no passion

I used to be so passionate. ai cared about things, and shit mattered. but now, I don’t give a flying fuck.

I was waking up 7 days a week at 4am to go ouside on chilly November mornings to run for an hour. every. damn. day. even after I completed the 5k for which I wasntraining, I still went to the gym and/or ran fairly regularly.  these days, I can hardle do a twenty-minute walk on a treadmill while reading a book.

I was cooking at least one super healthy meal a week. now, I don’t even eat sometimes because I’m just too tired.

I would journal or blog or write or draw. I saw people, went places, did things. I was constantly learning and absorbing new information. but now, I can hardly stay awake at my job.

I have no passion for anything. even my fandoms are unfulfilling. I have no drive, no reason, no gusto, no want-to, no desire. no hope.

I had a brief walk in the gym today. not to get fit. but because Brian asked me to go, and I didn’t have anything else I was interested in doing.

I just have no care. no nothing. I’m so empty and direction-less 

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on how depression applies to my current job

I am finally reading posts again. it’s made not crying on my commutes more doable.

to an entry of someone whose writings I admire greatly, I commeneted as follows:

one thing my various doctors and therapists always told me was how with mental disorders, what something is now is how it seems to have always and will always be. for example, then in a manic phase, things seem great and you feel like you could take on the world — and you can take it on tomorrow too, and the next day, and the next … and even months from now, you’ve got this shit in the bed and will never have a sub-par day again. the “sick mind”, as we and it are sometimes called, struggles to separate now from forever. this is the same on the depression front too. and it all really sucks ass.

I would love to take my own advice here, but I think it’s unrelated to my work concerns. I know that eventually I will get the hang of it, and I may even eventually prove to be really badass at it. but it’s legitimately the “right now” about which I’m concerned.

I feel as if I have so few Spoons these days (see Christine Miserandio’s “The Spoon Theory”). I do’t have enough to ensure this shit day after day, and still try to function on top of that. I even told a friend last night how coming home and crying for an hour or so after work (as I have been doing) is generally helpful im the emotional sense, but it requires much more Spoons than just cutting would. sure, it allowa me well enough to move on with life lethargicly that evening. but the next moening, I am still drained and hopeless. just getting out of bed costs Spoons that I will need on the job.

and as I told Brian last night,this is a special kind of self-hatred that I have by the end of each day. this is the kind the occurs because you’ve let people down. it’s one thing, for example, when you are going to fail a class because you suck at something. but when I was teaching, the notion of letting all those students down was devestating. similarly, I am going to end up destroying this law firm’s books. they don’t deserve that; and I can’t help but feel that I deserve this employment chance.

~REBLOGGED~ One Order of Darkness, Please!

beautiful piece on why sometimes we stay Ill.

my two favourite bits are quotes below:

Darkness is, in my attempt to explain, not the lack of light. It is not the lack of love or the lack of compassion but rather the lack of hope. Darkness in my mind is a simple place without much adornment that allows me to feel not just sad, not just depressed, but allows me to fall deep into my own internal soul and put the world far away. It is a place that gives me permission to not have all the answers and it is a place that gives me permission to not have to be what all those I love hope for me to be.

My darkness which makes bottle of pills very attractive also blocks out much of the world. There is no expectations in this darkness but rather the need to be nothing.

The Truth Ache

secretI will let you in on a secret. I will tell you a secret about myself that I don’t talk about, that I don’t think about, but live with. I am sorry to say it isn’t a dirty little secret nor will anyone be that astonished. It may not be understood by anyone, but it is my reality. And the secret is…I like the darkness.

Let me back up a couple of steps so that you can understand. There are important steps to know when coming not only to terms with your own mental illness but when you have teach others about the diseases. Trying to entertain while still teaching about a subject I know like the back of my brain without scaring my family (and husband) out of their wits is difficult. There are certain truths that you have to lightly touch on and others that you simply have…

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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”