Unfortunately, that's kinda all I have going for me. I never realized how hard it is to be optimistic. Mostly because I've never needed optimism this badly before. I've never been that big on emotions, never put much stock in the resilience in the wonder that is the human heart... But I will say this: after having my own heart tested to its limits and then some, I think I can begin to understand.
Optimistic people aren't always that way because they want to be- sometimes they have to think that way. They don't have a choice, because Hope is really all they've got going for them.
That's where I'm at right now, and it's not as awful as I thought it would be. Of course I can think of a thousand ways my life could improve, but I can also think of just as many things for the other side of the coin.
I'm also coming to realize why I began to write this blog in the first place. It wasn't really for attention, nor was it to join the mainstream. It was for my own benefit. These are the stories of my life, really, as I felt them in that moment. Whether anyone ever reads them or not is obsolete. I must have known, deep down, that I would one day need something to look back on. Something to remind me of other times than the one I live in now- remind me that though I had struggles, I did manage to overcome. And also to remind me what happiness is.
Lulu, if you ever do read these posts... Thank you.
Even though I know little about you, and what I used to know was false, you were still kinder to me than many who lived much closer. You were a comfort, and a wonderful friend. You reminded me that only by trying to understand another could one finally understand themselves. And also... Thank you for teaching me how to be happy, how to smile and laugh. I don't know where I'd be without you, honestly, so thank you.
Someday, I will be able to read these posts, in all their dismal, frantic glory, and smile to myself. They will be the proof that I made it.
Someday, I might even be able to help another like myself who writes words similar to my own.
I may finally understand why I felt the way I did- why I feel the way I do now...
Someday. But until then, I'll keep hoping. Things will get better, but not over night. And of course, It won't be easy... It will take time and hard work... And hope. Hope is always good, especially if it's all you've got. So I'll cling to my Hope and my Somedays, and become one of the fools that I once scorned. After all- the real fool is the one who can't believe in hope. That's when you've got nothing left. Because no Hope is false, and Someday, however far away it seems, will always come, if you take the initiative to walk towards it yourself.
That's a philosophy I can live with. Hope and Somedays.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Stupid.
Everything's stupid. Don't ask me why- it just is.
I'm running out of footholds. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. it's all just... too much.
I heard from my pen-pal again. Funny, how you sometimes think you know someone. Everything was a lie. I don't even know what gender any more. And yet, I'm not surprised. Hurt, yes. But not surprised. It just so happens that my best friend being a lie fits in perfectly with how my life is going at the moment. And besides, what can I do about it, anyway. I'm powerless in this situation... Just like everything else.
How stupid.
I had the joy of discovering what a panic attack feels like today. It was awful.
Damn my weakness. Damn my fragility.
I used to be a pretty strong person. Not any more. Now I feel more like glass. Cracked, chipping glass. It pisses me off. Every little thing just keeps piling up and up and up, and there's no relief in sight. And then that last little bit falls on top of everything else, and I break into a million pieces.
It's very glamorous, sitting in your bathroom, bawling your eyes out for a million reasons and you can't pick which one.
And then you look up at the vanity, and see the pill bottles just sitting there. You could end it right then, if you wanted to. And you do want to. But you know that if it fails, you will go back to the hospital, to that place where you're treated like the poisonous scum on the bottom of a shoe... They don't give a damn about you, but they're wary enough to not let you out of their sight for more than fifteen minutes.
And then you're torn. The pills are calling you- if you take enough of them at once, they will ease the pain forever. But your mind and heart are filled with fear of the what ifs, the consequences, the things left behind.
You start to hyperventilate, your eyes widen, and your heart rate skyrockets.
You curl your knees up to your chest, and hide your face against them, covering your ears with your trembling hands. Your sobs are running you ragged, but you can't regain control.
It isn't over yet.
You're trying to cry quietly, so that no one will worry over you, but your cries are coming out much louder than you would like. You can't control your body's convulsing as sobs mix with hysterical laughter. You can't stop. You're only dimly aware of what's happening. Your heart is beating too fast, causing you great pain and adding to your tears.
