It's been quite a while since I've written anything here, and while I do sit down occasionally, and think about posting, I typically find that I don't know what I want to say.
For the past four (almost five now) months I've been taking medication for my anxiety. It has helped, a lot actually, but I've also found that my personality on medication is quite different than off. Not in a bad way, nor in a multiple personality way, I'm still very much me, so to speak, I just find that my attention span is a great deal shorter, and that my interest in certain things has waned, while interest in other things has peaked.
One thing I have sort of rediscovered is my passion for photography. I've always loved it, but I like to take pictures outside, of nature, trees, abandoned buildings, and when I'm depressed I tend to stay inside and/or sleep all day so I don't get to do that as much. Lately, though, I've gotten back into the habit of taking my camera everywhere.
I've also found that while I still love crafting and sewing, I just can't sit through cutting out/sewing entire projects anymore. (Or at least not all at once - I have completed a couple of things, but they were stretched out over a few days.) I spend less time reading blogs, and I can't even remember the last time I looked at Pinterest. (That's a good thing, though!)
I feel better, mentally, and physically too - I recently joined a belly dancing class taught by a friends mom and it is so fun! Meeting new people, having something that is mine, a reason to get out of the house alone that doesn't involve shopping, I think, is really a huge part of rediscovering my identity, reconnecting with aspects of my self and personality that may have gotten lost throughout this long journey of depression and anxiety.
Anyway, I know that's not much of an update, but I do plan to write more, soon, I just wanted to explain a bit why I've been MIA for so long.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
03 July, 2013
12 February, 2013
Food and Fat Tuesday.
I slept 10 hours last night. I think I'm dying. I don't understand why I am so tired all the time! I used to think it was a side effect of my depression, but I've been doing really well the past six weeks; eating right and working out consistently has definitely helped improve my mood, but I still sleep like a hibernating bear.
I keep hoping that maybe it's because I'm doing a lot more than I used to (I'm cooking at least two full meals a day now, in addition to doing three or four 10 minute workouts through-out the day, along with my normal housewife & pet-mom duties) and that after a while it'll balance out, but it seems like after six weeks my body should be used to it by now...right? I really don't want to have to go to the doctor, but I know that it could also be something like a thyroid problem, which would also explain why, despite the incredibly dedicated way I've been eating/working out, weight loss has been slow. Ughh. Why can't I just be normal?
Oh well, not going to dwell on that now.
Goal update: still doing really well, on all of them! Food logging, calorie-counting, working out, and not buying anything - all in check. Man, I'm awesome.
Since today is Mardi Gras, I'm making jambalaya in the crock-pot! I've been doing amazing on my goal of planning out meals. Usually we plan for a couple of days at a time, and we never buy meat too far in advance, because we never bother to put it in the freezer. Anyway, on Thursday of last week I planned out meals for everyday this week, made a huge grocery list, and we went and bought everything. Then, when I got home, I immediately portioned out the beef and chicken into ziplocs with one pound each, and threw them in the freezer. I also cleared some space on the fridge and put the menu up there, so now everyday I see what's on the menu for the next day and pull that meat down to the fridge to thaw! We try not to have the same meat two days in a row: this week we're have two days of beef, two of chicken, one pork, one fish, and as usual, Sunday is soup day. (AKA leftover day, or Mandi-doesn't-cook-so-fend-for-yourself day)
I'm also having fun finding new recipes that are gluten-free, healthy, and that we both really like. So far my new favorite is beef, black bean, and brown rice stuffed bell peppers. So amazing. Coming in at a close second was this shrimp fried rice. Another one that surprised both of us with how well a bunch of random things tasted together was the quinoa-chicken-sweet potato stir fry. I was so worried about that one, that initially I didn't even tell Josh everything that was in it, because I was afraid he wouldn't even try it: but he did, and we both liked it!
One that we haven't tried yet (because I just found it this weekend) is this one for beef carnitas made in the crock-pot...definitely putting that on next weeks menu! Delicious looking, and I love things made in the crock-pot. So easy. (All of these are on my food board on pinterest, fyi.)
I even made my own delicious recipe for almond crusted cod, using the leftover almond bits after I made almond milk. It was so good that I'm making it again this week (I have lots of almond leftover - I used two pounds of them and made a whole jug of almond milk.) Maybe I'll measure stuff and document my recipe...
Well thanks, internet, I have officially made myself hungry. I'm going to go find something to eat while I wait for my jambalaya to finish up...oh, and I think it's about time I started cooking the rice that's going to go in it, too!
I keep hoping that maybe it's because I'm doing a lot more than I used to (I'm cooking at least two full meals a day now, in addition to doing three or four 10 minute workouts through-out the day, along with my normal housewife & pet-mom duties) and that after a while it'll balance out, but it seems like after six weeks my body should be used to it by now...right? I really don't want to have to go to the doctor, but I know that it could also be something like a thyroid problem, which would also explain why, despite the incredibly dedicated way I've been eating/working out, weight loss has been slow. Ughh. Why can't I just be normal?
Oh well, not going to dwell on that now.
Goal update: still doing really well, on all of them! Food logging, calorie-counting, working out, and not buying anything - all in check. Man, I'm awesome.
Since today is Mardi Gras, I'm making jambalaya in the crock-pot! I've been doing amazing on my goal of planning out meals. Usually we plan for a couple of days at a time, and we never buy meat too far in advance, because we never bother to put it in the freezer. Anyway, on Thursday of last week I planned out meals for everyday this week, made a huge grocery list, and we went and bought everything. Then, when I got home, I immediately portioned out the beef and chicken into ziplocs with one pound each, and threw them in the freezer. I also cleared some space on the fridge and put the menu up there, so now everyday I see what's on the menu for the next day and pull that meat down to the fridge to thaw! We try not to have the same meat two days in a row: this week we're have two days of beef, two of chicken, one pork, one fish, and as usual, Sunday is soup day. (AKA leftover day, or Mandi-doesn't-cook-so-fend-for-yourself day)
I'm also having fun finding new recipes that are gluten-free, healthy, and that we both really like. So far my new favorite is beef, black bean, and brown rice stuffed bell peppers. So amazing. Coming in at a close second was this shrimp fried rice. Another one that surprised both of us with how well a bunch of random things tasted together was the quinoa-chicken-sweet potato stir fry. I was so worried about that one, that initially I didn't even tell Josh everything that was in it, because I was afraid he wouldn't even try it: but he did, and we both liked it!
