08-27-2009

I sometimes wonder if anyone would care if I died.  Hell, if anyone would notice that I wasn’t here.  I don’t think so. 

I go to a doctor’s appointment on Monday.  First time seeing this new doctor.  Looking at the health history questionnaire.  Lots of questions about mental health on there, and I’m scared to answer them.  I know I will answer them truthfully, but that doesn’t make it any easier.  I’ve gotten to the point where just marking yes or no to a question is super hard.  Forget about trying to come up with complete thoughts when asked to describe in more detail the feelings.  In a way, I don’t see the point in being truthful, as I don’t want any more medications.  I’m tired of battling a demon that won’t go away.  I just want to learn how to live a little less painfully.  I don’t have high expectations.  Just want to want to get through the day alive.  Right now I don’t even want to do that. 

Wednesday is the appointment with my counselor.  I’m scared about that too.  I need to open up to him.  I trust him, so why is it so hard to open up?  Why does it feel like someone is holding me down when it comes to talking?  Why can’t I do something so simple that other people have mastered a long time ago? 

I’m tired of every day using all my energy just to come up with reasons to keep going on alive.  I want some peace.  I’m not sure if I care how I get that anymore.

Counseling appointment last Wednesday

As usual, I chickened out.  I had things I needed to tell my counselor, but couldn’t.  I trust him a lot, and I wanted to tell him.  I wanted to tell him how bad I’ve been doing.  How horribly alone I feel.  How afraid I am.  How I feel like dying a lot of the time.  All I could do is sit there in pain, half there, half not.  Half wanting to cry, half not able to.  What do I fear… I have not a friggin clue.  But I know it’s hard to keep control when like that. 

The last time I can remember feeling this badly, I was in grad school.  I’m not as bad as I was then, but darned close.  Which isn’t saying much, because I very nearly didn’t make it through that time. 

There are questions that people ask me, that stick with me.  One such question is “What needs to be done for you to be happy?”  I absolutely hate that question, and nothing good could come of me telling the answer.  The answer is death.  Right now that’s the only thing that I can see stopping this.  I’ve done everything I can to make things better.  I’ve tried the whole counseling bit.  I’ve done the meds. 

I don’t want to be hospitalized.  Then everyone would know about the depression.  Most people don’t know about the depression, and I want to keep it that way.  Every one would know how crazy I am, how weak I am.  At least if I died, then I wouldn’t have to face anyone afterwards.  People would get over my death rather easily.  It’s not like my life is important to anyone. 

I’m not saying I’m going to go out and kill myself.  But at the same time, I’m not saying I have any hope left that things will get better. 

Anti-depressants

Well, it’s that time of year again.  Time for my yearly physical crap.  I love this time of year.  (Can you detect the sarcasm in my writing there?)

The big question this year will be whether or not I talk to my doctor about the depression, try to get put on anti-depressants.  Every year about this time, when I have to see the doctor for that one time during the year, I ask about anti-depressants.  This year, though, this year, I don’t know if I have the courage, or wanting to try out another medicine.  I’m tired of trying them.  I’m tired of them not working.  I’ve tried so many anti-depressants  before, and none have worked.  I’ve tried the whole psychiatrist thing, they never helped me.  They always seemed to be more in a hurry to get me out of the office, than to actually listen to what I have to say.  It’s always the same:  oh you’re depressed.  Let’s try this medicine.  Six to eight weeks later, when it starts sinking in that it doesn’t work, that’s when things start getting worse.  It always makes me feel like a failure to try the anti-depressant and it not do a danged thing for me.  It’s like this medicine has worked for all these other people, and not for me.  Apparently I’m doing something wrong then.  Not to mention there have been so many different tries.  You would think by now if I was going to get better, I would have.  But I don’t get better with the medicines.

So, I wonder, is it worth another try?  I keep hearing that there are others out there, that even after they have tried numerous meds, finally come up with something that works.  But the real question is do I want to get better?  Do I want to put the work in to fighting this, or just give in.  My vote would be giving in.  I’ve fought this for so long, and I haven’t really gotten better yet.  What makes me think something is just going to magically change that?  There is no peace for me.  That’s the only truth I’ve come to know. 

An evening walk

image864219500.jpgWent out for a walk with the hubby and dog today. Got down to the Harpeth River and let him have some fun fishing. That would be my husband doing the fishing, not my dog. It’s always so interesting to go down there. There’s so much wildlife, even if you don’t include the ticks. The dog was exhausted by the time we got back.

We ran into a neighbor who lives down the street. It’s always nice to talk to someone, even if just for a while. I still feel so disconnected from all the folks here. I don’t have kids nor do I have much time. I don’t like group things though I like just hanging out with a couple of folks who care, or at least pretend to care. It’s always hard just to connect with people. To open up to some degree. I’ve always had this problem. Heck ask any of my counselors. They’ll even tell you I don’t talk.
 

Back to an old ritual…

I woke up today, so therefore I’m sad. I find myself getting back in to this old ritual. I thought I was doing ok enough to at least get to 8 am before wanting to burst out in tears. Apparently not.  It’s an old, intensely scary feeling, but one that I’m used to, at least.  So used to it, that as strange as this may sound, it’s almost comforting.  Crying myself asleep praying to die, waking up crying, because I’m alive.  All silently of course.  I’ve done this many times before, and from the looks of it, will likely do it many times again.   

I have a counseling appointment tomorrow. I’m going to try to get through it without just sitting there and crying. Honestly, that’s all I feel like doing.  I feel like someone holding me while I cry, but at the same time, I know that feeling will be too intense for me.  Sometimes just a touch from someone can send shivers up my spine, and make me want to retreat in my shell. 

