Why Don’t I Want To Get Better?

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That’s the real question.

Since I started on meds again a few weeks ago, I’ve been crying less, feeling a little bit better, and I even had a good day last week that didn’t involve my man.

So why does that make me feel like I want to stop taking all my meds immediately?

Why don’t I want to get better? Why do I feel like I deserve to cry my days away instead of experiencing those fleeting moments of happiness? Why do I still want to die?

Not wanting to get better lets me know that my head is so much more fucked up than I thought. I’m really, really sick.

I’m not okay and I don’t know what to do about it.

I know that I need to keep taking my meds, especially since I’m feeling this way. I have no plans to stop taking my meds or to get rid of them. But this blog is about honesty and my real feelings. I’m not going to hold back. So you’re going to get to hear the good and the bad.

And then there’s the guilt. How can I honestly say that I don’t want to get better? That’s so damn selfish. My man, my family, my friends…they are all counting on me to do the work to take care of myself and all I want to do is flush my meds and stay sick. I’m obviously not thinking clearly. Which means that I need the meds more than ever.

I know what I need to do: keep taking my medication as prescribed. But that’s a tough task when all I want to do is toss all the pills in the trash.

How can I trick my mind into wanting to heal?

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The Things That Stick

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It’s interesting to me, the way that we can go through life with so many labels stuck to us. None of us are only one thing, we all fill many roles. But I don’t want to discuss roles today. Let’s stick with labels that get stuck to us without our permission. The labels that we’ve internalized and are now a part of us. The labels put upon us by those who want to pass judgment, rather than extend love. The labels that we desperately want to separate ourselves from.

Labels that are nothing more than judgements in disguise. Judgements that break our hearts.

This has been so heavy on my heart lately, because while I’ve worked really hard on my self esteem, when I have a depressive episode, my self esteem plummets and I become extremely sensitive to what people say and what they are not saying. I have an intense awareness of the labels and judgements that other people stick to me.

One thing that is sticking to me right now is the belief that I talk to much. I’ve received many verbal and nonverbal cues that let me know that this is what people are thinking.

The sad part is that I know that they are right and I am definitely over sharing. But the thing is, when I experience depression and anxiety, my worldview becomes skewed. I feel disconnected. I feel alone. But as humans, we need these connections with other people. So in an effort to not feel so alone, I talk, and talk, and talk…and then I talk some more. All I want is to feel a connection to another human being. All I want is for my voice to be heard. For someone to say, “I see you. I understand. I’m going to help you.” These are normal feelings and there’s nothing wrong with trying to connect.

The problem is that I’m currently being indiscriminate in who I share with (this always happens when I’m depressed) which means that I don’t get the responses that I need. Instead I get the message that I talk too much. And by extension, that I AM too much. These are the things that stick. The messages and judgments that I can’t seem to get rid of.

So, not only do I talk too much, but I also talk too loud. My body is too large. I’m too smart. And of course being way too opinionated closely follows that one. I’M JUST WAY TOO MUCH. TOO MUCH OF ME.

These are the things that stick.

These are the labels that have followed me from childhood and on into adulthood. I’ve heard these words from parents, family members, teachers, doctors, nurses, bosses, friends, and even random strangers. Sticking labels to me as if they have the right to judge me.

To all of those people, I only have 3 words: Go Fuck Yourself! How dare you judge and label me as a person. I act appropriately in every situation, but regardless, I have to be me. I refuse to believe the lie that I’m too much. I refuse to tone it down to make my presence more tolerable for you. I happen to think that I’m pretty damn fabulous and like a quote that I’ve seen recently, I will never dim my light just because it’s shining in your eyes.

And yet, as confident as I sound, the thought of being too much breaks my heart and consumes my soul.

These are the things that stick.

Numbing Out

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I have always loved Linkin Park! Not only is their music catchy, but it’s filled with meaning that connects to the angsty depressed part of my psyche. My favorite song by them is Crawling. Check out a few of the lyrics:

Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real

There’s something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming, confusing
This lack of self-control I fear is never ending
Controlling. I can’t seem…

To find myself again
My walls are closing in
(without a sense of confidence and I’m convinced that there’s just too much pressure to take)
I’ve felt this way before
So insecure

-Crawling by Linkin Park

Those words sum up my life: my confidence is shot, I feel utterly consumed with my problems and out of control, life is closing in on me, and worst of all, my childhood wounds have been ripped wide open and I can’t get the emotional bleeding to stop.