One that we haven't tried yet (because I just found it this weekend) is this one for beef carnitas made in the crock-pot...definitely putting that on next weeks menu! Delicious looking, and I love things made in the crock-pot. So easy. (All of these are on my food board on pinterest, fyi.)
I even made my own delicious recipe for almond crusted cod, using the leftover almond bits after I made almond milk. It was so good that I'm making it again this week (I have lots of almond leftover - I used two pounds of them and made a whole jug of almond milk.) Maybe I'll measure stuff and document my recipe...
Well thanks, internet, I have officially made myself hungry. I'm going to go find something to eat while I wait for my jambalaya to finish up...oh, and I think it's about time I started cooking the rice that's going to go in it, too!
11 February, 2013
demons of the past
I just realized that all day I've been opening pages and immediately pausing the videos but my speakers weren't even plugged in.
When we lived in Austin, I went through...7 jobs? I think. We were there for five years, the last three of which I held one steady job, so you do the math. Of those, only one got the requisite letter of resignation. At most, I just walked out one day and never went back. At one, I took an early lunch because I had an anxiety attack and didn't go back until two weeks later when I had to pick up my check. Not exactly noble, but then again this isn't a story about how reliable I am. (Which, ironically, was my best trait according to the people I worked for the last three years we were there.)
Sometimes I wonder if humans have a threshold for experiences...like the people that die in the midst of having some crazy adventure, if they just hit the maximum number of adventures, and that's why they died.
When I was younger I used to write constantly. I carried a notebook with me everywhere, and just wrote. Thoughts, feelings, perceptions of my surroundings, opinions of people, stories I'd make up about strangers, anything and everything that came to mind. Sometimes I'd write notes to people in them, and then I'd give them the notebook and they'd write back. So much of my life is chronicled, captured in my own words, and I often miss doing that.
I lived in my own little world, with my words to keep me company. When I wasn't writing I was reading, and I was perfectly content to spend the majority of my time alone. The stories I could create were very real to me, and they were better than the reality of where I was.
My disdain for the region I grew up in is thick, overwhelming, and destructive. I realize that I wouldn't be the person I am today without having had the exact past that I did. I know that the experiences I had shaped every fiber of my being. I made friends there, I loved there, and yet when I think of it, the only feeling I can muster is a burning hatred that grows the longer I think about it. I dream of the places I lived, the house I grew up in and the church/school I spent 6 days a week at when I was little, and in my dreams the depths of these places is vast, and I'm searching, exploring, yearning to find the thing that will allow me to make peace with my past.
The building I went to elementary school in, where my mom worked six days a week, and where I spent countless hours being terrified that someone was going to sneak in through the alley door and murder us all is gone now, but the secrets it holds will live forever.
I'm more scared of living than dying. Seems weird, considering that all of my anxieties fixate on murderers but the real fear lies in something horrible happening to the people I love, and me being left alone - abandonment.
I believe that the same way we can have a soulmate, someone who compliments us in the most perfect way, we can also have that connection with a place - somewhere that you feel in perfect harmony with your surroundings.
While my notebook keeping tactics are clear evidence that I've always been an introvert, they also served as a support system for the onset of my depression, as well as a clever way of hiding it for so many years.
When I was 11, my brother moved away. He'd lived with us for six years, ever since he'd come back from living in Spain. He was a constant in my life, always home on weeknights hogging the TV, buying me music, movies, toys, anything I asked for really, the best brother anyone could have asked for. One day, when I walked in the house crying because my dad has refused to stop the car after I saw an abandoned kitten on the side of the road, he asked why I was upset. When I told him, he immediately took me back to the spot where we rescued the kitten and brought her home. I named her Socks, and even though she was taken less than two years later, I'll never forget the no-questions-asked willingness of my brother to just fix whatever he could in my life.
When he left, I was happy for him. He'd escaped the Valley, for a better job in Austin, and he really seemed to like it there.
Then, a year later, less than a week after finding out that her sister had died, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Because there was no one else to stay with me, and I was not the kind of kid willing to stay home alone, I spent a lot of time at the hospital, and later at the cancer treatment center where my mom took chemo. My dad's way of coping was denial - my mom didn't have cancer, it was just the doctors trying to scam money out of us. Since my mom was the one that was sick, and my brother was gone, I had no real support system. I focused my energy on school, and that helped for a while.
But then, because my mom hadn't been working, my parents couldn't afford to send me back to my private school the next year. My mom asked me to try public school for two weeks, promising that if I hated it, they'd find a way to send me back to Faith. I did hate it, and I had no friends, but I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to be a financial burden, and I certainly didn't want to stress my mom out.
I think, losing an aunt, even one I never knew, followed by being terrified of losing my mom, and not having anyone to discuss it with probably should have been dealt with, but it wasn't. I didn't bother to tell anyone that something might be wrong, because I didn't really know it was, and my parents were, understandably, focused on getting my mom healthy.
That's when it started, though. Even though no one was really mean to me (except the blind girl who attacked me in the bathroom with her cane), I just didn't fit in. The kids were tougher, calloused, and uncaring. I kept to myself even more than usual, and when I did make a friend, she was just as depressed as I was, and taught me to deal with stress in the most harmful way imaginable. But no one asked questions, and I took that to mean no one cared. If no one cared, then why stop? I started to sink into a hole of depression and self-hatred so deep that I am still working to dig myself out of it.
Sometimes I can't believe I hid it all so well - I was so self-destructive, so angry at the world, and deeply depressed, but in all that time only one person ever confronted me. Ironically it was my mom who convinced him that I was ok, and while part of me was grateful to not have to answer the questions anymore, part of me also wondered why she couldn't see it.
All of that, though, kept bottled for so long, has left me an emotionally damaged, unable to hold down a job, and slightly dysfunctional adult. And I blame the place. I can't blame my parents, they're my parents, they did the best they could given the circumstances, and I love them. I can't blame my brother, he's not responsible for me. I partially blame myself, because if I hadn't had to have surgery in the fifth grade, maybe we would have moved. But then again, maybe it would have been just as bad, or worse.
No matter what the real reason for my current mental state, the truth is that if I don't let go of the hatred I have for that place, I can't move forward. The place itself didn't shape me - the people there did, the experiences I had there did, but physically, the place itself - it's just land. I think it was so easy for so long to just lump all my blame on that, but now I need to start facing the fact that I've been gone for almost ten years and things haven't really gotten a whole lot better. I'm still lost, and I need to take a step back and find the real issue, so that I can free my mind, and be the strong, stable person I know I should be.
