Part of the last letter to my counselor

I feel like crap.  I don’t want to talk to people, don’t feel like writing, don’t even feel like eating.  Everyday is a struggle to get through, a struggle I don’t feel like battling.  I know there isn’t anyone who would care if I left this Earth, well except my husband who would miss my paycheck.  I know I can’t kill myself.  At least when I accepted that as an option, I had hope.  I know as weird as it might sound, I had hope that the pain would stop, and soon, if need be.  Now there is no hope.  I don’t believe that the feelings will ever stop.  Why should I?  I’ve been like this for so long.  I’ve spent so much time in my life battling just to get to the next day.  Half hoping I would, half sad that I did.

I’m tired of being told I’m a bad Christian because I’m so depressed.  Apparently I can’t be a good Christian if I’m depressed. But the same person in the same breath will tell me that depression is a disease, just like diabetes, and that I shouldn’t be ashamed of it.  I don’t understand the reasoning.  But in some ways, it’s easy to accept the fact that I’m a horrible person, and that I deserve the depression.  After all, it has to be someone’s fault, and I’m the easiest target to blame. 

just a ghost

I wake up every morning dragging my butt to work.  A couple of the folks here miss so often for being sick.  If I missed every time I didn’t feel well, I would never be here.  This morning it was joint pain.  And well, the ever-present depression.  Last week it was a five day continuous stretch of migraines… and, you guess it, depression. 

People always ask me why am I depressed, I have a great husband, a great job, a normal life.  You just got to do this, this, and this, and voila you will be happy again.  Each person has their own theory on what the miracle cure is.  Each time, their way is the only way, and if I’m not doing so and so right, oh well that is the cause for how I am feeling.  It must be that I didn’t love God enough, I didn’t have enough confidence … any number of things I didn’t apply /do right, and thus making me feel this way.  And yes, it IS my fault. 

Well, I guess I can agree with them on something.  It is my fault.  It’s my fault that I didn’t have the guts when I was younger to pull the trigger.  It’s my fault that I could never call those suicide hot lines when I was younger.  It’s my fault that I’m not stronger than this.  It’s my fault I never told anyone how I felt when I was younger. 

But in a way, I think I was smarter then.  After all, how many folks understand what I’m going through now?  How many people understand the struggle just to keep from crying on any given day?  Not only understand the struggle, but care about it?  It was better not telling anyone, because at least then I could kid myself into thinking well, if so and so knew, they’d care.  It’s harder when you take the chance and find out the ugly truth that no one does.

This is one of the weeks where I wish to God I had a counseling appointment every week instead of every other week.  But that’s ok.  I’m not sure even that would help.

You know what’s pitiful?  I have no clue what it’s like to be happy.  To not have to fight the tears with everything.  I don’t even know what it’s like to be able to be myself around people.  Trust no one I guess.

I’ve left my yahoo groups depression support groups.  I’m taking a sabbatical from Twitter and am a step away from canceling Facebook.  My so called other friends don’t keep up with me.  I’m a ghost haunting an empty room.  No one to care, invisible to everyone. 

i’m not alright…

What do you do when you decided that dying is the only way out of the pain?  How do you accept that you have to keep going?  That there’s a reason for going through this?  That after living with this for so long, that things WILL get better? I know by every one’s standards it’s my fault for feeling like this.  My fault that I’m depressed.  I’m not strong enough… I’m not a good enough Christian…  I’m not a lot of things I’m supposed to be.  And if I’d just be stronger, a better Christian, everything would be ok. 

I have to wake up every morning and go to work.  At work, most of the time I just feel like crying and sleeping.  But I have to force myself to do work.  I have to force myself to put on a smile.  After all, I can’t be so rude as to say that I don’t want to work, or am ungrateful for the job, because I’m not.  It’s just so hard to make it through the day when I have to be happy.  When I have to interact with people.  When I have to work so hard to hide the tears.

I’m in this alone.  The sooner I realize that the easier this will be.  But I still long for someone to hold me while I cry.  Someone to care whether or not I live or die.  Maybe that would just complicate things though.  Maybe it’s easier to be alone.

And I say I’m alone, but I guess I know I’m not.  So many people tell me that I’m not alone.  But I still feel that way.  It’s so easy for someone to tell some one else that their not alone.  So why should I believe them.  And how does someone feel not alone?  I see no reason why people would want to care about me.  I’m not cute.  I’m depressed.  I have nothing to bring to a relationship.  Nothing.

I quit all my online depression support groups last week.  I’m not joining back.  I’m tempted to quit counseling. 

I’m not going to kill myself… but that doesn’t mean that I want to live. 

Grad school & Depression

How did I get through grad school with depression…

Someone posed this question to me, and to tell you the truth I have no idea.  I’m fairly smart anyways, I guess.  I graduated top of my class in high school.  School, especially in high school and junior high, was always something I could do right.  It got me out of fights with the parents, and out of most socialization.  Basically, I could hide behind it.  By the time college rolled around, it was a habit, something expected out of me, and something that provided some sort of schedule, normalcy, to my life. 

As far as grad school in particular… it was SO rough.  I was living alone, which was a first for me.  I had a good counselor who allowed me to explore my past, another first for me.  Between the two, I didn’t really have any one to support me during the week between sessions.  I had convinced myself over and over that I was a horrible person, and still think that to this day.  There were days when I would wake up and fix breakfast.  By the time I had eaten, I had seen or heard something triggering and was back crying.  I would get so exhausted that I would fall asleep.  And the process would start all over again.  There were days I was only up for an hour or two, for 15-30 minutes at a time, because everything was so triggering.  I would write emails to my counselor when things got bad.  Just about all the time, I wouldn’t remember writing them, much less what I said. 

Classes, again at this stage, provided a normal schedule for me.  At this time of day on this day I have to be awake, dressed, and out the door.  I had to have prepared this lesson or be prepared for this test.  It gave me something to fill in the dark hours with.  Something I had to do.

Several times my counselor suggested hospitalization, but each time I refused.  Sometimes I wish I had been hospitalized.  Other times, I realize then everyone would have known. 

In a way, I wished I could have stayed there.  Alas, it was a small college town, with not many real jobs.  I couldn’t ever find a job there, neither could my husband.  For once I had friends who actually came over and visited.  Who included me in their plans.  For the most part I’d never had that.  I had friends that were friends only around test time, or project time. 

Hmmm… this was such a good post, I think I’ll have to do the same thing with undergrad and maybe even high school. 

Not a good night

Last night was horrible for me.  Went to bed at 10:15, woke up at 12:15.  Back to bed at 2 until 3:30 am.  Back to bed at 4:20, then had to wake up to go to work at 5:20.  I’m exhausted, at work, and nearly in tears.  This weekend we have to work to get the house ready for husband’s mom who is coming in next weekend.  I’m exhausted and want to be alone.  But at the same time, I’m afraid of being alone.  Alone, depressed, tired, never a good combination for me.  And I have to get through a whole day of work feeling like shit. 

I really need to start getting better at posting here.  Just not about depression.  Should do other things I care about.  Like pictures from fishing trips.  Or politics.  Or weird laws.  Something more than just down stuff ya know.

I’m also thinking of changing my domain name again.  Apparently it’s cheaper to change it then it is to renew.  So what do you think?  Since my twitter name is melankolyme… I’m thinking …  but I wanted it to be more about my life, not just about depression.  So there, now I’m torn; what should I call myself?