Life Insurance…

I bought life insurance yesterday. It’s not supposed to start until June I think. And then once it starts, it will take two years of paying in to it before it covers suicide. So I just have to endure for two more years, right? Well two years and a couple of months.

I have enough coverage that by that time, my husband will be able to pay off most of the house along with my funeral. Not all of the house, but most of it. It seems that my life will be worth more by dying in two years. He’ll be able to find someone else to be with. He’s a great guy; he deserves someone better than me.

I start a new antidepressant on Sunday. I’m going to give this six weeks to work, if it doesn’t, then I’m not going back to the psychiatrist. This will be my 14th try at an antidepressant. I’m still trying to figure out if I should go back to my counselor. Honestly, nothing works anymore. And I’m tired of trying to find something that will. I don’t know what else to do, who else to turn to. I have no friends, no one outside of my internet world. And I’m starting to get to the point I just want to block those people out too. I guess I’m alone because I want to be alone. Because I can’t handle people anymore. Tears run so freely, and my thoughts are all jumbled. I’m scared but in a way I’m at peace. Trying to convey these feelings to someone else is really hard. Trying to deal with pain I can’t describe or justify is hard.

My next question is who do I write good bye to when I don’t think anyone will care about my death? Just the thought that no one would care is depressing. I don’t know why the thought is so depressing to me. I’ve lived this way for so much of my life. I’m used to not being cared about, but yet the thought is still hard to deal with.

I’m tired of crying. Tired of wondering when life is going to get better. Just tired of everything, of everybody, and yes, of living.

At a loss…

I had a counseling appointment yesterday. I didn’t get much accomplished in it; and therefore feel like I’m wasting his time. There’s so much I want to say; but the feelings and intensity are hard to describe. Sometimes I just want to sit there quietly crying, knowing there’s some sort of safety there. Don’t ask me to describe that in more detail; I can’t.

My husband reminded me last night that I can talk to him. Yes, I know that, but what am I supposed to say? The feelings are so overwhelming that trying to pin down what’s wrong right at this moment is hard. What am I thinking about? Hell if I know. What can you do to help me? Hell if I know that one either.

And what’s more is I can’t connect the feelings I have when I’m really down, like crisis down, to when I’m “normal” – or as “normal” as I’ll ever be. It’s like I myself can’t even comprehend the pain, the thoughts, unless I’m feeling them right at that second. All I can do is write and hope that someone somewhere down the line can understand me. And when they understand me, let me in on the secret, because I’m at a loss too.

So I’ve made an appointment with the psychiatrist. December 1st at 5 pm. Well at least I won’t have to miss much of work to go. I’m tired of having to take off time just to go to counseling sessions. I feel bad for taking off work, but at the same time, I feel upset that these people won’t work with me. I mean, why can’t I work from 7 to 4? These are the only people that I interviewed with that insisted on an 8-5 schedule. Unfortunately they’re also one of the few that offered me a job.

So, back to the psychiatrist thing. I don’t know why I’m going. Actually, yes I do: because my counselor told me to. That’s the only reason I do believe. I have no faith that the medications will help any more this time than they ever have (which is none). I don’t know if I can keep pushing myself to get better when it seems everything is going against me. How does one keep going after they lose all hope? Or better yet, WHY do I keep going after I’ve lost all hope for peace on Earth? I guess I keep going because of others, but that doesn’t quiet the rage I feel sometimes.

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.

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.

no title today

It’s hard doing this everyday.  Wondering what the point in living is.  Wondering how long I can keep this up and keep some semblance of sanity.  Most people don’t get how much I struggle.  In some ways, I wish they would take a walk in my shoes for a couple of days, to feel the feelings I do.  To have to then explain the feelings to others who can’t or don’t want to understand what I’m going through.  To have to put on a smile for the boss or the husband or the family when all you feel like doing is crying.  To hold back the tears when they flow so freely.  In other ways, though, I wouldn’t wish these feelings on my worst enemy.  What good would having someone else feel this… well, besides then knowing I’m not alone. 