"Beyond the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea
And the East and West, the wander-thirst that will not let me be" - Gerald Gould
When we lived in Austin, I went through...7 jobs? I think. We were there for five years, the last three of which I held one steady job, so you do the math. Of those, only one got the requisite letter of resignation. At most, I just walked out one day and never went back. At one, I took an early lunch because I had an anxiety attack and didn't go back until two weeks later when I had to pick up my check. Not exactly noble, but then again this isn't a story about how reliable I am. (Which, ironically, was my best trait according to the people I worked for the last three years we were there.)
Sometimes I wonder if humans have a threshold for experiences...like the people that die in the midst of having some crazy adventure, if they just hit the maximum number of adventures, and that's why they died.
When I was younger I used to write constantly. I carried a notebook with me everywhere, and just wrote. Thoughts, feelings, perceptions of my surroundings, opinions of people, stories I'd make up about strangers, anything and everything that came to mind. Sometimes I'd write notes to people in them, and then I'd give them the notebook and they'd write back. So much of my life is chronicled, captured in my own words, and I often miss doing that.
I lived in my own little world, with my words to keep me company. When I wasn't writing I was reading, and I was perfectly content to spend the majority of my time alone. The stories I could create were very real to me, and they were better than the reality of where I was.
My disdain for the region I grew up in is thick, overwhelming, and destructive. I realize that I wouldn't be the person I am today without having had the exact past that I did. I know that the experiences I had shaped every fiber of my being. I made friends there, I loved there, and yet when I think of it, the only feeling I can muster is a burning hatred that grows the longer I think about it. I dream of the places I lived, the house I grew up in and the church/school I spent 6 days a week at when I was little, and in my dreams the depths of these places is vast, and I'm searching, exploring, yearning to find the thing that will allow me to make peace with my past.
The building I went to elementary school in, where my mom worked six days a week, and where I spent countless hours being terrified that someone was going to sneak in through the alley door and murder us all is gone now, but the secrets it holds will live forever.
I'm more scared of living than dying. Seems weird, considering that all of my anxieties fixate on murderers but the real fear lies in something horrible happening to the people I love, and me being left alone - abandonment.
I believe that the same way we can have a soulmate, someone who compliments us in the most perfect way, we can also have that connection with a place - somewhere that you feel in perfect harmony with your surroundings.
While my notebook keeping tactics are clear evidence that I've always been an introvert, they also served as a support system for the onset of my depression, as well as a clever way of hiding it for so many years.
When I was 11, my brother moved away. He'd lived with us for six years, ever since he'd come back from living in Spain. He was a constant in my life, always home on weeknights hogging the TV, buying me music, movies, toys, anything I asked for really, the best brother anyone could have asked for. One day, when I walked in the house crying because my dad has refused to stop the car after I saw an abandoned kitten on the side of the road, he asked why I was upset. When I told him, he immediately took me back to the spot where we rescued the kitten and brought her home. I named her Socks, and even though she was taken less than two years later, I'll never forget the no-questions-asked willingness of my brother to just fix whatever he could in my life.
When he left, I was happy for him. He'd escaped the Valley, for a better job in Austin, and he really seemed to like it there.
Then, a year later, less than a week after finding out that her sister had died, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Because there was no one else to stay with me, and I was not the kind of kid willing to stay home alone, I spent a lot of time at the hospital, and later at the cancer treatment center where my mom took chemo. My dad's way of coping was denial - my mom didn't have cancer, it was just the doctors trying to scam money out of us. Since my mom was the one that was sick, and my brother was gone, I had no real support system. I focused my energy on school, and that helped for a while.
But then, because my mom hadn't been working, my parents couldn't afford to send me back to my private school the next year. My mom asked me to try public school for two weeks, promising that if I hated it, they'd find a way to send me back to Faith. I did hate it, and I had no friends, but I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to be a financial burden, and I certainly didn't want to stress my mom out.
I think, losing an aunt, even one I never knew, followed by being terrified of losing my mom, and not having anyone to discuss it with probably should have been dealt with, but it wasn't. I didn't bother to tell anyone that something might be wrong, because I didn't really know it was, and my parents were, understandably, focused on getting my mom healthy.
That's when it started, though. Even though no one was really mean to me (except the blind girl who attacked me in the bathroom with her cane), I just didn't fit in. The kids were tougher, calloused, and uncaring. I kept to myself even more than usual, and when I did make a friend, she was just as depressed as I was, and taught me to deal with stress in the most harmful way imaginable. But no one asked questions, and I took that to mean no one cared. If no one cared, then why stop? I started to sink into a hole of depression and self-hatred so deep that I am still working to dig myself out of it.
Sometimes I can't believe I hid it all so well - I was so self-destructive, so angry at the world, and deeply depressed, but in all that time only one person ever confronted me. Ironically it was my mom who convinced him that I was ok, and while part of me was grateful to not have to answer the questions anymore, part of me also wondered why she couldn't see it.
All of that, though, kept bottled for so long, has left me an emotionally damaged, unable to hold down a job, and slightly dysfunctional adult. And I blame the place. I can't blame my parents, they're my parents, they did the best they could given the circumstances, and I love them. I can't blame my brother, he's not responsible for me. I partially blame myself, because if I hadn't had to have surgery in the fifth grade, maybe we would have moved. But then again, maybe it would have been just as bad, or worse.
No matter what the real reason for my current mental state, the truth is that if I don't let go of the hatred I have for that place, I can't move forward. The place itself didn't shape me - the people there did, the experiences I had there did, but physically, the place itself - it's just land. I think it was so easy for so long to just lump all my blame on that, but now I need to start facing the fact that I've been gone for almost ten years and things haven't really gotten a whole lot better. I'm still lost, and I need to take a step back and find the real issue, so that I can free my mind, and be the strong, stable person I know I should be.
"Beyond the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea
And the East and West, the wander-thirst that will not let me be" - Gerald Gould
04 January, 2013
Free
One the major downsides to having a mental illness (besides, you know, having a mental illness) is the way it affects every other aspect of your life.
For example, one's physical health. I've struggled with my weight for the better part of 10 years now, and I know that there is a vicious cycle I tend to get trapped in. If I eat healthy, and work out regularly, it not only makes me feel better and gives me more energy, it also makes me feel better about myself, and in turn, I am happier in general. But when I get depressed one of the side effects is that I want to sleep all the time, and am completely unmotivated to do anything. That includes standing in front of the stove for 10 minutes to cook a healthy meal. And once I start eating crap, it makes me feel sick, bloated, and disgusted with myself for having done so...which sparks yet another bout of depression.
