful, and too hard. Plus, I feel myself weighing others down and draining them. I can’t bear that.
I wish I could turn off the part of my brain that for some demented reason still hopes, still believes, that the situations in my life will improve. I can’t bear to believe in what isn’t real anymore.
I’m not an impulsive person at all (I’m a planner), which is a good thing in an emotional crisis I guess. But my hesitance in wanting to hurt myself is just a bandaid slapped over a shotgun wound. I’m still bleeding from the inside out. And my dreams are dead and dying.
If I knew what to do, I would do it. Dropping out of school isn’t an option, because it’s the ONLY somewhat stable distraction I have left.
I don’t want to be this pathetic.
I don’t want to be a joke.
But it looks like I’ve become the one thing I tried hardest to avoid…an emotional, unstable failure.
right now if you Google news: suicide is two headlines
One calls suicide a contagion
The other asks if suicide is contagious.
I don’t even know where to begin with the sheer ignorance in that…
To say it was an emotional night on “The Tonight Show” would definitely be an understatement.
I was one of those kids who watched the news. Since my parents worked strange, unpredictable hours at their jobs, my grandparents took care of my brother and I often. Normally, we could watch whatever TV we wanted (within reason), but when the news came on, we watched it. This was non-negotiable.
Strangely, I never found the news boring—I was a child who was interested in anything.
I grew up in the Clinton era, which basically meant there were many scary things on the news, but no war for our country. I remember watching news stories about the Rwandan genocide, the Oklahoma City bombing, and the IRA attacks in Ireland and the UK. All of those things happened before I was ten years old. These things upset me, and I had tons of questions for my parents, but I don’t remember being as wounded by the evil in the world as I am now.
Instead of being more desensitized by the news, I think I’m becoming more affected by it.
The news right now is just horrible. Schools with children inside being blown up in Palestine. Christians being murdered by the thousands in Iraq. Americans being killed by their own police for little reason other than the color of their skin. And a truly beloved actor, the staple of our collective childhoods, succumbing to his own darkness and killing himself. Individually these are heartbreaking, but collectively? Words don’t cover it.
I still watch and read the news, because that’s what adults and educated people do, because I don’t want to be ignorant. But I have to measure my exposure carefully.
On top of all of this, I’ve been in a depressive state since December 23rd. I’ve lost between 30-40 pounds because I couldn’t eat. (I strongly do no recommend this.). So much of this year has been a personal nightmare. I have lost many things, and sadly, there is more left to lose soon. This is a realistic appraisal of things. If my life is a win/lose column, there are many, many ticks on the “lose” side of the page.
I worry about the autumn. I do not do well in the fall—the cold air moving in and the leaves drying up and falling away remind me of death. They amplify my loneliness. I simply want to get past October unscathed. That hasn’t happened in several years.
I don’t know when, or even if, this darkness will leave me be.
I’m starting to get used to it, which scares me even more.
This is the new normal. I’ve prayed for so, so long.
I have no idea what to do if this darkness does not pass.