My birthday

Remember the blog post from yesterday? Well, more of the same today. I’m exhausted and deeply depressed.

My birthday is coming up soon. Sooner than I would like. 11 days from today I will be 30. Turning 30 isn’t really depressing. I don’t care one way or the other how old I am. I know I’m a failure; and guess what: I’ll be one when I’m 50 too. So, what difference does it make as to whether I’m a 30 year old failure or a 50 year old one?

Having my birthday is depressing for another reason. When I was younger, it was the day that most of my “plans” pivoted around. I always thought it would be cool to die on my birthday. To have both the same start and stop dates. The chances of that happening are pretty slim … though my grandmother did die the day before her birthday, so maybe there is hope for me yet.

I guess having my birthday reminds me of how cowardly and weak I was when I was younger. Of the one thing that I still want to do so badly, but can’t.

What’s interesting is that so many people have told me over the years that I don’t want to die, I just want the pain to stop. I’ve concluded this is untrue. I don’t care whether or not the depression stops. I want life to stop. To say that things are going to get better is just patronizing anyways. They aren’t. I lost hope in that years ago.

If you’re worried, I’m safe. But that doesn’t make the feelings any less overwhelming. It doesn’t make them any easier to deal with or to handle.

Another day…

Well, it’s another one of those days. You know, when you wake up and start off wondering if you can make it through? So many of my days seem to be like that lately. I look around and everyone else seems to be happy, except for me… and I wonder, what exactly do they get that I’m missing.

I wrote my counselor a letter last week (I posted it on here, for those of you who missed that post). As usual I gave it to him at the end of the session. I should start giving him the letters during the session, instead of at the end. So we can talk about what I’m feeling then, then; but I’ve never liked people reading what I write while I’m right there. I guess this time especially the feelings aren’t going to change too much from session to session. I’m tired. I’m depressed. I want this life to fast forward until death. Yup, that sums it up in a nut shell. I have such problems, I wonder if I’m ever going to be ok. I mean really be ok. Wake up in the morning and not hope for death, but be happy to face the day. I understand that every day is a gift from above, I get that, and I feel guilty for feeling bad, but geez, I just don’t know how much more I can take.

I feel so guilty for feeling the way I do. There are tons of people out there that are going through much worse situations. I’m not. I have a job that pays the bills fairly comfortably. A husband that loves me. A dog that loves me. What more can a gal want? Am I just a horrible person because of the pain and darkness I’m in? This goes beyond just being able to snap out of it. This is harder. This is a violent roller coaster ride, going from low to base and back, never going high. I’m tired of being on this ride. I’m tired of wondering if I’m ever going to be happy. I guess in a way though, it’s not like I really know what being happy means. I can’t remember a time when I was happy. How pathetic is that? How pathetic is it that I don’t’ even know what the feeling is like. I look around and all these people are smiling, laughing, getting along through life. And I’m fighting tears all the time, even when where I’m at isn’t someplace I should be crying.

It’s hard for me to make friends. And when I do make friends, it’s hard not to push them away. Don’t ask why, it just is. It’s like I know they are going to hate me, and freak out. It’s easier to get through if I’m the one doing the “breaking up” instead of the one being hurt myself. Yes, I know, it’s a control issue. I’m a horrible person. A horrible person that’s terrified from the feelings a lot.

Letter to my counselor

I’ve agonized over what to tell you, how to tell you. Expressing my feelings has always been hard for me. And it’s not a trust issue, really it’s not. At least it’s not with you. It’s an issue I have comprehending my own feelings. Trying to figure out what I’m feeling and then put those feelings in to words is hard for me. No matter who I’m talking to (or not talking to).

One thing’s for certain, everything is overwhelmingly intense. I spend so much energy dealing with the intensity of the feelings themselves that I can’t deal with anything else. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this. If I have, it’s worth repeating, because it describes so well how I feel… just about all the time. I feel like I’m driving on a road, right by a cliff. The road is cracking and not stable. The cliff is a 1000 feet down. At the bottom is frigid cold water. I drive along the road, until I hit an unstable place. I fall into the icy cold water. I see a hand, one that I think is there to save me. I reach for it, but the person just pushes me further in to the water. I’m alone, and I want to die, but something keeps me going. Finally I’m out of the water. I get up, and keep going, until it happens all over again.

Work’s hard. Life’s hard. I have to pretend that everything is ok. Put on my smiley face and fight back the losing battle of tears at work. Smile and say fine when someone asks how I’m doing. Actually answering that question truthfully would scare people off in most cases. At the same time, pretending I’m ok when I’m not is leaving me alone to deal with the feelings.

I used to have an overwhelming sense of fear all the time. Fear not targeted to anything I could put my hands on, at least not that I can figure out. Lately, that fear is lifting. Instead of the absence of fear comforting me, it’s left me unsettled. I know the feeling going away is not because I’m getting better.

I still have issues with wanting to self-injure. Don’t ask me how or why it helps, it just does. I know if I do it though, I will get questions, will get yelled at. So I just have to figure out ways to hurt myself, physically, that no one notices.

I want to die. I close my eyes and can see myself in a coffin, see myself pulling the trigger. Whether or not I would do it is immaterial (though, for your own peace of mind, I would never do it). I still have to deal with the images. Still have to make a conscience decision that today I live. While it seems everyone else in this world seems to have that choice down, I don’t. Every day, I have to remake that choice. Wake up and decide I will get through the day… alive. Why is that so hard for me to do? Why is this something I still struggle with, even after all these years?

