Jump to content

herba

Junior Member
  • Content Count

    32
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Everything posted by herba

  1. Life's about to get a whole lot more lonely now that my partner is training on the new job. He starts a nine-to-six routine as from Monday; right after Christmas he'll be put on the shift roster. I really need to find a way to fill the empty, endless hours that stretch ahead without resorting to sleeping. Sleep is my new escape as of late. My Valium supply finished last night; I've been taking it mainly to reduce my bruxism. I somehow managed to stay on just 5mgs daily for two (or maybe three?) weeks with a significant improvement. That said, my tolerance for the drug started creeping in a few days ago and now I'm back to my old self, forever clenching my teeth, 5mgs or not. Last night's grinding was so bad I woke up with a headache and this morning ti feels like I'm wearing a f***ing muzzle. Part of me is glad I'm coming off them because whenever the (emotional) numbness sets in it feels heavier than usual. I needed to buy some groceries this morning so I took the route through the derelict park. Most of the cats were hiding away from the wind and the drizzle so there was't much to see. I entertained myself with watching tree branches swinging to and forth. One of the older trees had a pan of white paint thrown at its thick bark; it looked like a giant had jizzed all over it. I blame the cocktail of pills I'm on for musings of such kind. My partner's mother just dropped by with a bottle of Bailey's; she's oblivious to the fact that I'm a recovering alcoholic. I've hidden it in a cabinet and I'm willing myself to stay the **** away from it. Bailey's gives you runs like no other when you hit it hard. I've hit every drink you can think of hard, excluding Black Absinthe. I always drew a line at that for some reason. But enough about ****ing drink already because it's triggering me worse than that f**king bottle in that f***king cabinet. I'm dying to just have one tot, but's NEVER one tot with me. And yet I'm still counting the hours left before my partner gets home to see if I can have a pi** up without getting caught. **** it. One tot it is. I don't give a ****. _____________________________________ I have my 'tot' which is actually a whole f***ing teacup. Whoops. Alcohol will always be my drug of choice. It's soothing (until you start crying and/or throwing up). And that's my one and only 'tot' down the hatchet. No more now. It won't be long before it interacts with the garden shrub, the lamotrigine, the fluoxetine and the Valium and I'll be nicely sedated for larger part of the rest of the day. ______________________________________ Who is this and why is she doing this? Zoning out started at a young age. My earliest memory of it was when I was around eight; I was bored (or so I thought then; I now recognise I was actually feeling numb) in class so I stood up and started slamming my palms onto the seat of my rickety school chair. It was so, so unlike me because even then I made a special effort to fade into the background. As I smacked my hands on the splintering plywood I felt like I was watching myself do so outside of myself - kind of like an out-of-body experience. When I was duly punished for it (I was made to copy some dumb sh1t off a book) I kept on thinking "Why am I being punished when I wasn't actually doing that? Or was I? Was that me? Then why didn't it feel like me?" That's a feeling that's plagued me all my life. I have no idea who I am. If you asked me how I'd honestly describe myself in three words the best I could give you is "nihilistic, useless and bored". But I probably wouldn't give you those; I'd give you something you'd like to hear. Something like "altruistic, independent and proactive." I can sell myself well. I can sell you whatever the f**k you want me to sell you so long as you like it. When I was discussing the possibility of me having borderline personality disorder with my mother she recounted how me switching between multiple accents depending on who I was talking to would freak her out when I was younger. One time I asked her if floor tiles die. Another time I climbed onto the balcony ledge and looked over. I wasn't sure why I did it but I figured I was probably still too young to die and got the f**k down. My head buzzed for hours later; a natural high of sorts. It was the first time I'd felt alive in a while. I was nine years old. I was a strange child.
  2. My partner has just poured half a bottle of alcohol down the drain upon my insistence. ****ing slip ups. It all started on Friday when I decided to reach out to an old friend - we'll call her Helen - to catch up. This was a huge feat for me. I know she's been having some relationship troubles and a hard time in general. She has also been one of the few people who knew a priori that I was going to have to take some time off work because I of my mental issues. I've known her for 15 years now and although she has her good bits and her bad bits (like everyone else; myself included) she is a genuinely caring, loyal and trustworthy person. We arranged to meet on Saturday - which was yesterday - and I dare say that leaving the house didn't seem like a phyrric effort. I had a legitimate good time although being outside of the comfort zone of the house was a bit unnerving. Helen and I went for a walk by the promenade, had a thick hot chocolate, then met up with a colleague of ours (let's call her Cher) and split a portion of fries between us. I'm guessing that this is the kind of stuff you do with people you know - friends I dare say - who aren't merely drinking buddies. Being on the receiving end of their generosity made me want to crawl out of my skin as per usual, so when Helen was driving me home I asked her to drop me off near the grocer's to buy some milk. I walked out with a dry slice of Christmas cake and a bottle of rose'. I got through a quarter of it before admitting I was being an ***** and owning up to my partner. He inadvertently forgot to throw it out yesterday so I took a few swigs this morning before begging him to get rid of it. I'm on Valium as well now. I cannot be doing this kind of sh_t. My partner was amazing about it. He could have chided me, but he was