 I’m back to wishing more than anything just to have someone hold me while I cry.  Yes, I am a loser because I just want someone to hold me when I cry.  It’s so hard when things get to the point where I’m crying.  I just feel so empty, so alone (and yes, I know what the answer is… God is with you, you aren’t alone…)  Unfortunately, it’s hard enough to grasp at things I can see during this time, and things I KNOW during this time, like what my friggin’ name is, that grasping at the concept that God loves someone like me is hard.  Which, by the way, is why my phone is full of Christian music to help me through these times.  I’ve learned that the likelihood of me breaking down around someone who gives a flip about me is slim, so I don’t expect the hugs. 

 I wish I could find something to take the edge off; something to give me a bit of peace in my life.  I know I can’t cut; my husband would be mad at me, and rightfully so.  It helps so much though; why I wish I knew.  I’m afraid to drink because if it helps; I can see me becoming an alcoholic real quick.  So, I have to do what I can to get through each moment alive.  Some days it’s more about getting through the day alive then it is what I did with the day. 

Tuesday (that would be tomorrow) is my husband and my third wedding anniversary.  After all this time of knowing him, it still baffles me that someone as good as him would want to be with someone like me. 

sorry

Yesterday was an alright day.  I actually got through the whole day without crying.  I think.  Memories come and go in a blur and sometimes it’s hard to discern whether something happened last year or last hour.  For the most part I can fake my way out of people catching on.  I don’t have the strength or the energy to do that anymore. 

We’re going down to visit my family this weekend.  Next week is dead weekend; I’ve declared.  We’re going to do something together, with no one else involved.  As much as I love everyone, I’ve reached the overstimulation point.  We’ve been going for the last 4-6 weekends, and I desperately need to catch up on chores at home. 

I’ve decided to go on a diet.  This is where it becomes difficult for me.  There are so many times that I get hungry, dizzy hungry, but don’t feel like eating.  It’s hard, but I eat.  I remember in high school my diets consisted basically of me not eating.  It’s a fine line I walk between eating too much and not wanting to eat at all.  So I’m either fat or what seems to be for me, too skinny (even though the doctors thought at this point I was still too fat.  I don’t think 112 at 5’2" when you can see my ribs is too fat).  I can tell it’s going to be too easy for me just not to eat. 

I’m tired of this roller coaster ride of emotions.  I’m tired of not knowing whether the next moment will bring a big drop in mood.  I’m tired of feeling like I’m free falling so much of the time.  I’m tired of fighting the tears so no one knows how I feel.  I’m tired of alot of the people who know dismissing the extent of the depression.  "Just do this this and this and voila you’re cured."  "No, you’re wrong, it is just that easy, you’re just too dumb/weak/put proper insult here to figure it out." 

So, I’m sorry if I can’t muster up a smile at someone.  I’m sorry if I seem tired all the time.  I do my best to get by.  I wish I could do more fore people.

My grandfather’s church

My father is Church of Christ, so is my grandfather.  Growing up we had to go to both Mom’s church (Catholic) and Dad’s church.  Well actually, we wanted to go to Mom’s church, but were pretty well forced to go to my father’s one too.  If we wanted to do some Youth Activity that was going on at my mom’s church, nope we couldn’t do it; but at dad’s church he was just fine with it.  If we wanted to accept Communion in the Catholic church, we weren’t old enough until we reached 18; if we wanted to be baptized in his church, we were ready at 10.  He set the rules, and basically they were if we wanted to participate in his church, then more power to us; if we wanted to participate in my mother’s church, we were damned to hell and therefore he wasn’t going to let us have anything to do with it. 

We visited Memphis this past weekend.  Since next week is Father’s Day, we thought we’d go to church with my grandfather to help him celebrate.  My husband and I went with my mom, dad, and grandfather.  Now, I’ve pretty well been discontent with my father’s church for a pretty long time, so I take everything that they say with a grain of salt.  No point getting worked up over something that I know I can’t change, and since I want to show my support for my grandfather, I go.  However, my DH isn’t so forgiving.  Him and my dad nearly got in to an argument over the last sermon.  I agree with my husband on this. 

