I know the second I get really sad. I reach for the computer not because I think writing will help (though sometimes it does) but because the words seem to be my final connection to sanity.
Insane is allowing my moods and actions to be reactions of other people's moods and actions. Logically I don't get the correlation but it is my mental reality.
I haven't had a particularly bad day. I just got in from the gym. I had a good workout. Not a great workout because I can't help but feel people's eyes on me and I hear the voice inside that tells me they are criticizing me, that I don't measure up, that I'm not good enough. I ignored them well during the workout, mostly because it's hard to concentrate on breathing and negativity at the same time.
But now I'm home, in bed and the feeling gets louder, descends upon me. I look at my boyfriend beside me, and I feel I'm not good enough. The list starts getting longer for all that I just suck at and all that is wrong with me. I start spiraling into despair. I figure I'll write about it. This crushing feeling in my heart.
I don't know why I don't love myself, I know it's illogical to expect it of others when I myself am tolerating my existence. Change I should. But even if I knew where to start would there be a point to it at all?
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Monday, 4 July 2011
Why am I depressed?
Doctor, I had a dream recently. It scared me so bad I couldn't go back to sleep and spent the morning crying. The dream simply put images to a long standing feeling in the pit of my stomach and it terrified me. About the dream...I was reversing out of the school parking lot and I seemed to miscalculate the distance, I hit someone's car and lost control of my car. My car plowed into four other vehicles as I tried to get in under control. Around the time I hit the third car, I said...fuck it...and let go of the wheel, and stopped trying. My car crashed through a fence and into the street. Surprisingly I was not hit by any passing car but crashed into a wall. What was going through my head this whole time? It was peaceful, I was gonna die, I was sure of it, and I welcomed the possibility. My mind was like still water as the car collided into the wall and I too was thrown forward. Everything was hazy, I could see my mom over me trying to wake me. I could see her but I couldn't speak, I couldn't move. I knew I was crying because I didn't die and every thing hurt so bad...I woke up, still crying, not believing it was a dream. Then I cried some more cause it was too close to what I wanted to do in reality.
No, I haven't told a doctor about the dream. I don't see a shrink or talk to anyone about it or how I feel. I know I should. I know the problem is beyond the point where I can help myself. I know I am just going through the motions and hoping it will go away (but it hasn't over the years). I don't want to do anything...but I try, I don't have a choice really...cause when I am not doing the thoughts come and each time I don't think I can survive them. Generally I am depressed, have been from a time I don't remember.
But why am I depressed today? Perhaps it started with the thought...It doesn't matter (cause really it doesn't) if I disappear, life will continue, people will move on and somebody else will be wiping this fucking veranda. They will probably do it how my mother wants it at the time she wanted it done. I stayed home today, mostly because I had marking to do but I haven't got it done. Stomach pains and diarrhea have kept me in bed along with the general feeling of not wanting to do anything (I didn't feel like pushing). Between my trips to the bathroom I have napped. Haven't had lunch cause I can't figure out what to eat and she came home arguing about the patio and the wet dog. My mother doesn't argue normally (whatever that is). She gets personal, she tells you that you're nasty, she tells you that you're never going to amount to anything, she tells you serve no purpose in her life, she tells you she leaving her worldly possessions to charity and you can bet that the character assassination lasts an hour or two. Until really, you start getting the urge to kill yourself or to kill her (that order).
Doctor, I pretty sure my mother is a huge source of my past and continuing depression but I know that part of me doesn't want to do anything about it. The part that is convince that I deserved physical abuse in the past and verbal abuse in the now. I know that part is wrong but it's a stronger part of me (...sigh). So on my hungry, sick stomach, I am sipping alcohol. Because her words hurt me doctor, and drinking is the only alternative I have to pain or death.
I am pathetic, I know. I shouldn't be depressed, I know. This doesn't change that I feel like taking my hands off the wheel and letting the car go where it wants. What does it matter?
No. I am not stupid. If I can realize what causing 50% of my mental breakdown one would expect that I have sense enough to walk away. Short version of the story...I did, finally a few months ago. Then I decided to buy a car at whatever cost, which placed me in debt and forced me to move back in with her. Add to that, that I decided to go back to school and pursue law so I can make more money to try and buy some happiness (whatever that is). The financial reality is that its cheaper to stay but I am not sure my mind can take the constant bombardment. But then again I must, cause I don't want to be the me that let go of the wheel. Drinking for me is like taking one hand off the wheel (..sigh). Funny how the things you do because you're depressed, make you feel more depressed.
Writing helps I think.....writing helps...me to feel a little less like killing me...
No, I haven't told a doctor about the dream. I don't see a shrink or talk to anyone about it or how I feel. I know I should. I know the problem is beyond the point where I can help myself. I know I am just going through the motions and hoping it will go away (but it hasn't over the years). I don't want to do anything...but I try, I don't have a choice really...cause when I am not doing the thoughts come and each time I don't think I can survive them. Generally I am depressed, have been from a time I don't remember.
But why am I depressed today? Perhaps it started with the thought...It doesn't matter (cause really it doesn't) if I disappear, life will continue, people will move on and somebody else will be wiping this fucking veranda. They will probably do it how my mother wants it at the time she wanted it done. I stayed home today, mostly because I had marking to do but I haven't got it done. Stomach pains and diarrhea have kept me in bed along with the general feeling of not wanting to do anything (I didn't feel like pushing). Between my trips to the bathroom I have napped. Haven't had lunch cause I can't figure out what to eat and she came home arguing about the patio and the wet dog. My mother doesn't argue normally (whatever that is). She gets personal, she tells you that you're nasty, she tells you that you're never going to amount to anything, she tells you serve no purpose in her life, she tells you she leaving her worldly possessions to charity and you can bet that the character assassination lasts an hour or two. Until really, you start getting the urge to kill yourself or to kill her (that order).
Doctor, I pretty sure my mother is a huge source of my past and continuing depression but I know that part of me doesn't want to do anything about it. The part that is convince that I deserved physical abuse in the past and verbal abuse in the now. I know that part is wrong but it's a stronger part of me (...sigh). So on my hungry, sick stomach, I am sipping alcohol. Because her words hurt me doctor, and drinking is the only alternative I have to pain or death.
I am pathetic, I know. I shouldn't be depressed, I know. This doesn't change that I feel like taking my hands off the wheel and letting the car go where it wants. What does it matter?
No. I am not stupid. If I can realize what causing 50% of my mental breakdown one would expect that I have sense enough to walk away. Short version of the story...I did, finally a few months ago. Then I decided to buy a car at whatever cost, which placed me in debt and forced me to move back in with her. Add to that, that I decided to go back to school and pursue law so I can make more money to try and buy some happiness (whatever that is). The financial reality is that its cheaper to stay but I am not sure my mind can take the constant bombardment. But then again I must, cause I don't want to be the me that let go of the wheel. Drinking for me is like taking one hand off the wheel (..sigh). Funny how the things you do because you're depressed, make you feel more depressed.
Writing helps I think.....writing helps...me to feel a little less like killing me...
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