Tag Archives: depression

It’s Happening Again

Well, hello, blog. (*Dusts it off.*)

It’s been six and a half months since I’ve updated, and I didn’t even realize it. Sorry. I’m a shitty blogging friend. But I’m still and still and still folding into myself, isolating.

I don’t expect anyone to read this, but I feel the need to document it. I don’t think I’m having another big break, but there is something that happened during the big break that’s happening again. My sleeping trends are out of whack. Then, I would be nervous and reluctant and afraid to go to sleep at night. Also, I would often sleep during the day.

That’s what’s happening again. I don’t want to go to sleep at night, and then I’m out of it during the day. My mind in general is out of it, and I feel like I’m wading through a morass to access any thoughts. I can feel myself doing a shoddy job on my tasks, and what’s more, sometimes I can’t bring myself to care. The only reason I care is that I know I would regret losing my job, that if I suddenly disappear and stop completing tasks, things would only get worse. I’d lose any source of income.

I just want to live in my own make-believe world. I feel like I can’t function in this one.

My therapist and psychiatrist have been talking about suspected Asperger’s. I realized that, when it comes down to it, my problems don’t matter. Social anxiety, anxiety, and depression. Asperger’s, which would not technically be a problem but a “difference.” I live in this world, and in this world, no one’s going to cut my any slack for mental health issues or accommodate me for any potential Asperger’s. If I have Apserger’s, I don’t even want people to know because I think they would view me through the label of that lens rather than as a person with many facets.

Anyway, my problems don’t matter, and so I have to live up to “normal” standards if I’m going to get anywhere in this world. But I can’t. Oh, I’m pretty sure I can’t. I’m not strong enough.

I just keep feeling like everything’s going to come tumbling down.

And I feel so much hatred, mostly of myself. But then sometimes I also just hate every single person I run into.

For a few months, I’ve been meaning to write a post explaining my absence and explaining why any future posts may be sporadic. It’s mostly related to my isolationist tendencies, but there’s also the factor that I’ve been gone so long that I don’t know if I could catch up anymore. (And my embarrassing new-ish Supernatural fanfic hobby.) Maybe I’ll write that one later, but for now, I’m just writing this ramble because I need to get it out of my system.

13 Comments

Filed under Mental Health

The Me I Could Be/The Me I Could Never Be

Wow, I can’t believe I haven’t updated in so long. I really had no idea how much time had passed. Time keeps drifting through my fingers. I’m sorry that I’ve been a crappy blogging friend and haven’t been around.

I’m okay. I’ve remained cocooned in a bubble of self-isolation. My emotions seem to be a yo-yo, though.

The week before last, I visited my family. A week ago, I went back to work. For some reason, my anxiety was working overtime, and I kept thinking I was on the verge of a panic attack. I thought I could feel everyone hating me. Then I had this conversation that seemed to insinuate people there liked me. And for the rest of the week, I noticed other small signs that appeared to indicate that idea.

I went to therapy, and we talked about how I wasn’t content with the status quo in my part-time job situation. We were discussing this job I’m thinking of applying for. I doubt I would get it, but I was thinking of applying as practice. My therapist thought that would be good because I would put less pressure on myself with that goal.

Anyway, after the session, something clicked. I had this vision of the me I could be. Of what I used to be like before the big break, my competitive, success-driven self. My self that strives for competence and always achieves it. (Well, except for the pesky social anxiety, which was ten times worse in the past. I think even though I don’t take medication that strictly addresses social anxiety, it helps. Of course, I think all my problems are tied together and influence each other, but that’s a subject for another post.)

I felt this understanding that my perception of what people think of me is sharply different from reality. That if I feigned competence, people would believe it. (Because really, half the time I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.) That I could hold a higher position and do well at it.

But then something in me flipped. I knew that this vision of the me I could be was actually the me I could never be. Every time I imagined myself succeeding, I imagined myself failing spectacularly afterward. Making stupid and costly mistakes. Anytime a person wants to talk to me at work, my first thought is always I’m in trouble or didn’t do a good job. I feel like that result is inevitable. I also had urges to sabotage any success I may have. Like I can’t let myself succeed ever. Because I don’t deserve it. Because I’m always panicking, and I’m gonna choke.  I might as well prevent the future disappointment by sabotaging myself first.

Then I started thinking that if anyone who likes me really knew what I’m like inside, the terrible person I am, the messed-up person I am, they’d be revolted.

It’s just really no one’s ever liked me. For much of my life, I had no friends. I have only one now. The idea of people liking me doesn’t compute. I’m overly sensitive to it. My therapist and I once talked about my biggest trigger, rejection. Perceived rejection. I can see little things as rejection. In general, I’m just much too sensitive, like easily shattered glass.

