Looking back at my depression at its worst
I’ve been reading through my past entries on here. I think my birthday didn’t feel like it was really my birthday (thus not feeling “official” or anything like that). To be honest, I feel very _______ at/with myself that I have gone through all of this. I know it isn’t my fault, but even telling me isn’t going to make it any better. “It gets better” is what practically everyone says – even people who have never gone through it. Even the people who have gone through it who tell me “it will get better” doesn’t really have any kind of affect on me. I know they’re just trying to help, but it doesn’t. I don’t think I’m much better than I was then; I’ve just gotten better at hiding it now. …And I’m more numb – more oblivious to such things I was feeling. I try to ignore them and pretend they’re not actually here, or there.
Mimi made me feel like my decision to quit my job was a terrible one – like doing so prevented me from being irresponsible. I was being responsible, and she would just stand there and pick at my flaws. It has almost been exactly two months since I quit my job, and I am still jobless. And because of it, I feel hopeless and pointless and worthless. I mean, I haven’t even tried to find a job. But if I did try now, and I received a job, I cannot honestly say that I would be able to handle it fully. I’m still not stable enough. I wasn’t even stable when I had one.
I couldn’t quit crying. My laptop sat on my bed in front of me, my knees were simply cradled against my chest with my arms wrapped around them and tears rolled down my cheeks as I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I feel like I’m this horrible person – like everyone is thinking these horrible things about me – and I can’t get better. I’m so tired of feeling this way. I hurt so much, and I just wish there was some shot I could take and be done with feeling this way forever. – so liza’s broken.
I didn’t think I would actually be able to read over these entries. I took a lot of them down from Seek Liza because I was getting certain kinds of attention I didn’t want – the kind that just made the situation so much worse. The fact that my memory is so shot half of the time doesn’t help anything get any better at all. I’ve been making myself write at least 100 words everyday. Typing-wise. This way I can’t make a hand-cramping excuse. I mean, I suffer from carpel tunnel and all, but 100 words isn’t going to kill me. On rare occasions, I received comments from people who said things I actually felt like I could relate to in some way. It didn’t happen often, and at the time I didn’t realize how reassuring such things could make me feel later on.
It took a sea, two planes and a long train ride, a complete change in my life/environment, before life got lighter. I’m more pleased by myself than I have ever been before. – Tina
Some good things did go on, I suppose. Again, on rare occasions. They didn’t happen often. When they did, they only made me feel better for a little while. I’ve been depressed for a long time, but I think that during that time, the fact that the people around me who knew about it kept on saying things that just didn’t help. Yes, I am sure they were trying their best, but the fact that they wouldn’t listen when I told them it just made me much worse and more hopeless – and they continued on with saying such things – leads me to believe that they felt like I truly was being rude and horrible and mean all of the time on purpose. I was snappy because no one was listening to me. I was snappy because they wouldn’t leave me be. There comes a time when you can have too much help – it’s when that “help” becomes suffocating. But you’re apparently not allowed to tell someone they’re making you feel much worse by saying certain things; you’re just supposed to ignore it.
But I didn’t want to ignore it anymore. I wanted them to quit. And they wouldn’t. And I’m supposed to keep quiet about things that go on with them unless I tell a counselor or therapist or whomever the hell it is and such people are in the room with. No. To be honest, blogging has helped me a lot more than that psychologist has. The first one was great, unfortunately. He was all the way in Mineola, though. Everyone surrounding me seems to think I need “closure” for something. According to two of the psychologists, everything that is happening to me now has merely been bottled up for a really long time. It isn’t my fault. I’m not “broken” like I feel I am. I’ve been hurt and lied to and betrayed. I used to have a dream or a wish or whatever to help people who have gone through similar things to what I have gone through. I don’t have that anymore. I don’t feel like I have that power – that ability – to get my point across the way I’d like. I just have my blog and myself. I want to help myself love my life. I don’t want to help others anymore as much as I used to. I want to be selfish and figure out what I am supposed to do for a while. I want to find my place on this planet, because I still feel like I am just an organism living on Earth and taking up space. People – anyone – can always say otherwise, but that won’t change the way that I feel about myself.
The most I am going to have for others for now is all that you see on hopefades.org. There’s a different phrase every hour – but just one phrase, and only every hour. I figured that would decrease the increase of bandwidth required to refresh for a new phrase like the PHP Slots game does.
Anyway, back to the topic. I can read back on my entries and remember everything a bit too vividly, much to my dissatisfaction.
- Danielle really brightened my mood, even if just a little bit.
- The storm, and my official decision to quit my job at Walmart.
- A shopping trip, even though it didn’t keep me happy for long.
- I told Mimi about how I quit my job, or at least turned in the two-week notice, and she had taken it quite well. Unfortunately, before I even had my last day of work to get over and done with, she was already asking me about where I’m going to go next. …Because I was supposed to know, right then and there, and even though I had saved up some money with my paychecks, it didn’t matter that I was going to be staying home and trying to figure out who I was again.
- I think it was the fact that no one was really having a legitimate conversation with me; conversations always pretty much revolved around work or school or both. Because of the pressure being intensified (the pressure to get better, the pressure to be “normal”, the pressure to have a job, the pressure to stop acting “abnormal”, the pressure to be in school, the pressure to be a certain way…), I relapsed.
I am finally almost there. By “there” I mean DONE with WORK. Thursday would be my last working day, but since I have it off, my last day is technically Wednesday. I’m tired of having to prepare myself mentally to be able to deal with everything work does to me. It takes a lot of effort and lying to myself to convince me that I am “good” and “okay” and that “I can do this”. I quickly realized the customers dislike it strongly when you take deep breaths, especially before you begin checking them out. Today, I took a deep breath before checking a customer out, and they asked me if I was mad at them. Obviously I was not; I just needed to take said deep breath in order to have at least some hope that I would/could somehow make it through the rest of my shift. I told said customer that I was just taking a deep breath to relax, and she said that I needed to lose my attitude and that taking a deep breath before serving a customer is “rude”. Well, you know what? Forget you. It’s either I take a deep breath or I take out my anxiety/temper on you. Which would you prefer? – an entry from Seek Liza I do not wish to link to directly
Anyway, this was mostly just for me. I’m really trying – struggling – to be happy. I wanted to come here, but I also didn’t.
I can’t do the things I used to be able to do.
- I can’t eat alone, which means I can’t eat a lot. Eating in front of people is weird, and I’m done with eating my feelings; I just want to eat and eat and eat simply because I feel like I’m starving myself. But I feel like eating would just be horrible. It’s hard to explain, but I just keep going back to being told that “most people in this world would die to get seconds, you know” (something lard said quite often to me as a child) so I pretty much lose my appetite.
- I can’t buy my favorite frozen rolls and eat the entire package on my own, mostly because I’m pretty sure people here would find it weird. Also, it’s like my comfort food.
- I can’t just order pizza and have it delivered whenever I feel like it – and order a lot at once and have leftovers and eat on it as often as I want.
- I will often wake up in the middle of the night starving. But it’s not like I can just get up right then and there and go get some of my snacky foods. None of my snacky foods are here, unfortunately.
[spoiler /Open/ /Close/]I am quite relieved that I don’t have to zombie mode off to work and zombie mode home, though. I’m also not spending my entire paychecks on gas and food. That’s all I spent it on, really. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t happy. Maybe that’s why I don’t have a regular eating habit/thing. I had to base my life around my paychecks; I had to base my hunger around my paychecks, thus causing me to be like this.
On another note, I wonder if it is at all possible to go on a full hiatus from Avon for a while since I really can’t afford it right now, and I’m technically just losing money.