Like I said, a vicious, vicious cycle.
It also contributes to how clean or dirty the house is at any given time. Laundry is never a problem; I love doing laundry, and never let more than three loads pile up at once. Occasionally I'll even rewash stuff just so I can have a full load when I have a craving to do some laundry. (Yes I get cravings to do laundry. Yes I also realize this makes me one very strange individual.) Other things, though, tend to get left by the wayside when I'm depressed, mainly dishes that have to be washed by hand and cleaning random spills in the kitchen. It's gross, but when I can't really muster the strength to care about anything else, the kitchen really gets the brunt of it. And, again, the thought of how nasty it looks/is can be so overwhelming that it sends me over the edge again.
I'm pretty stable right now, as (hopefully) evidenced by my ability to articulate both a rational and coherent blog post. Unfortunately, it will not last forever. I wish it would, I really do, but I have no illusions about my disease; it is not one that can be cured, and it is certainly not to prone to just...disappearing.
For the time being I will do what I can; I will treat myself well, feed my body what it needs, and hope that it prolongs this time of mental peace. I'll avoid my triggers as much as I can, take things in stride, and not overwhelm myself whenever I can help it. I'll do what I love, what makes me truly happy, and not worry about what anyone else thinks or says. I feel so free right now, and I want to keep this.
For example, one's physical health. I've struggled with my weight for the better part of 10 years now, and I know that there is a vicious cycle I tend to get trapped in. If I eat healthy, and work out regularly, it not only makes me feel better and gives me more energy, it also makes me feel better about myself, and in turn, I am happier in general. But when I get depressed one of the side effects is that I want to sleep all the time, and am completely unmotivated to do anything. That includes standing in front of the stove for 10 minutes to cook a healthy meal. And once I start eating crap, it makes me feel sick, bloated, and disgusted with myself for having done so...which sparks yet another bout of depression.
Like I said, a vicious, vicious cycle.
It also contributes to how clean or dirty the house is at any given time. Laundry is never a problem; I love doing laundry, and never let more than three loads pile up at once. Occasionally I'll even rewash stuff just so I can have a full load when I have a craving to do some laundry. (Yes I get cravings to do laundry. Yes I also realize this makes me one very strange individual.) Other things, though, tend to get left by the wayside when I'm depressed, mainly dishes that have to be washed by hand and cleaning random spills in the kitchen. It's gross, but when I can't really muster the strength to care about anything else, the kitchen really gets the brunt of it. And, again, the thought of how nasty it looks/is can be so overwhelming that it sends me over the edge again.
I'm pretty stable right now, as (hopefully) evidenced by my ability to articulate both a rational and coherent blog post. Unfortunately, it will not last forever. I wish it would, I really do, but I have no illusions about my disease; it is not one that can be cured, and it is certainly not to prone to just...disappearing.
For the time being I will do what I can; I will treat myself well, feed my body what it needs, and hope that it prolongs this time of mental peace. I'll avoid my triggers as much as I can, take things in stride, and not overwhelm myself whenever I can help it. I'll do what I love, what makes me truly happy, and not worry about what anyone else thinks or says. I feel so free right now, and I want to keep this.
19 December, 2012
plagued.
Sometimes the world is just too much, and I just want to not exist for a bit.
My head gets clouded with thoughts, and they're messy, disconnected, and overlapping, and I can't make sense of anything. I can't focus. People's voices mix with the words in my head, and I get overwhelmed. Silence is a distant memory, and the more I try to clear my head, the more thoughts clog it up.
I start to feel like I'm falling down a deep dark hole, but I can't ask for help. My heart burns and aches but my brain turns on me and tells me that I'm not worth one minute of anyone's time, and that I shouldn't bother people. I want to call someone, anyone, and just talk, tell them how I feel but my mind won't let me.
It says that I have no one, and that people won't understand. They'll think I'm crazy, or over-reacting, or just trying to get attention. It feeds on my low self-esteem, reminding me that I'm invisible, a nobody, a faceless statistic amongst a sea of people drowning in mental illness. I start to believe it.
I doubt my self-worth. I wonder what kind of impact, if any, I've ever had on anyone's life. I speculate how long it would take before people didn't even remember my name. How long before my animals stopped wondering if I was coming home.
I feel so alone, so trapped in this illness that lies, and breaks me down, and makes me hate myself. I want to tell someone, and I want reassurance, to know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but so often I don't get it. Instead I hear "just stop being sad" or "stop crying, your life is good." I know my life is good, that's not the issue. And I can't just stop being sad. This pain is real, these demons are real; I've got the scars to prove it.
I'm tired of feeling stigmatized because I can't always control my emotions. I'm tired of having anxiety attacks. I'm tired of living with this disease, and I'm tired of feeling tired all the time. I just want to...rest.
My head gets clouded with thoughts, and they're messy, disconnected, and overlapping, and I can't make sense of anything. I can't focus. People's voices mix with the words in my head, and I get overwhelmed. Silence is a distant memory, and the more I try to clear my head, the more thoughts clog it up.
I start to feel like I'm falling down a deep dark hole, but I can't ask for help. My heart burns and aches but my brain turns on me and tells me that I'm not worth one minute of anyone's time, and that I shouldn't bother people. I want to call someone, anyone, and just talk, tell them how I feel but my mind won't let me.
It says that I have no one, and that people won't understand. They'll think I'm crazy, or over-reacting, or just trying to get attention. It feeds on my low self-esteem, reminding me that I'm invisible, a nobody, a faceless statistic amongst a sea of people drowning in mental illness. I start to believe it.
I doubt my self-worth. I wonder what kind of impact, if any, I've ever had on anyone's life. I speculate how long it would take before people didn't even remember my name. How long before my animals stopped wondering if I was coming home.
I feel so alone, so trapped in this illness that lies, and breaks me down, and makes me hate myself. I want to tell someone, and I want reassurance, to know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but so often I don't get it. Instead I hear "just stop being sad" or "stop crying, your life is good." I know my life is good, that's not the issue. And I can't just stop being sad. This pain is real, these demons are real; I've got the scars to prove it.
I'm tired of feeling stigmatized because I can't always control my emotions. I'm tired of having anxiety attacks. I'm tired of living with this disease, and I'm tired of feeling tired all the time. I just want to...rest.
17 November, 2012
Midnight Confessions
There is a pile of rose petals under the kitchen table that have been there for approximately a month. I have yet to vacuum them up because there is a piece of tissue paper directly in front of them that I can't risk vacuuming. Clearly I could just pick up the tissue paper, and the problem would be half solved, but...I just haven't.