Your mind wanders as you lose the last bit of control over your body, which is still trembling and convulsing. Your throat is raw from the harsh sobs that are tearing through it, but you hardly notice. What caused all of this?
Mere minutes ago, you were fine.
You were laughing.
Everything was okay.
The door opens, and your mother walks in. She knows that she is what pushed you to this, and a mumbled apology escapes her.
You are lost; blame and forgiveness tumble out of your mouth in the same sentence. You know you're not making sense, and you dig your nails into your palms in an attempt to stop your body's shaking. Unable to think clearly, and overwhelmed by the new flood of emotions, you begin to hyperventilate a second time. Your mother says nothing, but stays by you, stroking your hair.
Slowly, you begin to regain control, You bring yourself to your knees, then to your feet, standing waveringly on shaking legs. You see the tears in your mother's eyes.
Look what you've done.
Quickly you begin to fix things as best you know how: Draw the blame into yourself.
And so the cycle begins anew.
I was there not two hours ago. I was frightened. I still am.
I don't know what to do.
I don't know how much more of this I can take.
I feel so... wobbly.
There are so many things in this house that could kill me, if I took the initiative.
I could be dead in the morning and no one would ever really know why.
That scares me.
I scare me.
It's been a year since I began treatment for my depression.
Am I ever going to get better?
I'm running out of footholds. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. it's all just... too much.
I heard from my pen-pal again. Funny, how you sometimes think you know someone. Everything was a lie. I don't even know what gender any more. And yet, I'm not surprised. Hurt, yes. But not surprised. It just so happens that my best friend being a lie fits in perfectly with how my life is going at the moment. And besides, what can I do about it, anyway. I'm powerless in this situation... Just like everything else.
How stupid.
I had the joy of discovering what a panic attack feels like today. It was awful.
Damn my weakness. Damn my fragility.
I used to be a pretty strong person. Not any more. Now I feel more like glass. Cracked, chipping glass. It pisses me off. Every little thing just keeps piling up and up and up, and there's no relief in sight. And then that last little bit falls on top of everything else, and I break into a million pieces.
It's very glamorous, sitting in your bathroom, bawling your eyes out for a million reasons and you can't pick which one.
And then you look up at the vanity, and see the pill bottles just sitting there. You could end it right then, if you wanted to. And you do want to. But you know that if it fails, you will go back to the hospital, to that place where you're treated like the poisonous scum on the bottom of a shoe... They don't give a damn about you, but they're wary enough to not let you out of their sight for more than fifteen minutes.
And then you're torn. The pills are calling you- if you take enough of them at once, they will ease the pain forever. But your mind and heart are filled with fear of the what ifs, the consequences, the things left behind.
You start to hyperventilate, your eyes widen, and your heart rate skyrockets.
You curl your knees up to your chest, and hide your face against them, covering your ears with your trembling hands. Your sobs are running you ragged, but you can't regain control.
It isn't over yet.
You're trying to cry quietly, so that no one will worry over you, but your cries are coming out much louder than you would like. You can't control your body's convulsing as sobs mix with hysterical laughter. You can't stop. You're only dimly aware of what's happening. Your heart is beating too fast, causing you great pain and adding to your tears.
Your mind wanders as you lose the last bit of control over your body, which is still trembling and convulsing. Your throat is raw from the harsh sobs that are tearing through it, but you hardly notice. What caused all of this?
Mere minutes ago, you were fine.
You were laughing.
Everything was okay.
The door opens, and your mother walks in. She knows that she is what pushed you to this, and a mumbled apology escapes her.
You are lost; blame and forgiveness tumble out of your mouth in the same sentence. You know you're not making sense, and you dig your nails into your palms in an attempt to stop your body's shaking. Unable to think clearly, and overwhelmed by the new flood of emotions, you begin to hyperventilate a second time. Your mother says nothing, but stays by you, stroking your hair.
Slowly, you begin to regain control, You bring yourself to your knees, then to your feet, standing waveringly on shaking legs. You see the tears in your mother's eyes.
Look what you've done.
Quickly you begin to fix things as best you know how: Draw the blame into yourself.
And so the cycle begins anew.