After I realized that the me I could be was the me I could never be, all I wanted to do was cower in a corner. I can’t go through the big break again. I don’t think I could make it through another one. For the past three years, my life has revolved around laying low, my priority being to prevent any repeat of the big break. Three freakin’ years. I’m pathetic.

Even after all that time, my will is a crushed feather. I’m all uncertainty and indecision.

I’m too broken. Thus, the me I could never be.

9 Comments

Filed under General Musing

Immersive

I like to completely immerse myself in almost everything I do. It helps me connect with the material, get work done. If I’m in the zone, I’m in the zone.

But there’s something dangerous about my predilection for immersion–it threatens to take me away from reality. This is why video-gaming entertainment would never be for me. (That, and the fact that I was never good at video games, nor did I enjoy them all that much.)

But I immerse myself in other things–books. Movies. TV shows. Food.

Anything can become an addiction, so much so that I will live inside that world rather than reality. Not  that I’m unaware of reality or ignoring my real-world responsibilities. Far from it, but my mind is elsewhere. Perhaps it’s not an addiction per se, but it’s something akin to addiction at least.

Blogging used to be one of those immersion activities. That’s one reason I don’t blog as much as I used to. It might not have been noticeable to anyone reading, but blogging had started to consume my life. I suppose there were signs, such as the fact that I occasionally mentioned that my blogging life seemed more real than my “real life.”

Writing is different. My stories, they’re an immersion experience, but they’re much more than that. By “immersion experience,” I mean something that I submerge myself in. While that happens with my stories, there’s also more to them than that. With them, I also take parts of myself and submerge them in the stories.

But with reading, it can be a different story. Sure, I absorb knowledge about writing styles and analyze what I’m reading, but that involves me burying myself in the book’s contents.

TV shows are easier to immerse myself in than movies. There are dozens of episodes, and the result is a TV show’s own intricate universe. It’s easy to get lost in that universe.

We all need a little escapism now and then. That’s why forms of entertainment exist. But I’m afraid, for me, it might go too far. It’s not something anyone would ever notice. I don’t seem to indulge in entertainment any more than a normal person would. (Food, maybe.) But my brain, my mind . . . it halfway lives elsewhere.

Sometimes I wish I could let the fantasy, whatever it is I’m immersing myself in, take over. Then I’d have an excuse for the fact that I’m often drowning in the real world.

I fervently want to live in an alternate reality. I want another life, not my own. Not because my life sucks–it’s not that bad, and there are tons of worse lives out there. But I just–I don’t know.

There’s a hollowness, an emptiness, inside of me that never goes away. There’s a sense of intense guilt that fucking never goes away.

I don’t want it, any of it. The loneliness. The knowledge of how abject I am.

No matter what I do, it never fucking goes away.

That’s why I’m so pathetic that I am compelled to immerse my mind elsewhere.

There’s nothing I can do to express the intensity of it all. I can’t act against myself; I’m too cowardly. I can stuff my face, but at the moment it’s not working as an act of self-destruction, but as an immersion experience. It sounds beyond pathetic, the fact that I will immerse myself in the taste for one split second, for each bite, and let that be all there is for that second.

I need to do something to punish myself, but I can’t. I can do nothing but wallow and cower.

The more the darkness consumes me, the more I immerse myself in other things, other things that my mind buries itself in, other things that can do nothing to counteract the darkness, that can in fact increase the darkness even as they give me one ephemeral moment in which I am free.

9 Comments

Filed under Mental Health

Is It God?

First, I want to post this short clip from Supernatural, from an episode I watched last night. In it, Castiel has just told Sam and Dean that he’s going to try to find God. Dean makes a joke about hearing God was on a tortilla, and Castiel responds that God isn’t on any flatbread. This part makes me laugh so much. Misha Collins, who plays Castiel, has such a straight face, and for a second it’s clear that Castiel’s considering the possibility. The moment is just great.

A couple of thoughts about God did occur to me earlier today. I don’t wish to get into any theological or religious debates, but I want to document this train of thought.

Earlier today, I was thinking, I wish I could feel as if someone loved me unconditionally, that there was an everlasting force of warm love surrounding me. It seems as if that feeling could help me with some of my troubles. Maybe even fill the hollowness that I sometimes feel is engulfing me.