Tomorrow is my rape-iversarry. I was raped twice this summer. The first time was on August 19, 2014. The second time was exactly one month later, on September 19, 2014. Something that feels like it could only happen to me.

So now, thanks to those 2 assholes, the 19th of every month is especially difficult. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over it. In October, I was weepy. I spent the day crying in bed, missing my man. This month, I see my new therapist first thing in the morning. Then I have to go get my x-rays done on my back. So no pity party for me until the afternoon. Lol

I don’t even know that I want a pity party. I had a small junk food binge this afternoon/evening and I feel gross inside. But other than physically feeling sick, I don’t feel anything else. I know that I’m hurting but it’s like my emotional pain center has shut down, leaving me numb.

And honestly, after all the crying of the last few months, numbness is almost a relief. A few extra pills to prolong the feeling won’t hurt. I just want to feel free as a bird without misery weighing me down. I can’t get off the ground. Just a few extra pills to get through tomorrow. I don’t want to feel anything.

Believe me, I understand the danger of the above statements. I’ve taken my sister to the hospital because she ingested more meds than her body could handle in an attempt to numb out. But I do know what I’m doing and I have me and my intake under control. Please don’t misunderstand my above comments and think that I am condoning the misuse of prescription medications. I was simply expressing my desire to numb out. I never said that it was okay for me (or you) to misuse medication to achieve that goal. Although, to be completely honest, that’s exactly what I plan to do.

What can I say? I’m only human. And the only way for me to survive tomorrow is to be as numb as possible.

The Thing About Anger

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The thing about anger is that once it takes hold inside of you, it’s a struggle to get out of it’s grip.

I’m exactly at that point right now. In the grip of extreme anger and just generally being a horrible person to anyone who crosses me. I’m angry all the time. On high alert and ready to pounce on anyone who pisses me off.

This isn’t the person who I am and it’s not the person who I want to be. I just don’t have any clue how to release the anger that I’ve allowed to build up inside of me.

Over the past few months of dealing with doctors who disrespect me and violate my patient rights, a totally incompetent insurance company, crappy medical care due to the area where I live, and having to advocate for myself so strongly, I am burned out. I feel like I’ve been screwed over so many times that I just can’t take anymore. And then, of course, there’s the constant anger bubbling beneath the surface. I’ve had to put on my “angry Black woman” voice a few too many times, just to be treated with dignity and respect. It’s exhausting, but if I don’t do it, these people walk all over me and it’s not okay. But every time I curse someone out, demand to speak to a supervisor, or file a formal complaint, it takes something out of me, leaving the perfect empty space for the anger to fill.

So now I’m filled with this anger and it’s spilling over into the other areas of my life. I think I’ve gone into super bitch mode one too many times because I don’t know what to do with this anger that’s building inside of me.

I’ve been feeling pretty bad lately about all the people I’ve made feel bad over the past few months. Granted, they provided horrible service to me, but that doesn’t justify how I responded to them.

One of my personal rules for life is that it’s not my job to make anyone feel badly about themselves. I say this to myself when the urge to be unkind hits. I’ve said it to others to encourage and uplift them. But lately, I’ve been acting like I’ve never heard those words in my life! There’s a disconnect between who I really am and how I’ve been acting. Because of this, I’ve become my own main source of negativity and I’m spreading it around indiscriminately. This is not okay.

I have to do better because it’s not right to take out your bad days on others. Personally, it’s the personality trait that I absolutely loathe in others the most. I think it’s evil and yes, it pretty much does make you a terrible person. I don’t want to be a terrible person.

Something needs to change. I need to stand in the light of my own integrity again. But with this depression eating away at me, I don’t know where to start. I don’t have the energy for apologies. Besides, I’m still so damn angry, there’s only one person who I feel deserves a personal apology. And I will make things right between us. But everyone else can kick rocks with socks on, as far as I’m concerned.

I think that the key for me will be to figure out a way to stop dwelling on the past and begin looking forward again. I can be a good person again, I just have to figure out how.

It’s not my job to make anyone else feel badly about themselves.

Depression: My Oldest (and Most Toxic) Friend

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I wasn’t really sure where to start. I’ve been journaling more and I pour my heart and soul onto those pages. There’s something about putting pen to paper that is more emotionally satisfying than typing for me. I wonder if many writers feel that way? Anyway, I don’t want my writing here to just be an extension of my personal journals, although of course, that’s exactly what this blog is.