I was there not two hours ago. I was frightened. I still am.
I don't know what to do.
I don't know how much more of this I can take.
I feel so... wobbly.
There are so many things in this house that could kill me, if I took the initiative.
I could be dead in the morning and no one would ever really know why.
That scares me.
I scare me.
It's been a year since I began treatment for my depression.
Am I ever going to get better?
Friday, July 23, 2010
Hit The Wall
It's been a long time since my last post. I was just reading the last few on the page. To think, August and September my only problem was a jerk-wad boyfriend. And in December, I was happy.
That's a strange word for me now. Happy. It's all gone now. Everything. And been replaced with things like stress, pain, pressure... Good stuff. Since December- the time of my last post for those chronologically challenged- a lot has happened. It's been like a roller coaster ride... No, let me rephrase that- I actually like roller coasters. ... Lemme think a minute.
It's like trying to sit down and catch a little nap in the sun, and all of a sudden it starts raining... Pouring actually. And no matter where you go, it follows you. Oh look, now it's hailing too! Next thing you know, you find yourself stuck at the edge of the cliff, the storm's getting closer. You can either jump, or face the torrential rains that threaten to drown you. You can die one of two ways, and neither will be pleasant. You stay still at the edge of that cliff, trying to reason with yourself: Maybe it will pass, or diminish. Maybe it will get better. It HAS to get better- it just has to.
So you hold out hope on the edge of that little cliff, getting drenched and cold and miserable.
That's where I am right now. Waiting for that final blast of lightning to strike me down.
That's what I got for my happiness. Hell.
I hate it. I can't bear it. I'm simply not strong enough. Everyone around expects me to be this grand pillar of support, but they don't seem to notice the battering ram called life that keeps hitting me full on. And I can't allow myself to crumble, 'cause if the pillar goes, the house will follow. I'm the one tasked with keeping things together, and that includes myself. I can't cry. I can't show much I'm hurting, how close I am to breaking into tiny pieces.
So I smile.
And I joke.
And I laugh.
And I never let on to anyone how I actually feel.
I can't.
But... How long will I be able to handle this, I wonder.
My father has suffered two strokes this year- he's currently in a skilled nursing facility.
Having him gone from the house was extremely beneficial. Things were starting to look up. The tension in the house was dissipating.
And now we're paying for it.
My mother is now stuck with medical bills that we shouldn't have to pay. She's trying to convince Blue Cross or Medicare or SOMEBODY to grant my father more time to recover. They won't listen. I don't think they're actually real people. They don't care... It's sad.
So she turned to Medicade. But we're not eligible for it because we only have Medicare part A. We need part B.
My mother applied for part B.
We were denied.
Why?
Because we enrolled after the enrollment period.
Now what?
Good question.
I can't answer it.
My mother can't answer it.
I hate these damn government programs. They're like Swiss Cheese. Too many loopholes and not enough solid answers.
Now we're under a lot of financial strain. The government will probably take our disability benefits, as well as a good chunk of the pension that we've been surviving on for the past few years. I wonder how much they'll see fit to leave us.
Did you know that a psychiatrist visit doesn't count as mental health, because it wasn't in an institution, and therefor is not covered be Medicare?
This is exactly what I mean.
Bullshit.
Scum-covered Bullshit.
And then there's the matter of my mother. She's on a collision course with the emotional breakdown of the century.
Her only vent?
Me.
Fair?
Hardly.
But it doesn't matter. Taking it in silence is all I can do to help, so I'll keep bearing it, no matter how much I feel like I'm breaking.
Meanwhile, there's my own emotions to deal with.
Sometimes I think life would be easier- cleaner- without emotions.
Let's list the points of instability- for benefit, if nothing else.
My releases are writing and coloring. It used to be talking to my best friend... But he's gone now. Another thing that's been tearing at me. Worry. For him, for my mother, for my mental stability..
Other releases- meditation and music.
I'm entirely lost. Being dragged around and not really caring where to.
I think this is the sort of thing that leads to self destruction.
What a pity.
I used to be so strong and resilient.
Now look at me.
I'm a beaten up, broken down shadow of myself.
And what's worse is that I don't care.