On top of my kitchen table (which, by the way, is actually a folding table...but a fairly nice one) is our humidor, the bag that holds all the pet treats, and Orion's travel backpack. Under the table are two coolers and three empty cardboard boxes.
It's been close to two months since the trash can lid has actually been on the trash can.
The living room fan ispretty extremely dusty.
We finally, a year and a month (to the day) after moving here, went and got our Arkansas drivers licenses. We did not get the car registered, though, because my dad is the co-signer and the title says 'AND' instead of 'OR' which means he has to sign stuff. Luckily he'll be here in three weeks. I feel slightly less bad about it not being done now.
We typically eat meals off our TV trays, even if we're not watching TV...because of the table situation. Also, because we're low on chairs.
Sometimes I like living like this. We have a lot of open space because we don't have much furniture, and since it's just us two we don't really ever miss it. I'm not too sure about Josh, but I grew up with a brother who worked evenings, and a dad who worked nights, so my mom and I usually ate alone or everyone ate at a different time. No one ever made a big deal about eating together, or family meals or anything. It's not that we weren't close or didn't spend time together, it just didn't center around meals when we did. And now that Josh and I are on vastly different sleep schedules (his due to work, mine due to insomnia) it's even less reason to try and get the table back up to table standards.
Despite the fact that I got through part one of The Plan (for putting away my fabric) my craft room floor is still not visible. I really do need to get on it, though, since the in-laws will be here this week for Thanksgiving.
I hate that I get overwhelmed so easily. I hate it. I would love to hold down a full time job, and have a clean, organized house. I wish I could go shopping and browse through things normally, without panicking and losing my focus if too many people get near me. I would love to wake up and face every single day knowing that I was going to get stuff done, without having to worry that I might have an anxiety attack at any given point, and shut down for anywhere from a few hours to a few days.
No matter what I do to keep it clear, my counter constantly piles up with useless, non-counter related stuff. And it's typically my stuff, so I can't even blame anyone else.
I have, however, gotten better at making sure I go outside, play with the dog, and run around and get some fresh air every day. Even while I was sick I would at least go walk the perimeter of the yard and get the mail.
I really need to do something about my hair. It's terribly uneven, and bulky because the short part underneath is kind of puffy, and sometimes it sticks out through the longer strands. (Although it's not that obvious here, but you can at least see how uneven it is. Also, please excuse the post mini-anxiety attack face and smeared eyeliner.) I think I need to make Josh take pictures of the back and write a whole post on what I did to it.
I'm really bad about 'liking' and commenting on people's stuff on facebook. And then I feel bad when they like stuff I post because I'll remember that they posted something neat four days ago, but I forgot to 'like' it then, and if I go back and do it now it'll look like I'm only liking it to compensate for them liking my thing. Or whatever. I don't know if that even made sense. But if anyone from facebook is reading this, and thinking to themselves 'that Amanda, she's such a horrible person who expects everyone to like her stuff but she never likes my stuff' - I'm sorry. I just...it's just like everything else in my life. I have good intentions, but I get distracted, or, for whatever reason, just don't do things when I should.
That kind of does make me a horrible person, though, huh?
Some days I want to just delete my facebook and twitter profiles entirely, but I did that once and it did not end well. The repercussions are still being felt. On one hand I feel like it's stupid, so stupid that something that...trivial as a facebook page could really cause so much drama, but on the other hand maybe things would have just been simpler if I had just...not done it. It was hard enough adding people again once (I actually deleted my page and made a new one, rather than just reactivating the one I had) and I don't want to go through all that again.
I feel constantly as though nothing I do is ever good enough. The sensible part of me knows that that is my depression talking, but the sensible part of me is quieter and less aggressive than the non-sensible, self-punishing, depressed part of me. Unfortunate, because on those rare days when my head is clear and my heart is free, I really feel like I could do something spectacular.
Lately my depression has been affecting my eating...as in I'm never hungry. I know it's bad, but I haven't tried to do anything about it. When I get into these weird, transitional funk periods, the last thing I'm worried about is food. I'm just trying to keep it under control as best I can, not stress myself out, and hopefully get through having company without having an anxiety attack in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.
I am often conflicted, in many areas of my life. I have lots of ideas, and I want lots of things, but at the same time I want different things...does that make any sense? Take, for example, the living room situation. Some days I want a nice couch, and a matching ottoman, and more bookshelves, and a new, bigger DVD shelf. Other days I don't want anything but my ratty old wing-back chair back, just as ratty as the day I threw it away. Some days I want a mansion, a castle preferably, rooms for days, and other days I want a simple house with just a fireplace and enough room for us and a few guests. It even goes for my style; sometimes I want to dress up really nice, wear designer clothes, and make-up, and go out in style, and other times I just want to throw on some 90s grunge.
We have way too many magazine subscriptions. Josh gets Details, Sports Illustrated, Time, and Cigar Aficionado. I get Lucky, Vogue, Whole Living, Better Homes & Gardens, and Guideposts. Plus we get two monthly local magazines. They really add up before you know it, and I rarely have time to read them all before the next one (three) are in the mail. I have a huge magazine archive in my craft room. I...I can't even look at it some days. There are SO. MANY. They partially contribute to the counter-clutter situation.
I really don't miss Austin. I never felt quite...right there. I mean it was a lot of fun, we had some crazy adventures and met a lot of people. I definitely miss the people; my brother, our friends, even the people I worked for. (I was a nanny.) But not Austin itself. I feel much more at home here in Hot Springs. It's just a better fit for my personality.
Well, I don't really know why I felt like confessing all of this to the internet, but it's done, and it's nearing 5 o'clock which means that the murderers are headed home for the night, and I'm tired so I'm going to wake up my dog and make him potty (he's not going to be happy; he's currently barking/running in his sleep, huddled under his comfy blanket) and then head to bed myself.
On top of my kitchen table (which, by the way, is actually a folding table...but a fairly nice one) is our humidor, the bag that holds all the pet treats, and Orion's travel backpack. Under the table are two coolers and three empty cardboard boxes.
It's been close to two months since the trash can lid has actually been on the trash can.
The living room fan is
We finally, a year and a month (to the day) after moving here, went and got our Arkansas drivers licenses. We did not get the car registered, though, because my dad is the co-signer and the title says 'AND' instead of 'OR' which means he has to sign stuff. Luckily he'll be here in three weeks. I feel slightly less bad about it not being done now.
We typically eat meals off our TV trays, even if we're not watching TV...because of the table situation. Also, because we're low on chairs.
