Depression

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Sister Act

Last night we went to see Sister Act the musical.

I was so excited to be seeing a show, I was literally bouncing.

It didn’t matter that I knew nothing about the show. I mean, I knew it was based on the movie, but I haven’t seen that in a billion years. I didn’t know the songs, and I hadn’t even really had much interest in it. But I was offered tickets in exchange for a few hours of babysitting. I figured, why not? It’d be fun.

And it was. I didn’t care that we were in the second balcony. I mean, yeah I wished I could see the actors faces at times. (Which is why I’m planning to get some binoculars or opera glasses or something before we go to Kinky Boots in October.) But it was… it was funny, and amazing, and everyone was so talented.

I just… I love Broadway so much. I love the passion. I love the vibe that you get, because the cast and crew, they love what they do. There’s just… something about live theater.

And, as always, there was the tiniest bit of sadness.  There is the part of me that will always be sad that I didn’t pursue singing. That I wasn’t encouraged and pushed to stick with it when the anxiety and stage fright paralyzed me. That my mom had allowed me to just give up and quit and run away every time I got insecure.

I wish more than anything I had stayed committed to choir or drama club. That I had been able to make friendships and be part of group, like I saw everyone else doing. Even when I was in choir, I still felt like the outsider. During the breaks, when everyone was socializing, I usually never had anyone to talk to. I watched everyone around me turn to their friends and gather in their little circles.

But the singing felt so good.

I just. I wish I could create something beautiful. I wish I could sing better, and play an instrument. I started and gave up on so many instruments. Piano. Guitar. Viola. Clarinet. Singing. I wish my mom had pushed me to keep practicing. Had tried to get me private lessons so I wouldn’t just give up.

I wish I had pursued art. I wish I could draw, and paint.

I wish my mom had made my go to my karate lessons. I loved karate. But I would whine about not wanting to go, because I was insecure, because I didn’t think I was good enough.

I just… I just wish I hadn’t been allowed to give up so easily.

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Trying…

I haven’t been okay, not really.

The past week has been so bad. I don’t think anyone but my therapist really knows just how bad it’s been.

The worst was last weekend, and Sunday night.

My best friend texted me about how her mom said she was disappointed and feels lied to and stuff, because I hadn’t followed through right away on the things I said I was going to do. This sent me spinning. Then on Sunday I had therapy, and… it was an extremely painful session. M was being really straight forward with me, and it was very hard… I started having a break down in session, and she had me walk around and focus on her to calm down… and stuff. She was trying to get me to understand that I’m at a point where I have to make a choice, I can stay here or I can go back to my parents. I can step up and be a better housemate, or I can be kicked out.

Then I get home and I just fall apart. It was an endless cycle of pulling my self  back together, only to have a breakdown all over again. To the point where all I could think was I’m tired of fighting and I just want it to stop. To the point where I nearly drank cleaning chemicals hoping to die, or I seriously thought about just taking every single pill I have so I’d overdose and die, to the point where I sat for an hour holding my blade against my wrist trying to will myself to press down and slice open my wrist, bleed out, and die.

M asked me why I didn’t do it, what stopped me. I don’t know. I just couldn’t. I mean, when I had the blade in my hand at one point my best friend’s cat (who usually shares my room with me cause she likes to cuddle and I’m the only one not surrounded by possessive chihuahuas) sat down in front of me and just stared at me. So I picked her up and pet her instead for a while.

It was just… Sunday night was bad. Really bad.

Monday I got up early and cleaned the kitchen and stuff, and I’ve been trying to help out around the house more…

Yesterday I had a job interview that I think went well and it sounded like I was probably hired but I haven’t gotten an actual confirmation…

So, I mean, the week got better as it went on…

But I still wouldn’t say I’m okay… I’m… moving forward… but I just feel really… fragile… right now…

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TW: suicide thoughts

So yesterday was an emotional terrifying mess.

First I wake up to that text about moving back home. Then my bff can’t really talk to me cause she’s at work and her boss is there, so I’m just left completely like wtf.

I frantically got dressed, grabbed my things and left. Because I couldn’t stay in the house. I was terrified out of my mind. And I started walking, telling myself I had no idea where I was going to go. Of course, I knew damn well I was walking straight towards the bridge. I’ve never… I’ve never come that close to acting on that. I’ve idly had suicidal thoughts  for ages, but… that… that grim, quiet determination I felt inside yesterday… I’ve never ever felt that.

I never made it to the bridge. I got four blocks and I literally had to stop walking. My body was not going to let me continue. I really thought I was going to throw up, and my legs were aching and hurting as if I’d just run a mile. My entire body was hurting. Physically. I felt like I was shaking on the inside, though I wasn’t actually shaking. It was just this… aching burning sensation all through out my body. And I had to sit down for a while. And then when I finally got up I walked to the bus instead, and headed to my therapists office. I had therapy anyway, but I got there a few hours early and just curled up on the couch.