Caring hurts too much.
I wonder if I have high blood pressure...
That's a strange word for me now. Happy. It's all gone now. Everything. And been replaced with things like stress, pain, pressure... Good stuff. Since December- the time of my last post for those chronologically challenged- a lot has happened. It's been like a roller coaster ride... No, let me rephrase that- I actually like roller coasters. ... Lemme think a minute.
It's like trying to sit down and catch a little nap in the sun, and all of a sudden it starts raining... Pouring actually. And no matter where you go, it follows you. Oh look, now it's hailing too! Next thing you know, you find yourself stuck at the edge of the cliff, the storm's getting closer. You can either jump, or face the torrential rains that threaten to drown you. You can die one of two ways, and neither will be pleasant. You stay still at the edge of that cliff, trying to reason with yourself: Maybe it will pass, or diminish. Maybe it will get better. It HAS to get better- it just has to.
So you hold out hope on the edge of that little cliff, getting drenched and cold and miserable.
That's where I am right now. Waiting for that final blast of lightning to strike me down.
That's what I got for my happiness. Hell.
I hate it. I can't bear it. I'm simply not strong enough. Everyone around expects me to be this grand pillar of support, but they don't seem to notice the battering ram called life that keeps hitting me full on. And I can't allow myself to crumble, 'cause if the pillar goes, the house will follow. I'm the one tasked with keeping things together, and that includes myself. I can't cry. I can't show much I'm hurting, how close I am to breaking into tiny pieces.
So I smile.
And I joke.
And I laugh.
And I never let on to anyone how I actually feel.
I can't.
But... How long will I be able to handle this, I wonder.
My father has suffered two strokes this year- he's currently in a skilled nursing facility.
Having him gone from the house was extremely beneficial. Things were starting to look up. The tension in the house was dissipating.
And now we're paying for it.
My mother is now stuck with medical bills that we shouldn't have to pay. She's trying to convince Blue Cross or Medicare or SOMEBODY to grant my father more time to recover. They won't listen. I don't think they're actually real people. They don't care... It's sad.
So she turned to Medicade. But we're not eligible for it because we only have Medicare part A. We need part B.
My mother applied for part B.
We were denied.
Why?
Because we enrolled after the enrollment period.
Now what?
Good question.
I can't answer it.
My mother can't answer it.
I hate these damn government programs. They're like Swiss Cheese. Too many loopholes and not enough solid answers.
Now we're under a lot of financial strain. The government will probably take our disability benefits, as well as a good chunk of the pension that we've been surviving on for the past few years. I wonder how much they'll see fit to leave us.
Did you know that a psychiatrist visit doesn't count as mental health, because it wasn't in an institution, and therefor is not covered be Medicare?
This is exactly what I mean.
Bullshit.
Scum-covered Bullshit.
And then there's the matter of my mother. She's on a collision course with the emotional breakdown of the century.
Her only vent?
Me.
Fair?
Hardly.
But it doesn't matter. Taking it in silence is all I can do to help, so I'll keep bearing it, no matter how much I feel like I'm breaking.
Meanwhile, there's my own emotions to deal with.
Sometimes I think life would be easier- cleaner- without emotions.
Let's list the points of instability- for benefit, if nothing else.
- Antidepressants: 3
- Hospital stays: 3
- Major Surgeries: 1
- Pain Medicines: 2
- Depression level: elevated
- Suicidal thoughts: 23 counted. Probably more than that.
- Suicide attempts: 4
- Day of taking mother's emotional beating: 47
- Near breakdowns: At least 20
- Actual breakdowns: 7
- Releases for the stress: 3
My releases are writing and coloring. It used to be talking to my best friend... But he's gone now. Another thing that's been tearing at me. Worry. For him, for my mother, for my mental stability..
Other releases- meditation and music.
I'm entirely lost. Being dragged around and not really caring where to.
I think this is the sort of thing that leads to self destruction.
What a pity.
I used to be so strong and resilient.
Now look at me.
I'm a beaten up, broken down shadow of myself.
And what's worse is that I don't care.
Caring hurts too much.
I wonder if I have high blood pressure...
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