I went on an X-Men kick this weekend, watching all four movies (one we saw in a theater).  Let me apologize to those folks who haven’t seen it before…  In the last X-Men movie, it started off with Xavier and Charles meeting Jean for the first time.  They basically told her that she wasn’t alone in the mutation, and that there were others like her.  Her response “I doubt that”, as she showed off her powers.

In a way, I feel just as alone as Jean felt at that moment.  People tell me, trying to relate to me, that they understand depression, that they’ve been there, they know just how to help me, they know how I feel.  I  have a new response … “I doubt that”. 

I doubt that people get the extreme conflicting thoughts.  Do I hate or love this person today…  Do I live or die…  Do I cry or smile… Worthy or not…  The conflicting feelings are endless.  Everything is so strong, so intense, so extreme, so hopeless… and so very tiring.  The tired and hopeless feeling, well those are the only feeling I’ve thought of recently that don’t have a conflicting thought to go to it. 

I guess the real question was Xavier’s response.  Am I going to let it control me, or control it myself.  I vote for it controlling me.  I can’t fight it anymore.    

Who can I turn to?

Who can I turn to when I’m too afraid to tell my counselor something?  For those of you close enough to me, you might be able to figure out what I need to talk about.  For those not, I think it’s better to keep you in the dark.  Even though the likelihood of me actually going through with it is slim, it’s still a remote possibility.  I don’t want those who happened to run across my blog to be in trouble.  I just want to be able to talk to someone, preferably with a religious background about something that may or may not get me in “trouble” with a regular counselor.  I’d just like the ability to not have to watch what I’m saying, to be able to open up completely, and make my own decision afterwards. 

I’ve struggled with this decision since I was quite younger.  It’s always been something in the back of my mind, always something that I couldn’t talk to anyone about.  I long for that peace now.  For someone to know the intensity of the feelings.  To be able to talk about it with someone else without fear of judgment or…

It’s hard to see that things can or will get better.  On good days, it’s easy to have faith that at the very least, even if I don’t get better, that there is a reason for me being on this path.  However, on bad days, it’s a totally different belief.  I try the hardest to hang on to the knowledge from the good days, even if I don’t completely believe it at that point.

Unfortunately, the good times are rare, and the bad ones take such a toll on me, physically, mentally, and spiritually.  I keep going because I’m supposed to, not necessarily because I want to. 

I know most people aren’t going to understand this.  They aren’t going to be able to get how badly I feel on a lot of days.  That’s ok.  I just want someone to care about and accept me this way.  No strings attached.  No well if you don’t get better in x many days, well you’re on your own. 

What am I missing that everyone else gets?

It’s another long sleepless night. I am so tired of feeling this way. Of dreaming I will get better. I do believe I’ve given up on that though. After all how many years can someone suffer and still have a shot at happiness? How do I keep going knowing I’ll always feel like this?

I want to talk to my counselor about some things but I’m afraid. I’m not going to kill myself but that doesn’t make the wanting to die any less real, any less scary. How does someone explain that to someone else, regardless of whether or not the other person can understand? Who can understand something like that unless they’ve been through it themselves? How do I tell someone that I want to die? I wish I could talk about this to someone, at least so the feelings won’t be so strong, or so lonely.

I know most folks reading this won’t understand the feelings. I know people will think I’m a freak for going through this. I don’t blame them. Maybe I am.

What am I missing that every one else gets? Why is moving forward so easy for every one and so painstakingly hard for me? This goes beyond whether or not I think I’m worthy of living or have some purpose for being here. I guess in a way it’s something much more simple than that: the pain I endure every day. Does wanting to die make me selfish? I’ve been told it does. The problem is I don’t care any more whether or not any one thinks I’m selfish. I just want the pain and turmoil to stop. If that makes me selfish than so be it.

Even though I know it’s not true, I can’t help but wonder sometimes whether God is punishing me for something. I feel so alone in the world all the time, and the feelings are always so intense. Maybe I did something when I was younger to make God mad at me. Maybe I do deserve this.

How do I hold back the tears when my energy has been taken from holding them back so many other times? How do I have hope and keep fighting when the very disease I’m fighting takes away hope and energy.

What am I missing that every one else gets? There must be something.

I know I shouldn’t blog when I’m this upset.  Nothing good ever comes of it. 

At what point is it okay to give up?  I know I can never do anything, which makes the feelings even worse.  I know that I’ll live through this, even though I really don’t want to.  No one gets how hard it is just to wake up some days, much less go to work and put on a smile, pretending everything is okay.  As much as I’ve always wanted someone just to hold me while I cry, I can’t do that.  Do you know what it’s like to know that a simple hug would be too emotionally intense to endure?  To have feelings so overwhelmingly intense that you feel like your head is popping open?  To spend all your energy just struggling to not burst in to tears?  Nothing is calming anymore.  Nothing can quiet what’s going on; I’ve given up on that.  Why is this so hard now?  I’ve gone through these feelings for so long, why can’t I keep it together even at work now?   

I have a counseling appointment on Wednesday.  I’m scared as shit.  I see no way I’ll be able to have the courage to bring up how I’ve been feeling in words.  Only a letter that I will give him at the end of the session.  Then I’ll have to wait two weeks to see him.  I wish I had the courage to tell people things out loud.  I wish I wasn’t so terrified all the time.  I wish I could be normal, so people would like me and want to be friends instead of just tolerating me at best.

I still have a burning question.  No one’s ever been able to answer it.  When I ask, people ignore or go ummmmm…  Why is it okay for a mom to have an abortion, but I’d be seen as a mental case, horrible person, insert your own bad description here, if I killed myself?  Really I want an answer…  Why can a mom make a decision to kill an innocent kid when I can’t decide the fate of my own life?