When I got in to see my therapist, I showed her the text and finally just completely broke down. I was terrified and confused, and I even admitted to her that I almost went to the bridge, because I felt like I had no other options. The only thought in my head was that if I move back home, I’ll die. Because I don’t have a home to move back to… I have an alcoholic father, autistic brother, and a mentally ill abusive mother. Everything inside me would die.

My therapist got me to text bff and ask her for some idea what’s going on… so that I’d at least know what I’m walking into… and she finally text me back and told me everything…

And then I talked with my therapist about what to do. And I was still a mess. And she offered to let me stay cause her 3 o’clock cancelled, and we could work more on this, unless I wanted to just go home and get it over with. I thought I wanted to go home, but at soon as I got home I was like, nope, should’ve stayed in therapy. No one was even out of their room when I got home. So I went into mine and had another break down. I took 2 klonopin and curled up in bed texting my therapist, freaking out. Then at some point I guess the medicine completely knocked me out for an hour. (I haven’t needed my klonopin in forever… and maybe 2 was a bit too much.)

Then I eventually went out to talk to bff’s mom. And at first she seemed like she was just trying to take it all back and wave it off, kinda, but I still sat down and talked to her… and I apologized that I keep to myself so much… and that I’m more than willing to help out around the house- I just get scared to do anything because I don’t know what I’m “allowed” to do, I don’t know if I have “permission”. And I tried telling her how I used to get screamed at and punished when I did pitch in around the house by my mom… either because I did it wrong, or for no reason that makes any sense… So I’m just still absolutely terrified that everything I do will get me in trouble.

And yeah… eventually she said we were okay…

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So here’s what happened…

 

I went to work, everything was normal like always. At the end of my shift my boss says she needs to talk to me downstairs, and I’m like okay. Of course, inside I’m immediately panicked and full of dread and wondering what I did wrong.

Then she says something about letting me go, that it’s just not really a good fit. And she handed me some letter, some bullshit generic ‘you’re fired’ but we’re wording it nicely, like, some kind of copy+paste bullshit you could get off of a google search for termination letters.

I was completely fucking stunned and just blindsided. She was saying stuff about how I’ll still get paid for this week of course, and she can have my check by Tuesday, if I want, otherwise payroll ends on Friday and stuff. I don’t even know. I think I said I’d prefer to have it on Tuesday.

Then I left… and walked around in a daze crying. I texted my therapist, asking if I could see her before Sunday, and she said I can come in at 8 and asked how I was doing. So I told her. I was texting my best friend at the same time, and eventually told her… though it took me longer to work up the nerve to say it because I was so fucking ashamed… I went to my psychiatrist appointment, got my prescription. Got back on the bus, went to my therapists office. I got there early so I walked around a while… contemplated getting a drink in the sports bar up the street. I very much wanted a drink. But then bars are fucking expensive and I’m fucking unemployed again.

I finally saw my therapist and just curled up with her and cried for half the session I think. She knew what she calls my ‘itty bitty shitty committee’ was extremely loud in my head, putting me down and bullying me in my head. All I’ve been able to think all day is that I’m a failure and a fuck up and I can’t do anything.

 

 

 

 

TW: suicidal ideation

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Dear self: you are not a special snowflake

I should have realized my thoughts would start to spiral into this.

At one point, Sunday, in therapy, I brought up that I’d been tempted all week to text her, “I need to hear from you that we still have a lot of work yet to do.” Sunday’s session focused a lot on the progress I’ve made, and going back through her notes and my blog regarding where I was 6 months ago and where I am now. As the week went on, I had this needling thought in my head that this is going too fast. Because getting better eventually leads to therapy coming to an end.

And right now I just can’t fathom not NEEDING to see M twice a week. (Often times I wish I was seeing her 3x a week…) So I needed to be reassured that I’m not losing this relationship any time soon. So we talked about that, and how it doesn’t mean we’ll be out of each others lives. Just that eventually a few years down the road, she said as my life becomes fuller, I’ll only need to see her once a week… then maybe every other week… then maybe once a month… then every few months. And that she’ll always be here. And stuff.

So I was thinking about that stuff.

And then earlier I was trying to think of what I might write as a like testimonial thing, because maybe a month ago or so, she mentioned she’s working on updating her website and was asking a couple of her clients if they’d want to write testimonial things for her website, and that I was one of the ones she had in mind.

So I was thinking about what I might write, how I’d recommend her to someone else, because I totally would, she’s amazing.  Then this nasty little voice in the back of my head pops up, “What makes you any different than any of her other clients? What makes you think she cares about you any more than she does any of her other clients? Why should she? Do you really think you’re some sort of special snowflake, that you’re different than all the other crazies she works with?”

Just like that I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut and I can’t breathe.

On some level, I almost think I should have expected these thoughts to creep up. It feels like a fucking cliche for someone with attachment issues.