Sometimes I like living like this. We have a lot of open space because we don't have much furniture, and since it's just us two we don't really ever miss it. I'm not too sure about Josh, but I grew up with a brother who worked evenings, and a dad who worked nights, so my mom and I usually ate alone or everyone ate at a different time. No one ever made a big deal about eating together, or family meals or anything. It's not that we weren't close or didn't spend time together, it just didn't center around meals when we did. And now that Josh and I are on vastly different sleep schedules (his due to work, mine due to insomnia) it's even less reason to try and get the table back up to table standards.
Despite the fact that I got through part one of The Plan (for putting away my fabric) my craft room floor is still not visible. I really do need to get on it, though, since the in-laws will be here this week for Thanksgiving.
I hate that I get overwhelmed so easily. I hate it. I would love to hold down a full time job, and have a clean, organized house. I wish I could go shopping and browse through things normally, without panicking and losing my focus if too many people get near me. I would love to wake up and face every single day knowing that I was going to get stuff done, without having to worry that I might have an anxiety attack at any given point, and shut down for anywhere from a few hours to a few days.
No matter what I do to keep it clear, my counter constantly piles up with useless, non-counter related stuff. And it's typically my stuff, so I can't even blame anyone else.
I have, however, gotten better at making sure I go outside, play with the dog, and run around and get some fresh air every day. Even while I was sick I would at least go walk the perimeter of the yard and get the mail.
I really need to do something about my hair. It's terribly uneven, and bulky because the short part underneath is kind of puffy, and sometimes it sticks out through the longer strands. (Although it's not that obvious here, but you can at least see how uneven it is. Also, please excuse the post mini-anxiety attack face and smeared eyeliner.) I think I need to make Josh take pictures of the back and write a whole post on what I did to it.
I'm really bad about 'liking' and commenting on people's stuff on facebook. And then I feel bad when they like stuff I post because I'll remember that they posted something neat four days ago, but I forgot to 'like' it then, and if I go back and do it now it'll look like I'm only liking it to compensate for them liking my thing. Or whatever. I don't know if that even made sense. But if anyone from facebook is reading this, and thinking to themselves 'that Amanda, she's such a horrible person who expects everyone to like her stuff but she never likes my stuff' - I'm sorry. I just...it's just like everything else in my life. I have good intentions, but I get distracted, or, for whatever reason, just don't do things when I should.
That kind of does make me a horrible person, though, huh?
Some days I want to just delete my facebook and twitter profiles entirely, but I did that once and it did not end well. The repercussions are still being felt. On one hand I feel like it's stupid, so stupid that something that...trivial as a facebook page could really cause so much drama, but on the other hand maybe things would have just been simpler if I had just...not done it. It was hard enough adding people again once (I actually deleted my page and made a new one, rather than just reactivating the one I had) and I don't want to go through all that again.
I feel constantly as though nothing I do is ever good enough. The sensible part of me knows that that is my depression talking, but the sensible part of me is quieter and less aggressive than the non-sensible, self-punishing, depressed part of me. Unfortunate, because on those rare days when my head is clear and my heart is free, I really feel like I could do something spectacular.
Lately my depression has been affecting my eating...as in I'm never hungry. I know it's bad, but I haven't tried to do anything about it. When I get into these weird, transitional funk periods, the last thing I'm worried about is food. I'm just trying to keep it under control as best I can, not stress myself out, and hopefully get through having company without having an anxiety attack in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.
I am often conflicted, in many areas of my life. I have lots of ideas, and I want lots of things, but at the same time I want different things...does that make any sense? Take, for example, the living room situation. Some days I want a nice couch, and a matching ottoman, and more bookshelves, and a new, bigger DVD shelf. Other days I don't want anything but my ratty old wing-back chair back, just as ratty as the day I threw it away. Some days I want a mansion, a castle preferably, rooms for days, and other days I want a simple house with just a fireplace and enough room for us and a few guests. It even goes for my style; sometimes I want to dress up really nice, wear designer clothes, and make-up, and go out in style, and other times I just want to throw on some 90s grunge.
We have way too many magazine subscriptions. Josh gets Details, Sports Illustrated, Time, and Cigar Aficionado. I get Lucky, Vogue, Whole Living, Better Homes & Gardens, and Guideposts. Plus we get two monthly local magazines. They really add up before you know it, and I rarely have time to read them all before the next one (three) are in the mail. I have a huge magazine archive in my craft room. I...I can't even look at it some days. There are SO. MANY. They partially contribute to the counter-clutter situation.
I really don't miss Austin. I never felt quite...right there. I mean it was a lot of fun, we had some crazy adventures and met a lot of people. I definitely miss the people; my brother, our friends, even the people I worked for. (I was a nanny.) But not Austin itself. I feel much more at home here in Hot Springs. It's just a better fit for my personality.
Well, I don't really know why I felt like confessing all of this to the internet, but it's done, and it's nearing 5 o'clock which means that the murderers are headed home for the night, and I'm tired so I'm going to wake up my dog and make him potty (he's not going to be happy; he's currently barking/running in his sleep, huddled under his comfy blanket) and then head to bed myself.
07 November, 2012
Random thoughts pt 2
Sometimes I feel like I'm really bad at being an adult. I can't hold down a job without my anxiety flaring up. Occasionally I forget to do important things like get my oil changed. I've also been known to forget less important things like washing the dishes, making doctors/dentist appointments, or getting the mail. Some days I live on cereal and Doritos, and I stay in my nightshirt all day, and I don't even set foot outside. Which is frustrating to me because part of the reason I moved here (and away from Austin) is so that we could have a house, with a yard, and a dog. I feel like my life is wasting away and I'm not living it. But I don't know what to do differently. I've tried making lists, things to the effect of: -wash dishes, -go outside, -eat three meals; include fruits and veggies, -workout, -pick up 5 things that are out of place...is that normal? I don't think other adults do stuff like that. I think they just remember. Somewhere along the way they got the 'How to be a Proper Adult' manual and I must have thought the person handing them out was a murderer and run the other way.
I'm fairly certain I have contacted some crazy 'Monsters Inside Me' type disease, based on the fact that I have two itchy/red patches on my legs. They haven't healed for like 3 weeks, but they aren't spreading. When I die, plant a tree in my honor. If you release balloons I will haunt you and throw trash at you.