Most everything I’ve told you isn’t new. I’ve been dealing with the the thoughts since I was a teenager. I’m supposed to be able to deal with them. To understand them and not let them control me. But I can’t avoid the constant swings; I’m nothing but a failure.

I think one of the things that really makes the feelings hard is I see no reason why I have a right to them. I know other people are going through much worse. I have it made. Yet, just making the choice to live is so hard for me, let alone getting through the rest of my life.

I’m alone, and that’s ok

I’ve been fighting this depression for so long. Well since I was 11, so that’s what 18 years. The prospect of having to fight this for 18 more years is more than I can handle. The funny thing is though, I don’t feel like trying to get better. Just about every thing that used to get me through the days, doesn’t matter anymore. I have a counseling appointment tomorrow. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go back. I know I’m not going to get better, so what’s the point? Nothing’s comforting, nothing takes the edge off anymore. I used to habitually say I’m scared. I think for one of the first times in my life, I can say I’m no longer scared. Saying that makes me feel uneasy.

I try to find things in my life that I need to live for. Paying bills. Taking care of my dog. My dog is getting closer to my husband. She no longer needs me. I guess the only thing keeping me going is bills. I’m sure that husband could sell the house and not have to worry about money. But I’ll keep it there just to keep one thing on the list, even though I don’t believe it.

Days are getting harder and harder for me to get through. This isn’t just a small passing depression. This isn’t just someone looking for attention. This is being so depressed eating is unenjoyable. This is being so depressed that on a scale of 1-10, the pain wouldn’t even register. Most people don’t get it. Just snap out of it, they say. Just trust God more. Just, this… just, that. I’m a complete failure. I’ve learned to accept that; apparently others don’t so easily. It’s easier to tell me all the things I’m supposedly doing wrong then it is to listen to me, and try to comprehend the pain I’m in. I know most people won’t get the feelings, but dang, at least try. I’m glad all you had your moment and figured out the exact time you believed in God. I did too; that’s why despite the immense emotional pain I go through and the constant fight with tears, that I survive.

I still have to write a letter to my counselor. I have no clue what to say to him. How to convey the intense feelings I go through to him when I can’t even figure them out myself. I don’t know much of anything anymore it seems.

Not doing so well

Yesterday I spent crying. Today I have to be better. There’s a kid coming from the local high school to shadow us engineers. So I have to be happy. I can’t cry, but that’s all I feel like doing. That’s all I ever feel like doing anymore. Crying. Sleeping. Certainly not working. Certainly not facing people.

I remember when I was in college. My counselor then made me go through a worksheet. I think it was from the book Mind over Mood. I forget who wrote it though. I had to think of people who cared for me, and write down logical facts as to why I believed they cared for me. I think she ended up doing more of the worksheet than me, and she believed it more than I did too. Looking back at it now, I still don’t believe it. I still have a hard time believing that anyone cares for me. I just don’t understand why anyone would. And it’s been obvious that even in an online situation, people don’t give a crap about me. They are there for me during the “good” times (which basically means never, because there are no good times). Most people who stand by me don’t know the extent of how I feel. They don’t understand how difficult it is to face the day alive, much less face it without crying. A few people who battle the same feelings as I do stand by me, but those are few and far between. And I have to go through the weeding process, trusting those who tell me that they care about me and finding out the hard way that they don’t just to get to the few that do. I’m starting to think that being alone is better than having to go through that weeding process. I have a few that I *think* care about me. I’ll just stick with them; no more new friends. No more trusting. No more bawling my eyes out because I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. I feel alone already. I’m just making that feeling seem more… I don’t know… real?

So I’m back to the question… who do I talk to when trusting is an issue, and I can’t talk to my counselor about something? Who can I talk to, and no matter what I say or feel, it stay confidential?

Class Reunion

It’s one of those days, days when I wonder if getting out of bed was really worth it. I know… I have to go to work, make money, to survive. But what happens when that is no longer important? When I could care less if I get to the next day? The depression is so bad all the time. I want relief, anyway I can get it.

My senior class is planning a 12 year reunion to replace the 10 year reunion we should have had. We didn’t have a 10 year reunion because our class president was a loser. Or is a loser. I don’t even know if she is even still alive, out of jail. I just got the email for planning the 12 year reunion. It also announced the reunion committee members. The president was one of the people that tortured me in one of my classes because I was white, and therefore I responsible for all her problems. I was repeatedly felt up by one of the guys in that class. The class stood around me while he did this so the teacher couldn’t see. I was the only white in the class, he a gang leader. What was I supposed to do? I never told my parents, still haven’t today. What good would that do now? I felt so alone that year.

I know I’m supposed to forgive her. No problem doing that. I’ve been told over and over by counselors and friends I’m supposed to hang out with people that make me feel good, that don’t contribute to my depression. Why should I go to this reunion then? So I can be surrounded by a bunch of people that were happy to make my life a living hell? Why would I go through that again? I know it will only be for a weekend, but still. The people I want to see have kept in touch with me over the years. All the other people don’t care about me, so why waste my time?

Photos from the Garden

Since I love to take pictures, I thought I would post some successes from the garden this year.  This year, it’s been cooler, rainier, and I actually got out there with some fertilizer.  So we’ve had plenty of pretty flowers.

 

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Daylily

 

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Purple Shamrock

 

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Mum assortment

 

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Okra flower

 

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Red mums

 

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Orange mums

 

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Sunflower

 

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Another daylily

 

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Purple mums

 

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And a mystery plant out in the subdivision common area…