I try to talk myself out of it. I have 15 index cards with things she’s written for me, advice, coping skills, positive thoughts, and little notes. She filled a whole page in my art journal in response to a statement I wrote in it. I’m trying to tell myself not to listen but it’s so hard right now. I know she cares. I know she does.

But I can’t stop hearing those thoughts now… They keep going over and over…

Catch me, I’m falling… faster than anyone should…

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Kicking My Ass Into Gear

I went to therapy today prepared to vent and wallow in depression. While I got through last night without doing anything stupid, this morning I was even more miserable and the urge to do stupid things was even stronger. To the point where I was sitting waiting for my therapist before my session, and I was listening to Linkin Park’s Meteora album and writing the lyrics in my art journal and slashing the red colored pencil across the page.

When I got into the room I talked a little bit about what was going on, but my therapist was determined to redirect my focus. See, she knew that I have a job interview tomorrow morning. I e-mailed her on Friday when I saw the job listing and applied for it, and my e-mail bounced up and down between hope and despair. Because this job sounds like it’d be a good fit for me, and deep down I really want it. I can’t remember the last time I really truly WANTED a job I had applied for.

But because I was being all depressed, I wasn’t even thinking about the job interview, and I wasn’t excited over it. So my therapist was trying to get me to focus on the job and the interview and help me prepare for it. We went over the common types of interview questions and she helped me prepare answers for them and stuff.

I’m really glad she did this. For the first time I kind of feel prepared and semi-confident for an interview. If she hadn’t kicked me into gear, I would’ve just been depressed and unmotivated and unfocused and I would have royally screwed up the interview tomorrow. Who knows, I might have even not bothered getting out of bed and going. So yeah. She listened to me whine for like 15 minutes then got me refocused and even a bit motivated by the end of the session.

I’m anxious and nervous about tomorrow. I hope it goes okay.

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Am I Giving Up?

Therapy today was difficult. I still had a lingering migraine, and before my session I nearly had a panic attack because BFF’s mom called me but I missed the call, and when I called her back she didn’t answer. And of course my first thought it, “omg what did I do?” And I’ve been hovering around a 6ish on a scale of 10 when it comes to anxiety, so yeah this bit set me off into a total panic and a freaked out. (When I got home, I found out she’d only called cause Aunt P needed the stroller I have sitting around in my room and BFF’s mom was gonna have me run it out, but, I wasn’t home. So yeah. I panicked over nothing.)

Things went bad when I admitted that I didn’t follow up on the job lead I had. I was supposed to call this cousin’s boss to ask about an opening they have. But I freaked out and didn’t do it because I didn’t know what I was supposed to say or do. I didn’t even know it’s okay to ASK for a job so directly and shit. And I was upset and frustrated because I was like, “I CAN’T ask.” And M sighed and was like, “Then you’re not going to get a job…” And then she asked me if I WANTED a job, and she said she thought that I had but now she wasn’t sure.

And I couldn’t outright say it, but truth is deep down, no. I still don’t want a job. But I NEED one and I HAVE to get one.

M wrote down things on the white board and then asked me which ones feel true. It was stuff like ‘If I don’t try then I won’t fail’ ‘learned helplessness’ ‘self sabotage’ ‘identity made up of perceived deficits’ (or something like that) ‘fear of trying’ ‘not wanting to get better’

I circled the thing about identity and fear of trying. And then I wrote something on the board cause I couldn’t bring myself to say it. But I told her that she keeps saying I can do stuff and she believes in me, but that I can’t control it when I shut down and fall apart. M and I went back and forth writing on the board to each other. She wasn’t letting me sit there feeling sorry for myself. She says I’m choosing to let the anxieties and stuff beat me when I’m not in the therapy room, that it’s almost like a defense to prove that I can’t do things. I was upset… and actually bold enough to write back, “You make it sound like I’m faking it.” She replied that she’s seen me go from and 8/9 down to a 3 in five minutes in the therapy room, but for whatever reason at home I don’t use those skills. I just let myself shut down and fall apart. I curl up in bed and break apart.

“I care too much about you to participate in this learned helplessness.” She wrote down. For a long time I didn’t say/write anything else. Eventually all that was left in me was that I needed to ask, I need to be sure this meant she wasn’t giving up on me… because at some point I’d gotten scared that she was, because she seemed so frustrated with me. She then wrote back on the board some stuff, and that sadness was a better word than frustration and that it comes from it seeming like I’m the one who’s already given up, when she hasn’t.

((Y’all, this is why I suck at blogging and why I obviously still have some issues with ADD. I started writing this around 8pm on 5/30, and then I started clicking through some of my other browser tabs I had open and here I am 10am the next day finally remembering I was in the middle of writing a blog post. Whoops.))

I left the session feeling utterly drained and miserable. I have a lot on my mind and a lot to think about. When I get the chance I might write more to process some of the things swirling around in my head, but I don’t know if I will. I can’t tell you how many times I lay in bed writing blog posts in my head and then never actually write them. I might get out my art journal and try to get some things out that way too. I don’t know.