I love my animals to death, I really do, but the fact that Josh and I are both here with them 24/7 has made them very clingy. I can't walk down the hall without having two extra shadows right there with me. If I go to the bathroom, I have two extra sets of eyes watching me. (Remember how I can't close the door?) When I shower, Belle sits on the bath mat until I'm done. When I sleep, she curls up behind my knees. If I'm watching TV, she's on the window and Orion is under my feet. If I'm cooking, he's sitting in his bed chewing on a bone and watching me. Right now, Belle is napping in her chair next to me, and Orion is curled up in front of the computer desk.
I really and truly can't believe that it's November already. A month until my birthday. I just...I don't understand how time is going by so quickly!
I want to build a wardrobe full of comfy, luxury basics. Cashmere shirts and sweaters, silk nightgowns and pajamas, anything lined with rabbit or fox fur...I've realized that those are the things I wear the most, so why not invest in quality pieces that will last and make me feel comfortable and pampered?
I feel a Sick coming on. I hate being sick. HATE. IT. It makes me even less productive than usual, and I get horrible migraines and then I end up crying in bed and begging God to kill me now. (Seriously.) So I'm going to go and drink like 8458 cups of echinacea tea and try to stave this off as long as I can.
I'm fairly certain I have contacted some crazy 'Monsters Inside Me' type disease, based on the fact that I have two itchy/red patches on my legs. They haven't healed for like 3 weeks, but they aren't spreading. When I die, plant a tree in my honor. If you release balloons I will haunt you and throw trash at you.
I love my animals to death, I really do, but the fact that Josh and I are both here with them 24/7 has made them very clingy. I can't walk down the hall without having two extra shadows right there with me. If I go to the bathroom, I have two extra sets of eyes watching me. (Remember how I can't close the door?) When I shower, Belle sits on the bath mat until I'm done. When I sleep, she curls up behind my knees. If I'm watching TV, she's on the window and Orion is under my feet. If I'm cooking, he's sitting in his bed chewing on a bone and watching me. Right now, Belle is napping in her chair next to me, and Orion is curled up in front of the computer desk.
I really and truly can't believe that it's November already. A month until my birthday. I just...I don't understand how time is going by so quickly!
I want to build a wardrobe full of comfy, luxury basics. Cashmere shirts and sweaters, silk nightgowns and pajamas, anything lined with rabbit or fox fur...I've realized that those are the things I wear the most, so why not invest in quality pieces that will last and make me feel comfortable and pampered?
I feel a Sick coming on. I hate being sick. HATE. IT. It makes me even less productive than usual, and I get horrible migraines and then I end up crying in bed and begging God to kill me now. (Seriously.) So I'm going to go and drink like 8458 cups of echinacea tea and try to stave this off as long as I can.
02 November, 2012
Oops!
Well, I'm sure you noticed, but I didn't really make anything on the 31st. I was sort of busy with other stuff, other Super Important Stuff that took priority. See, I have this puppy...and the 31st was his first birthday!
Isn't that just the saddest and cutest birthday face you've ever seen?! Anyway, we spent the day pampering and spoiling Orion. We took him to Petco where, as usual, he got treats from the workers, he got to pick out a new toy, and he got his own 'birthday cake' (a pack of organic peanut butter doggie treats made to look like cupcakes).
He also got to go to Razorback Pizza with us (yes, we ate out, more on that in a sec) where he got his own super meaty mini-pizza. (Josh told him that next year, when he's two, he'll get a medium, and the year after that he'll get a large. Personally I think he could have devoured a large or two already...)
He had a great day, lots of people came up and told him happy birthday and loved on him, and even though he may not have known it was his birthday, he enjoyed the attention. :) He's such a sweet baby.
And as far as eating out goes, I went ahead with it for two reasons: One it really was our intent to thoroughly spoil Orion for his birthday, and that included taking him to one of the places in town that lets him sit on the patio and eat with us, and two I was really proud of myself for making it through the entire month of October without having an anxiety attack. October is usually the month that my SAD kicks in, and while I did have a few days where I was more down than usual, I still got up (almost) every day, and made myself be functional. I didn't let it get to me, I didn't dwell on Octobers past that have contributed to it being such a hard month, and I did not have an anxiety attack, not one. Go me!
Isn't that just the saddest and cutest birthday face you've ever seen?! Anyway, we spent the day pampering and spoiling Orion. We took him to Petco where, as usual, he got treats from the workers, he got to pick out a new toy, and he got his own 'birthday cake' (a pack of organic peanut butter doggie treats made to look like cupcakes).
He also got to go to Razorback Pizza with us (yes, we ate out, more on that in a sec) where he got his own super meaty mini-pizza. (Josh told him that next year, when he's two, he'll get a medium, and the year after that he'll get a large. Personally I think he could have devoured a large or two already...)
He had a great day, lots of people came up and told him happy birthday and loved on him, and even though he may not have known it was his birthday, he enjoyed the attention. :) He's such a sweet baby.
And as far as eating out goes, I went ahead with it for two reasons: One it really was our intent to thoroughly spoil Orion for his birthday, and that included taking him to one of the places in town that lets him sit on the patio and eat with us, and two I was really proud of myself for making it through the entire month of October without having an anxiety attack. October is usually the month that my SAD kicks in, and while I did have a few days where I was more down than usual, I still got up (almost) every day, and made myself be functional. I didn't let it get to me, I didn't dwell on Octobers past that have contributed to it being such a hard month, and I did not have an anxiety attack, not one. Go me!
11 June, 2012
Anguish
Some days I feel like such a captive in my own head. I can hear my sanity screaming at me, but for some reason it's locked behind the depression, behind the anxiety, and sadness prevails. And then, I'm even more depressed because I know that I can be happy, I know what it feels like, I had it such a short time ago and now it's slipped out of my grasp. I know it will come again, because this is the cycle that I live with, but at the same time my disease keeps on telling me that it won't. It tricks me, it lies, and it insists that this is my new reality. A life of melancholy days, and panic-filled, thought-racing nights. A life of being stuck inside because I can't bear to leave my house.
I'm sorry if this is depressing, but it helps to express my thoughts sometimes.
Other times, it's just a waste of effort.
It muddles my brain. The depression does. Or the anxiety, I don't know. I'm more easily confused, and I have these vivid memories of things that have never happened to me.
My heart aches, and my soul begins to feel like it's stretched too thin, like I've had more life than I can handle.
Which I haven't, I assure you. I want nothing more than to continue my existence, I only wish that I could do so without the fear of this. I know that without medication I'm destined to feel the full effect of every 'swing' my brain throws at me. They don't happen often, I'd say twice a year. Usually the worst one is in October, which, ironically is my favorite month...they last anywhere from a day to a week, and once I'm through it my mood will level out and stay at 'slightly depressed.'