Then I remembered, that’s precisely what I thought when I was fourteen. (Have I really changed so little?) That’s when I went through my religious phase. I firmly believed in God, and for a couple of years, I believed that a feeling of fulfillment was coming. But it never came. That’s one reason I turned away from religion. That, and I’m not much of a fan of organized religion in the first place. I feel like it keeps people from thinking for themselves. Why should I believe something about the Bible just because an “authority figure” tells me that’s the right interpretation? Why can’t I interpret it myself? This is actually how Protestantism formed, the idea that the common person should be able to read the Bible for himself or herself, not have a third party as a medium (i.e., the Catholic church). Plus, some of the most hypocritical people I’ve met have been the most fervently religious. But I’ve known many wonderful religious people, too, and I admire them.

Then of course there’s my whole personal background, what with my parents being of different religions and so not raising us with much of either one. I can’t accept the idea that there is only one true path to God. There are many paths, and the path can be different for everyone. People might believe contradictory things, and that can still be right since God is ineffable.

Well, I mostly believe in God. I say “mostly” because I can’t prove God exists for sure, so I’m slightly agnostic. It’s a character trait of mine; I can’t commit to something unless I’m 100% sure. There are also some principles I believe in, and they go along with my beliefs about God, but I don’t want to go into that topic right now.

Anyway, I was driving, and I was wondering–if I give myself to God, accept the idea that God unconditionally loves me, accept it fully, 100%, would I feel that warm love? Would it help me?

But is that possible, or would I be deluding myself? Would I be thinking something is true merely because I want it to be true? I don’t want to commit myself to a lie. I can’t be 100% sure unless I have tangible proof, and if I can’t be 100% sure, my mind won’t fully commit to an idea. (This aspect of myself is what has frustrated most therapists I’ve seen, but I can’t change it. I’ve tried.)

This might not make any sense, and it’s probably a passing fancy, anyway. At least, this angle is not something I’ve thought about much before.

13 Comments

Filed under General Musing

Anyone Other Than Me

Sometimes I wish I could be anyone other than me. I shouldn’t. My life isn’t so bad. But I am, and my destiny is to be completely alone, always.

I’ve known it ever since high school. I’ve known that, once I got out into the “real world,” I wouldn’t be able to function like an average human being, that I’d never make connections, ever, that my life would be one of neverending failure and isolation.

It is, but it’s because I’ve done it to myself.

But I can’t do otherwise. I can’t be anything other than what I am.

I can’t form connections with others. If anyone engages me in a conversation, my instinct is to flee. How am I ever going to find friends if all I do is run away?

But I can’t do otherwise. I get too nervous. I choke up, have nothing interesting to say. I enter Awkward Annie mode.

Then I’m afraid of the person eventually finding out how pathetic I am, the fact that I really have no friends, that I’ve lived here for over two years now without forming any connections.

If they knew that, then they’d know there’s something deeply wrong with me.

And even if that weren’t a factor, it’s just . . . I can’t form close bonds. I’m incapable of doing so.

I crave them so much, but they’re something I can never have. It’s impossible for me, like it would be impossible for me to magically become six feet tall. It’s not something that’s inside me.

I’m destined for a life of loneliness. All my dreams of making human connections are silly, childish. The idea of finding a “true love.” That’s not only childish, but it’s also something that can never be for me.

I have more empathy than the average person. Lately, on occasion it’s as if emotions radiate off of others and I can feel them. Yet no one will ever know that I have even an ounce of empathy because I can’t express it. I can’t even express my own emotions.

It’s not possible to dig them out of my soul.

I instinctively know it. If I live until I’m, say, sixty, I’ll have lived a life in which I’m always alone. My need for a human connection will never be met. Writing, reading, films, TV shows, all stories, they just serve as a poor substitute for something I will never have.

I’ve been feeling odd all day. Maybe this sounds idiotic, but I feel as if I’m on some predetermined trajectory, like a storyline that is manipulating me, keeping me in motion. And in this storyline, it’s certain that I’m destined for a life of coldness, one in which I receive no (or very little) of affection’s warmth.

Most other people get at least a semblance of that at some point in their lives.

And thus, I wish I could be other than me.

13 Comments

Filed under Mental Health

I’m Back

Sort of.

The next three to four weeks will probably be hella busy. It’s the last few weeks of the semester, and I’ll have tons of assignments to grade. So that means keeping my indulgence in addictions to a minimum: blogging, Supernatural, probably reading, etc. I’m often not good at juggling tasks, and I want to try to get into creative writing again.

I have two short stories to finish and a novel to edit.

Actually, what I kind of want to do, since I’ve apparently become a fangirl addict, is write some Supernatural/Doctor Who crossover fanfiction. I imagine the boys going off to investigate a case, and then there’s the Doctor. Then Dean’s like, “Ghosts are one thing, but aliens?”

I’ve never written fanfiction in my life. Maybe I need help, ha. I confess I have read the occasional A Song of Ice and Fire fanfiction, but not for ages. Once, I went through a phase where I read Horatio Hornblower fanfiction.

