tell the truth.
so. here i am again! awake at 3 am, eye twitching away (several medical professionals have told me it’s stress that does that, amongst other things). just having gotten home about a 1/2 hour ago … i had to get out and prove to myself that i was human; that i existed somehow outside of my apartment. i got an igo car and went and took a drive from 1 am to 2:30, picking up a prescription and doing a wee bit of grocery shopping along the way. i listened to some radio, sang some songs and saw a city asleep.
i had some time to reflect on my current bout with depression, went past my old apartment at kenmore and berwyn, took a brief ride on lake shore drive and thought about various and sundry things in my 1.5 hours out of the house after a day inside. luckily for me, i don’t have to feel *terribly* guilty about the time spent inside, since chicago is currently playing the role of seattle, and it’s been gray and windy and rainy for days on end. there’s nothing more demeaning than realizing you’ve been unable to rouse yourself from a depressive lethargy while there’s been a 75 degree day passing you by.
i think i’m resting in a confluence of circumstances that’s been being compiled over the last month or so. i’m off one of my meds — doctor sanctioned and approved. i got fired from a job — a job that i went to every day; on time. that worked at every day; all day. that i showed up to, tried to fit in, brought food, smiled, tried to join in on the camaraderie and figure out the system that seemed so, so made for mistakes. but at the end of the day, i didn’t fit in; i made mistakes. even though i was miserable there, it turns out that as per usual, these things always tend to get under my brain more than i think they do.
i think they literally cause dePRESSion. i think they work overtime on my unconscious mind. i know somewhere i’m worried about money and having to find another job and all of that, but i don’t realize how much pressure it really causes until i find myself not being able to get out of bed or leave the house. i start by sending out resumes and looking over craigslist and really feeling good about a job search, and then i get a job interview that seems really promising, and then i never get that job and my brain slowly turns to hopelessness. i don’t know how or why i’m a bad interview, but it sure seems that even when i get a job, i can’t seem to nail that interview.
i start to wonder if i’m just unemployable. should i go for disability? doesn’t that seem horrible and weak? doesn’t that belie all of the talents i believe that i possess — writing and speaking and event planning and ….? i don’t know that it seems truthful. yet, it seems like i am a joke in the working world.
you have the seasonal factor. spring is always a weird time for me as a manic-depressive. that’s somewhat quantifiable, and somewhat … not. spring, fall, winter. summer’s always good. good, good, good. every other seasonal mark brings with it some sort of something. for awhile, it’s been pretty stable, but i haven’t changed any of my meds up for awhile. and now, i made a change.
lastly, i just found out that my family is still keeping HUGE family secrets from me. fuck. that really bothers me. i don’t know. i let it sink it a little on my drive home from easter, and i had some ranty venting to a couple of friends that sunday night, but i just let it go — i realized no one here cares, and i haven’t tried to give it too much thought since. but i realized on my drive tonight that i’m still really hurt by it all. i’ve been doing my best to show up to them and open up to them a little more. to keep lines of communication open and be a better daughter in that regard, and they’re still pulling the same old bullshit. what is the fucking point, here? why am i even trying to participate? what does it matter? does anyone respect me at all? what the fuck?
so, i’m mad and sad and angry and scared and getting myself into vicious cycles when i don’t leave the house and can’t make it to meetings and eat like shit and push things farther when i keep taking (or not taking) shitty actions.
oh, did i mention i’m the fattest i’ve ever been? and i can’t figure out what’s going on? some of it is that i’m not doing anything, but some of it is something else, i think. and i’m also depressed about the fact that i have no insurance and i feel so helpless in that arena, too. i need a dermatologist. (i’m not joking about that — that’s a story for another day.) i need an endocrinologist. i need a gynecologist. and i have no money, no job, and no insurance. and it just makes me want to give the fuck up. i’m so tired of trying to figure it all out, trying to make everything work. fuck.
so, that’s that. when all else fails, come here, be stupid and lay it all on the line like an idiot. here it is.