What was the sermon?  Well, about indifference in Christians.  According to the perfect preacher, there are three kinds of people:   Those who believe in God fervently and follow all the preacher’s steps in showing their support to Him, those who oppose his (preacher’s) views on God, and those who believe his (preacher’s) views but don’t totally embrace it.  To follow all the steps, you had to be involved in EVERYTHING.  I, on the other hand, believe that God gave us all a set of tools that we were good at.  I might be good at one thing while another might be good at another thing.  I believe in using our skills to the best of our ability, and focusing on what we are good at, or have a passion for.  Dear preacher did not.  And it wasn’t so much what he said that ticked us off, it was how arrogantly he said it.  How arrogantly he said that if we didn’t do everything he said, then we were going to Hell.  I think that’s the buzz phrase in that church.  Seems to me every time we go there, they seem to be telling another set of things that would damn us to Hell, like he was the gatekeeper at Heaven. 

It is hard for me to understand why my grandfather would want to go to a church like this.  Yes, I realize that he sleeps through most of the sermon.  But still…  I understand why my dad goes there.  It just fits him.  That church shaped him into who he is now.  It shaped him in to the person that thinks that he is the only one right, and everyone else is wrong.  His way or the high way.  That’s how it was growing up.  A steady string of threats to us.  Do this or else… do that or else.  But I like my husband haven’t figured out why my grandfather.  I love my grandfather to death, but I can’t accept his religion.  I might go and sit in silence, being indifferent, out of respect for him, but I can’t embrace that church’s teachings. 

Pet peeves about Church

I went to church on Sunday, by myself.  It was a local church, not far from my house.  Went to the 11 AM Mass, so I could sleep in and watch movies.  It was jammed pack.  What’s funny is I showed up to church 10 minutes early, like a good little Catholic so I could pray before Mass.  Church started probably several minutes late from what it was supposed to.  Maybe 1/4 of the Church was filled at Mass starting.  I was starting to like the small size of the church.  Figured I could do this every week.  Then I saw the ushers.  They’re just counting folks for Communion.  Nope… they were sitting people.  By the time we sat back down (maybe 5-10 minutes after the start of Mass) the Church was packed.  That means approximately 75% of people got there late.

I remember in 4-H (yes, I was a 4-H geek, also a band geek too), every one was early to everything. In fact if you were on time you were late.  A little saying the 4-H leaders used to have:

    If you’re early you’re on time,
    If you’re on time your late,
    If you’re late you’re left. 

I wish people would have a better understanding of time schedules.  Come in on time, show respect if you are late.

Another pet peeve I have about Church- those people who refuse to stay until the last of the song.  Right after the Priest walks out, they have to rush to follow.  The end of Mass isn’t signaled by the leaving of the Priest, rather the ending of the song you are singing.  That means you will have to be "inconvienced" by staying 30 seconds longer.  Heaven forbid, a minute or two longer.  Yes, I know your butt can’t wait to get out of Church so you can gossip with your girl friends or beat everyone to the parking lot.  Is it really too much to give an hour of your time to sitting in Church, arriving on time and leaving on time?  I can understand emergencies.  However, you can’t convince me that 75% of the congregation had "emergencies" that morning.

And if you know you have to leave early, please sit on the outer aisle, towards the back, so you will disrupt the least amount of people.  The people that really got me upset had picked up all their purses, and other crap and turned to face me, acting like I was holding them up.  No one was in the pew the other way (they had all left as soon as the Priest passed), so they could have taken the long way around and saved me from thinking they were pushy dorks.  It made me feel like someone was pressuring me to do something I didn’t want to do.  Yes, I know I’m some weird geek person because I get upset if I have to leave the song 2 lines early.  But I love to sing, and since I have a horrible singing voice, church is one of the few places I feel comfortable singing out loud.