And while my writing is directed TO you, every word I write is FOR me (I’m selfish like that, yo, and that’s okay). Can you tell that I struggle with beginnings? And endings? And middles? But that’s not the point of all this. The point is for me to write. To get it out of my head and into another format, like actual words that form coherent sentences. So I’m back at the beginning, and honestly, what better place to start than the beginning.

I’m not going to regale you with stories of my shitty childhood and my loser ass dad who quite literally hates me (when you say shit like that, people who know nothing about your fucking life always try to contradict you with soothing words and bullshit because you’ve said something so disturbing that their little minds just can’t fathom that it would be true. But trust me, I know better than you do what my life was like growing up, so just believe me when I say that my own father has made it very clear since I was a child, that he very obviously hates me.) Anyway, this story isn’t about him, and at the same time, like all my other stories, of course it’s about him. He was abusive. And that abuse was a constant feature of my life for my first 17 years so naturally it has played a very big role in me becoming the woman I am today.

Can I tell you a secret? Well of course I can because this is my damn blog and I can say whatever the fuck I want. If you don’t want to read my secrets, just move along. Easy peasy. Anyway, My not so secret-secret, is that living with depression is all I have ever known. I was diagnosed with depression at the tender age of 8 years old. What the fuck does an 8 year old have to be depressed about? Yet there I was, dutifully going to my counseling sessions and learning to express my emotions in a healthier way than attempting suicide, and at the same time going home to have my emotions beaten out of me because my dad simply didn’t like kids. All I really remember is that it was a confusing time in my life and I wanted to die.

So when I say that depression is my oldest friend, I mean that in a quite literal way. The only people that I know who can even compete with the length of time that I’ve carried this burden is my family, but I don’t think that they count because I refuse to allow them into this part of my life. I’m more comfortable talking about it with all of you lovely tea drinking strangers, than I am discussing it with my own mother and sister. Naturally, our family dynamic plays into that, but my point is that the depression is what gives me advice when things go wrong, it knows what to say when I make mistakes, it’s even there when everything is good and I’m living the life that I imagined for myself. It’s my constant companion from the moment I wake up to the moment I go back to sleep.

It’s funny that for me, depression is like the best friend we all long for. Someone who is never to busy for us and is always there when we are going through a rough patch. Except for the fact that depression is a shitty ass best friend. She tears you down instead of trying to build you up. She doesn’t want what’s best for you. She’s that friend who says, “I’m just being honest,” when they hurt your feelings instead of apologizing for being in the wrong. But depression’s worst character flaw is that she’s a liar. A compulsive liar. She lies about everything and tries to convince you that it’s the truth. And on top of all that, she’s trying to steal your life like Single White Female. She wants to revel in your successes, steal your boyfriend, and lock you out of your own damn apartment (or in this case, your own mind).

She’s that toxic friend that you don’t particularly like, but you’ve known her for so long that you feel like a shitty person for telling her that you need some space because, frankly, she’s bat-shit crazy and her crazy is just too much for you to deal with right now. The problem is that toxic people are extremely difficult to remove from your life. Once they have you in their grip, they are reluctant to let you go. And they fight dirty. Toxic people will pull out every trick in the book to try to get you to reconsider. They remind you of all the memories you had together (“remember when I was there for you through that one particularly tough time?”). They use fear (“what are you going to do without me? We are best friends!”) They promise that they will make an effort to change (“things weren’t always this bad. I can do better at respecting your feelings and boundaries.”) They use guilt (“how can you be so selfish after all I’ve done for you?) There are so many tools at their disposal, that it’s hard to cut out a toxic friend for good, even when you realize that it’s necessary for your own personal growth.

For me, depression is a toxic friend who has literally stolen my life, yet I’m just as scared to delete her from my life as I am to allow her to stay. She’s ruined everything good that I had, but I don’t know who I am without her. She has been the only stability I’ve known. The only person who I can count on to always be there. There’s a part of me that knows what to expect when I’m dealing with her and I’m terrified to step into the unknown, no matter how healing and freeing it may be. I’m afraid to not be depressed. Depression has been a crutch for me and I’m afraid to be without her.

So there’s your bit of honesty for tonight. I cant promise you anything other than brutal honesty while I sip my tea and silent tears roll down my cheeks.

Thank you all for reading!

If anything I’ve written resonates with you, please share this post with a friend or loved one. Maybe it can help them too!

Love and freedom from toxicity to you all!