maybe we won’t make it out alright

:: TRIVIAL WARNING ::
in retrospect, this entry is all the fuck over the place.  sorry about that.
um, i’d love to give you a map or outline so you could follow along;
but i got lost in re-reading it for grammar and spelling errors m’self.
so yeah, that’s no-go.    good luck on your own, though.

i’m getting really hopeless.  like, really hopeless.  as in i included the words “my wanting to die in the near future” in a recent email to my psychiatrist.  i’ve been off any “real” anti-depressants since November when Townsend took over my medication.  and i’ve been off even their stuff since mid-January.  i mean, i’m on the valproic acid, which is an anti-epileptic medication that many bipolar people take because it also stabilizes moods.  but that doesn’t actually improve my mood; it just means i’m fairly consistently depressed.

i’m getting lost in my Thoughts.  i get sick trying to figure out how people can just be okay with life, wondering why not everyone is suicidal.  i can’t fathom the idea that there exists people who aren’t hurting internally all the time, who aren’t falling apart completely.  i realise that many are wounded and just hide it well.  but those who talk of hope and send words of encouragement — from where do they get that?, from where does that come??  i am so far down that i literally cannot comprehend that some people do not suffer like this.

apparently thinking about killing oneself on a daily basis is not the norm.  apparently wanting to rip your skin apart or take pills until you pass out is not typical.  apparently the average person does not have to spend 15-45 minutes in the shower every morning talking themselves into enduring yet another day of living instead of committing suicide.

i honestly don’t get it.  i can’t understand.  it’s like asking a blind person to imagine the colour red.  wtf?

the amazing Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half created a post about her own struggles with depression (one of two that i reference and quote all too often).  at one point, she explained it as follows: “But trying to use willpower to overcome the apathetic sort of sadness that accompanies depression is like a person with no arms trying to punch themselves until their hands grow back.  A fundamental component of the plan is missing and it isn’t going to work.”  and it’s true.  the brain is what’s broken, and it’s the same tool that needs to be used to fix the problem.

by the shadows of the night, i go.
i move away from the crowded room,
that sea of shallow faces masked in warm regret.
they don’t know how to feel; they don’t know what is Lost.

things have gotten worse over the years.

i mean, other than having Brian and my cat, i’m in no better place than i was when i graduated college.  in 2008, i left UL a success.  i was popular, well-liked, had an incredibly high paying career (for someone of my age and experience), had my own apartment, etc.  within the next six months, i got Zero.  i love that furball.  in 2010, Brian and i started dating.  but we had been courting long before that.  he’s really enriched my life and has gotten me through some tough times.  i couldn’t have survived without him.

but every other aspect of my life has fallen apart.  i’m more in debt than ever (more hospital bills, student loan, credit card debt, two DUI debts to parents, etc).  every day, i’m learning there’s more about my body that’s falling apart — therein more doctors to see and more medications to take.

i’ve stopped writing.  i hardly read.  i’m just … i’m not Creating anything anymore.  that used to be my sole drive for waking up every day.  and now, i can’t even manage that much.

i’m still in Lafayette.  i’m still in fucking Louisiana.  i’m still in the south.  i mean, i love the south.  i’ll be a southern girl until i die.  but i feel like i won’t really understand what that means until i’m not in the fucking south anymore.  and nigh everyone who’s lived anywhere else says how different Lafayette is from the norm.  HOW?  i want to know more!  i’m getting fucking cabin fever in this damned city.  legit claustrophobia is going to set in soon.

gad, this is all shit i’ve bitched about a thousand times before.  like another fucking post is going to change anything.  this is ridiculous.  i just don’t know what else to do!

lost in the Darkness of a land
(where all the Hope that’s offered is)
Memories of being taken by the hand.
(and we are led into the sun)
but i don’t have a hold on what is Real.
(and we can only try)
what is there to Give or to Believe?

i’m getting so far Down into this, that i don’t think i want to get Better anymore.  because 1] it’s too fucking difficult and may not be worth the effort; and 2] i don’t think i deserve it anymore.  i mean, my psychiatrist doesn’t charge me for most of my visits and gives me as many free samples as he can.  my friends are the most supportive and loving people i know.  even coworkers and mere acquaintances offer their assistance and sympathy.  i’ve got a good job; i have a car (though no license); i have an apartment with someone who loves me incredibly; my cat is great; i’m learned and well spoken; i’ve got excellent work experience; my family would do anything for me; et cetera.  yet i keep fucking everything up.

i’m a selfish, whiny bitch.  i want the world to revolve — not around me, but — because of me.  i want to be the best at everything, yet i don’t want things to be so easy for me that i’ll be bored.  i want to overcome my flaws and weakness without having to endure the patience for it.

i don’t deserve to be Happy, to get Better, to have Hope.

i deserve this Pain and Suffering.  and i deserve to endure it all forever.

i want it all to go away; i want to be Alone.
Sympathy’s wasted on my hollow Shell.
i feel there’s nothing left to Fight for,
no reason for a Cause.
and i can’t hear Your voice,
and i can’t feel You near.

would you like to know how pathetic this is and i have actually become?  i am honestly to the point that i hope the sentencing goes very poorly and that i do, indeed, lose my job.  i hope that the medicine doesn’t work, that life doesn’t get better, and that everyone abandons me.  because i’m ready to fucking Leave this shit; but i worry that i’ll only do so after everything’s truly fallen apart.

how fucking selfish is that?

i wanted a Change,
knowing all i could do was Try.
i was looking for some[thing].

as of the 2009-2010 decade transition period, the suicide success rate was 1:33.  that’s not promising. 

lyrics courtesy of Sarah McLachlan’s “Lost”