Tag Archives: Mental Health

Pity Party for One

23 Nov

I have maybe never been this depressed at Thanksgiving before. Well, not since 1999, anyway. That seems like another lifetime ago. In some ways, I wonder if I’m having some sort of cyclical event-related depression leftover from that time. Maybe it’s brought on/triggered by how generally dysphoric I’ve been lately anyway about life in general, plus the fact that this is the first Thanksgiving since that one which I will be spending alone.

Sometimes I think about how nice it must be to be obliviously crazy. By that I mean, to just be insane and not know any better. I should work on that. Instead, I am painfully aware of my moods, my thoughts, and how “off” I am. I push people away because they just make me feel more crazy. Their reassurances, their attempts at making me feel better, or worst of all — trying to tell me that I’m being negative and that my life really isn’t that bad. No shit. My life overall is pretty good. I have a nice place to live, I have a beautiful son, I have food, I’m sorta employed. Telling me that doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel shittier for not being able to be happy about it.

Yes, I have tried talking to my friends. I don’t really talk to my family about these things. And, for whatever reason, through no fault of theirs, I am failing to feel connected to them. I just don’t feel understood. I kind of know why, but I don’t feel like there’s much I can do about it. So, I will retreat in to this coccoon of self-pity and misery and I will feel like life is hopeless and just hunker down until the storm passes. Because it always does. The day it doesn’t, I will be dead. Don’t take that as a death threat. It’s reality.

On that note, I don’t know why people are so afraid of dying, or so uptight about talking about it. I know what song I want played at my funeral. I want to be wheeled in late while everyone is sitting there so I can continue to be perpetually tardy like I have all my life. I’m still convinced that I’m going to die when I’m 45, which is something I’ve had a strong conviction about for as long as I can recall. Maybe that’s why I take chances and sometimes do stupid things. Because subconsciously I feel invincible for another 12 years. I think when you’ve experienced so much death & trauma firsthand, at some point death ceases to faze you. I guess that’s a bad thing in a way. The only time it all bothers me is when I have my compulsive death thoughts — “Final Destination” type scenarios that play out in my head whether I want them to or not, brought on by who knows what. Sometimes they’re about me, sometimes they’re about other people. Always they are gruesomely detailed and disturbing in their graphicness. I don’t know why my brain does it. Actually, I kind of do. Apparently it’s a common manifestation of OCD. Shocking that I have OCD, I know.

This whole feeling thing sucks even more because I am usually very action-oriented. I function best when I’m busy, when I’m working, when I have a project, somewhere to go, something… and when I reach this level of shittiness, I am rendered practically incapable of action. Nothing sounds good, nothing makes sense, I can’t make a damn decision about anything. It’s like being held hostage by my brain. And my brain is a mean motherfucker. It means business. Don’t make a move or it will hurt someone. It is not here to negotiate. It wants everything on its own terms. So, I wait. I try to figure out what it wants.

Sometimes that means writing a blog and letting all my shit hang out there. Writing is cathartic to me. I have a drawer full of half-written journals, scrawls on pages, letters written and never sent, held on to over years of moves and life changes. No one has been allowed to read them. Ever. Blogging for me is cathartic in a different way, because it requires me to think more about what I’m feeling and try to express it in a way that will (hopefully) make sense outside of my head.

A lot of times the waiting means just keeping everything inside, but I know that’s not good so I’m trying to get better about it. But it’s a scary feeling, being open and honest about my thoughts when I’ve kept so much to myself. I know it seems like I’m pretty open and out there — but don’t mistake directness & honesty for openness. There is a difference. I guess that’s another reason why I feel disconnected from the world at large… because sometimes the “me” I know feels so drastically different from the “me” everyone else knows. And it’s a lot of fucking work keeping up with it.

Maybe I need to quit doing that. It would require a drastic reduction in my levels of caring what people think. Which I do, way more than my “I’m a badass” image portrayal lets on. I am working on not taking responsibility for other people’s feelings. I don’t mean that in an uncaring way. But in a healthy, positive way. You have your shit, I have mine. I have enough to deal with on my plate, so I am going to stop eating off of yours. Figuratively, speaking of course. I will still steal your actual french fries.

Breaking Eggshells

4 Oct

I’m not really sure how to explain this because it has been so long in the making.  Too many arguments cut short from resolution, too many problems not discussed openly, too many doors slammed, too many layers of denial and self-delusion.  All I can say is: I’m tired of fighting for the health of a relationship that isn’t reciprocal.  Today’s conversation made it quite clear that you are incapable of holding a rational discussion.  Especially one that involves admitting that you are in the wrong.

Oh, sure, you can talk all day about other people’s shortcomings and problems.  After all, that’s what you basically get paid to do.  Sort out the mess other people have made of their lives.  When it comes to your own, however, it’s an entirely different subject.  You have raised the blame game to an Olympic sport, and your twisted passive-aggressive behavior leaves no room for logic or communication.

I am opinionated and strong-willed but I am not the monster you make me out to be in your mind.  I have the ability to be introspective on my own.  I have the self-realization to admit when I am wrong.  And I am one of the most flexible, adaptable people on the earth.  I don’t always like to admit when I’m wrong, I don’t always like to change, and I don’t always like holding up a mirror to the inner workings of my self.  There’s the difference between us — I don’t like to do it, whereas you don’t know HOW to do it anymore.

If you think I’m being “mean” because I tell you the truth when others let you get away with your childish behavior, then I’m not the one with the problem.  And, newsflash: I’m not the only one who feels this way about you.  I’m just (apparently) the only one who will call you out on it.  Stop talking to your family like we’re a bunch of the idiots you counsel and work with.  You have the nastiest most condescending tone, reserved especially for us.  And you wonder why no one wants to talk to you, why no one wants to hear about your day, and why no one wants to open up to you.

Without a doubt, I ask a lot of my friends and family.  That’s because I expect to receive what I give.  I will bend over backwards to help a friend in need. If you need me, I will put aside my own priorities to make time for you.  I will change all my plans and rearrange my life to do what is important for someone I love.  I will not let anyone treat my family poorly.  That includes you.  I can’t… I won’t sit back and watch you single-handedly make those around you miserable.

You always ask me if I would treat my friends this way.  You are always surprised when I tell you that I do.  My friends and I don’t always agree on things.  Most of the time, we are able to discuss it like rational adults, and agree to disagree.  There have been times where I had to decide whether or not what was going on was worth the added drama in my life.  Unfortunately, there have been a couple of instances where I decided it was not, and I let those relationships go.  If you want to be treated like my friends, then you’ll be no different: I refuse to put up with this sort of behavior from them and I won’t put up with it from you.

I am finished walking on eggshells for you.