At 11am, I glanced around looking for any possible way to escape – not the room – but my life. My heart was heavy with a twisted mixture of sadness and anxiety. By 3pm I had regained my composure. At 4 I felt empowered and free, like I was given a jolt of confidence in the form of a crown and I was ready to rule the world. By 6 I felt hopeless again, miserable, and unable to lift my spirits.
There is clearly something very wrong with my moods. I just often get so overwhelmed that every little thing effects me so strongly. It’s distracting and keeps me from being happy and/or productive at times, and I’d like to somehow change this about myself. But I honestly can’t. You know people say just stop being so paranoid or anxious, just stop thinking so much, just change the way you think about things and you’ll be fine. It’s not so easy.
I don’t know, maybe I should get a psychiatrist and go on meds — but every time I’ve briefly been on meds I felt my mood was even more unstable. Besides, I hate the idea of medicating myself with chemicals that aren’t natural. If they helped fine but I never had luck with them before. What I really need is some momentum to wake up in the morning, to get out and go for a run and experience the sun before heading inside for the day. That helps a little. It still doesn’t make my mood stable.
It is really hard when I get into a funk. I am swallowed by it. Lost in the shadow of self doubt and self pity and a whole bunch of oh-woe-is-me misery that, at the same time, I tell myself is straight up stupid. I go into the bathroom and cry or if I’m in a meeting I pinch myself hard or stick my nail into my flesh so I can ground myself in a painful silent protest of own state of mind. Sometimes I scribble things in tiny print on my paper like “you are so stupid” or “i hate myself so much” before crossing them off quickly before anyone notices.
And while I’m not suicidal, sometimes I genuinely want to die. I think there’s a difference between wanting to die and being suicidal. Being suicidal means you’re actually thinking about killing yourself. Wanting to die just means you feel hopeless and don’t know where else to turn. When life is “so good” and you have so much going for you and yet it all feels hollow. Like you’ve been running your whole life to achieve something great and – this is it? I don’t want to minimize the happiness that my boyfriend brings to me or how grateful I am to have a job where I can save a significant amount of money each month, but that doesn’t seem to matter. I crave novelty and quick kicks of highs and lows. It’s a wonder I never became a drug addict.
I just want something to live for. I feel like I’ve gotten to this point in my life where all I have is work. I can’t even get myself up in the morning, and when I do I go on the computer right away to check my email and start worrying about how I’m so behind. I get to the office and never go outside because there is so much to do, although I never get it all done, and I’m constantly letting my mind waste time worrying about everything as I fall further and further behind. I leave the office at seven or eight, enough though I told myself that morning I’d leave by six, and when I get home I’m so tired I watch maybe an episode or two on television and then pass out to do it all again. Weekends are not much better, as I’m either trying to catch up on work, sitting around worrying that I’m behind at work, or outside doing something else thinking about work and how I’m behind.
When I consider other things in life that I could do to bring me happiness, often I’m not that interested. I tell myself I want to have friendships and a social life, yet being around other people drains me. I don’t know how to relate to people so instead I try to entertain them and while that’s fun it is too much for a regular thing. So I hibernate in my apartment with my boyfriend who thank god finds me funny without much effort.
I don’t really know what I like to do anymore. I mean, I like to sing, but I’m terrible at it, and my poor neighbors want to kill me for my occasional solo recital. I pretend I like to draw but I don’t really, I don’t have the patience for it. I used to like to shop but that is expensive and I am so terribly fat right now that shopping is more depressing than staying home (but hey at least being fat means I save money as I don’t end up buying any new clothes.) I like to travel, I think, or at least experiencing new places, but I don’t like to travel alone and who has time to travel anyway? I want kids, I think, but I’m such a train wreck I can’t imagine being a good mother.
What my goal is right now is to simplify my life so I can have a clean living environment (my depression often has me living in a bit of a pig sty because I can’t motivate myself to clean… again… feeling overwhelmed which is NOT AN EXCUSE it is just how I feel all the time) and try to eat healthy, get some sort of exercise routine going on. I need routine and habits desperately, I’ve never had any. I’ve always run from routine and habit as it was what my parents wanted me to do, and I didn’t at all respect them so I refused to do anything they thought was the right thing to do. That meant I never did homework, I was never on time anywhere, I never cleaned my room, and I got screamed at and beaten time and again in my childhood for not following the rules. Fuck, of course I don’t want to follow them now.
It’s just that I don’t even trust myself or my own instinct. I’m so fucking tired of saying sorry every two seconds because I don’t know how to interact with people. I’m so tired of being so incapable of having some sort of stable emotional state where I can enjoy the things I should enjoy and not get so upset by the things that maybe are a bit irksome but shouldn’t throw me into some silent tantrum. I really don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m running again down a very bad path and usually when this happens I end up crashing hard. I’ve always been able to pick myself and the pieces back up, but it’s never fun or pretty.