Isn't it sad, how easily I can talk about this? I didn't used to be able to. I used to try to pretend that there was nothing wrong with me. But that actually made it worse. The more I tried to suppress my fears and anxieties, the more I focused on them, because I was so worried about them showing. Does that make sense? Kind of like if you had a bald spot in the back of your head, and rather than just let it be, you tried to hide it with a hair piece or by making a bun around that spot, but neither was comfortable, so you kept touching it, which, in turn, only drew more attention to it.
I kept it bottled inside, until I couldn't take it anymore, and then I'd have a full-blown out-of-control level ten anxiety attack. I can remember a few that I had when I lived with my parents that were just...insane. But even then, they didn't see. I'd go in my room, and scream, cry, or take it out on myself in other ways. I didn't know what was wrong with me, I didn't understand why certain things hurt my feelings so bad, or why I wasn't normal. I kept it hidden for so many years.
Then, one day, I broke down. I couldn't take it anymore. I had a horrible anxiety attack while I was on my way out the door, and I couldn't stop it. I mean, it hit me hard. I scared my parents, I know I did. They'd never seen me like that. My mom cried with me, and said she wished I had told her sooner. Eventually I calmed down enough to talk, and that's the first time I ever realized that I didn't have to be embarrassed about being sad. Sure it's deeper than your typical sadness, it's without rhyme or reason, and it has a mind all it's own sometimes, but it's nothing to be ashamed of. I didn't choose this, and I didn't do anything wrong. I haven't hurt anyone but myself.
So that helped a lot, coming to that realization. Figuring out that the people that loved me weren't going to stop just because of that. Even though sometimes it feels like it. That's part of the sickness, is having to listen to its lies, having it tell you that nobody loves you and nobody cares. Sometimes I can fight back, and sometimes I fall into it's trap, and give in to the idea that I'm alone. What sustains me in those darkest hours is my cat, Belle. Seriously. Even when I'm lost in the deepest, darkest, most solitary corner of my mind she'll find me and lick my toes or something. It was always that way. I can say with 100% honesty that if it weren't for Queenie, and the comfort she gave me, and all the times she let me cry into her fur, I wouldn't be alive today. The love of an pet is so perfect and so pure that not even depression can suppress it.
But now I'm come to terms with my reality. I'll never be over this. I could go to a doctor, and they could write me a prescription, and ask me how things make me feel, and tell me things I already know, like I should confront my triggers, and face my fears, but you know what? I don't want to. Not right now anyway.
I'm finally at a place in my life where I have come to terms with everything. Everything that has happened to me, every choice I've made, every situation that has been forced upon me, and I'm okay. I survived. I'm not always happy, and I may not be the best company at a party, and I will never participate in Black Friday, but that's me. I've accepted myself, and that was a hard thing to do, so I know that in spite of the occasional anxiety attack, or mood swing, I am making progress. In my own way, in my own time...
I'm sorry if this is depressing, but it helps to express my thoughts sometimes.
Other times, it's just a waste of effort.
It muddles my brain. The depression does. Or the anxiety, I don't know. I'm more easily confused, and I have these vivid memories of things that have never happened to me.
My heart aches, and my soul begins to feel like it's stretched too thin, like I've had more life than I can handle.
Which I haven't, I assure you. I want nothing more than to continue my existence, I only wish that I could do so without the fear of this. I know that without medication I'm destined to feel the full effect of every 'swing' my brain throws at me. They don't happen often, I'd say twice a year. Usually the worst one is in October, which, ironically is my favorite month...they last anywhere from a day to a week, and once I'm through it my mood will level out and stay at 'slightly depressed.'
Isn't it sad, how easily I can talk about this? I didn't used to be able to. I used to try to pretend that there was nothing wrong with me. But that actually made it worse. The more I tried to suppress my fears and anxieties, the more I focused on them, because I was so worried about them showing. Does that make sense? Kind of like if you had a bald spot in the back of your head, and rather than just let it be, you tried to hide it with a hair piece or by making a bun around that spot, but neither was comfortable, so you kept touching it, which, in turn, only drew more attention to it.
I kept it bottled inside, until I couldn't take it anymore, and then I'd have a full-blown out-of-control level ten anxiety attack. I can remember a few that I had when I lived with my parents that were just...insane. But even then, they didn't see. I'd go in my room, and scream, cry, or take it out on myself in other ways. I didn't know what was wrong with me, I didn't understand why certain things hurt my feelings so bad, or why I wasn't normal. I kept it hidden for so many years.
Then, one day, I broke down. I couldn't take it anymore. I had a horrible anxiety attack while I was on my way out the door, and I couldn't stop it. I mean, it hit me hard. I scared my parents, I know I did. They'd never seen me like that. My mom cried with me, and said she wished I had told her sooner. Eventually I calmed down enough to talk, and that's the first time I ever realized that I didn't have to be embarrassed about being sad. Sure it's deeper than your typical sadness, it's without rhyme or reason, and it has a mind all it's own sometimes, but it's nothing to be ashamed of. I didn't choose this, and I didn't do anything wrong. I haven't hurt anyone but myself.
So that helped a lot, coming to that realization. Figuring out that the people that loved me weren't going to stop just because of that. Even though sometimes it feels like it. That's part of the sickness, is having to listen to its lies, having it tell you that nobody loves you and nobody cares. Sometimes I can fight back, and sometimes I fall into it's trap, and give in to the idea that I'm alone. What sustains me in those darkest hours is my cat, Belle. Seriously. Even when I'm lost in the deepest, darkest, most solitary corner of my mind she'll find me and lick my toes or something. It was always that way. I can say with 100% honesty that if it weren't for Queenie, and the comfort she gave me, and all the times she let me cry into her fur, I wouldn't be alive today. The love of an pet is so perfect and so pure that not even depression can suppress it.
But now I'm come to terms with my reality. I'll never be over this. I could go to a doctor, and they could write me a prescription, and ask me how things make me feel, and tell me things I already know, like I should confront my triggers, and face my fears, but you know what? I don't want to. Not right now anyway.
I'm finally at a place in my life where I have come to terms with everything. Everything that has happened to me, every choice I've made, every situation that has been forced upon me, and I'm okay. I survived. I'm not always happy, and I may not be the best company at a party, and I will never participate in Black Friday, but that's me. I've accepted myself, and that was a hard thing to do, so I know that in spite of the occasional anxiety attack, or mood swing, I am making progress. In my own way, in my own time...
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