Last night, I watched the Supernatural episode “Ghostfacers” and now I can’t get its song out of my head. It’s one of the most hilarious things ever:

(The link won’t embed or post as a straight-up link, so you’ll have to click to go to YouTube after pressing “play.”)

My favorite line: “Stay in the kitchen when the kitchen gets hot!”

Embarrassing admissions aside, I’d like to explain a little of how I reached this point.

If you’ve stopped by here over the past month, you’d know that I haven’t been doing well. I’m still not, really, but I think I’m better. I think I can face returning to blogland again. I can stop being negligent and read a few blogs. But I can’t be as present here as I’ve been in the past. As I mentioned, I’m often not good at time management. I have other things to do like work and creative writing. And of course trying to figure out how to heal. If that’s even possible. I’m such a mess and have been for a very, very long time.

How did I get better? I’m not sure. I can trace it to a couple of instances, but I’m not sure precisely how those instances helped.

First, there was this past Tuesday. My anxiety reached almost sky-high levels, and I was a quivering mess at work. I felt as if I could barely breathe, and my head was pounding. I seriously started to contemplate quitting my job and just lying around by myself, but I knew that wasn’t realistic, obviously. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone to work that day, but it’s hard for me to know what my limits are. Besides, I somehow made it through, and to me that makes it seem that my anxiety couldn’t have been as bad as I thought it was. I’m just being melodramatic.

These days, my therapist appointments are on Tuesday afternoons. Right after work, I went to therapy. So far, this therapist is pretty great. I find it much easier to talk to her than I did to talk to the other ones I’ve seen; I don’t know why. Every week, I’d brought up my anxiety, but my anxiety just kept building and building. She pointed that out when I mentioned my anxiety once again this week. I told her about how anxious I’d been all day, how shaky I’d felt. We talked about my coping strategies, and the only one I could think of was trying to steady my breathing. That’s what I do, but it’s really only a stalling tactic until I can be alone and have a panic attack. It doesn’t eliminate my anxiety, just help me delay my reaction to it.

After the appointment, though, I felt better for some reason. Maybe because I didn’t have to work to hide my anxiety, yet I hadn’t been hiding it in my past therapy appointments. I didn’t actually have a panic attack while with the therapist, so that didn’t dispel my anxiety. Don’t get me wrong; it’s still there, and it’s still strong, but it’s somehow grown more manageable. (Knock on wood.)

A few days later, the weather started getting sunnier. That made me feel better, too, though I don’t know why. I don’t like warm weather, and I don’t have seasonal affective disorder. In fact, I quite like gloomy weather. For some reason, I’ve always found it adventurous and sometimes even fun.

I’m going to see if I can snap out of my fast food binging, too. We’ll see. Maybe it’ll happen naturally; if I try to force it, the craving only grows stronger.

Well, I don’t know when I’ll get around to reading blogs more regularly. I know it will be this week, just not which day. I’m going to try to make myself write a little every day (or edit); it’s easiest for me to write if I can make myself do a little every day.

And now, I’m going to go outside and try to write. I think I’ve earned it.

4 Comments

Filed under Mental Health

Not Belonging

I just feel like I don’t belong in this world anymore. Or I never really belonged here, really. My heart burns, and it’s in shards. It has been for some time. Nothing helps. I like to think that it gets better, but I’m just lying to myself. Even if it does, it eventually gets worse. And that’s where it ultimately stays.

I’m not going to do anything to myself because my heart burns at the emotions I imagine in my family. But oh how I feel like I should.

There’s no point to anything. Anytime I work on a task, I start to feel panicky and think, “I can’t do this.” It paralyzes me. When there are people around, I feel suffocated. When I’m driving and there’s a car right behind me, I feel pressured and threatened. I live so I can get away from everyone at the end of the day and lollygag around.

I’ve tried to start writing fiction again, and I guess I wrote a decent amount. But when I think about my recent short story and my novel, it just seems so stupid. Dumb. There’s no point to it. At all. None of it is ever any good.

I want to go lie in bed and clutch my stuffed animal.

I’m all alone in this, and it’s my own fault. I can’t reveal myself to anyone. I can’t accept help from anyone. It’s shameful and a sign of weakness. Plus it makes me vulnerable, and I know it’ll eventually be held against me. Besides, people tend to make it worse, anyway.

I’m going to go try to get a tiny bit of work done because I have to uphold the facade. I don’t know if I can be strong enough anymore, though. But I have to be. There’s no other option unless I want to ruin what little I do have.

Sorry, I’m still going to have to keep to myself for now. Indefinitely.

19 Comments

Filed under Mental Health