understanding and kind as always. So I'm going to try turn the day around even though I started on very shaky territory. I noticed earlier this week that all the facebook pictures I'd saved to my hard-drive before disabling my account are gone. The folder has disappeared. I have no recollection of deleting it myself so it must have ended up being emptied out of the recycling bin without me realising it was in there. This kind of gave me a strange sense of lightness; freedom if you like. Robert hasn't been in touch for a week. I'm quite certain I have scared him off by confiding in him about my suspicions of having borderline personality disorder. Part of me wants to say "Hi!" but another overriding part of me doesn't want to bother him or feel rejected if he doesn't respond. I never knew up until recently that people other than myself could experience emotional distress on a physical level (I guess I thought I was a special snowflake like that ). There have been countless episodes but these are some I remember more than others: when I was yelled at by my teacher before my fourth grade Christmas concert because my scarf came loose, when I was slut-shamed by an old timer shortly after my first rape and experiencing repeated emotional and sexual rejection by ex. _______________________________________________ 8:02 p.m. This entry has been a hella mess.
  3. @carter_burn1 thank you so much for your kind words of encouragement and support! Wishing you all the very best in your journey.
  4. I didn't take note of when I checked in last before I started writing this entry but I think it may have been around two to three weeks ago. My sense of time is still skewed. I can't understand how we're at the end of November. My brain still feels like it's stuck in late September when I started to slowly but surely crack. I'm back at work twice a week, mornings only; I work the rest of the days from home. I'm meant to be employed on a part-time basis but I honestly don't mind putting in some extra unpaid hours when I work away from the office. I have a lot of backlog so I'm trying to do the best I can of my current situation. The past weeks have been characterised by semi-functional ups and crushing lows of the suicidal kind. There have been days where I have had to physically force myself to get out of bed and others when I've had to will myself to stay in it in case I [insert random suicide method here]. I'm at a point where I don't actually remember a great deal of my days - they seem to fade into each other. I partly blame my meds, and the new routine of working more from home is probably not helping in that aspect. What it has helped is my overall interest in my job. I'm actually starting to give an infinitesimally small fraction of a sh**, something I'd felt last some time in between early spring and mid-summer (like I said, this year's timeline is sketchy for me). My alcoholism is finally "in check" again. There have been minor to moderate slip ups - weekly ones - but I've finally got a handle on drinking daily. On the other hand I've gone back to benzos; Valium this time. I was actually legit prescribed them (by a bit of a prescription-filling-happy general practitioner, to be fair). He didn't seem too fazed by the information that I'm on lamotrigine and fluoxetine so when he handed me the prescription I was all too happy to collect my benzos from the counter. I'm not getting high on them; I take 5mg in the early evening to knock me out and stop me from grinding my teeth, something I only got some respite from last week after six months or so of putting up with day-time and night-time bruxism. Mr partner has them under lock and key in an unknown room in the house and they should run out in a week or so. I spent the first day feeling like a complete and utter zombie but it's gotten better since. I'm even more forgetful than I used to be (yes, that's actually possible) and my concentration has been impaired a further notch but my anxiety levels have been at an all time low so it feels like a fair trade. I have found quite a bit of support at work. Although I was initially going to be placed in an office alone, a colleague who I'll call Anne from my old department (the one I was at before moving to the helm and subsequently having my 'breakdown') offered me a vacant desk opposite hers. It though the other employees in the office wouldn't be comfortable with the idea of me being around them but they welcomed me very warmly instead. A person or two in the building blanked me but several others told me I was missed and that they were pleased to have me back on board. The kindness I have received from these people who owe me jack-sh** is something I will do my utmost to keep in mind when a particularly dark moment strikes me. My partner has been incredible throughout. He has held me when I sobbed hysterically and rocked back-and-forth because living felt too hard to do. He has constantly reminded me of how far I've come by letting go of my self-injury and eating disorders, by releasing my fear, pain and anger vocally both at home and in therapy instead of internalising them. Whenever I call myself useless or pathetic he points out - yet again - that I'm a variation of loving, loyal, caring, understanding and always mentions I'm a good cook (he loves his food!). I then always tell him he has the patience of a saint and he replies that patience doesn't factor in it, because he loves me. He tells me that it never feels like he has to 'put up with me' and consoles me to make me hurt less rather than to shut me up. Believe it or not this is still very new relationship territory for me, even if I'm 32. All my previous relationships have been dysfunctional because I've always sought out brooding bad boys who are emotionally unavailable, psychologically manipulative, obsessively jealous and/or disproportionately temperamental. Each time I'd seek out to 'tame', 'help' or 'save' the interchangeable man-child a******, probably in some weird and warped attempt to subconsciously 'fix' myself. Just a few days ago I found myself silently thanking my lucky stars for currently having such an empathetic and compassionate soulmate. I'm so proud he aced the first interview he applied for and is now actually training on the new job. I'm glad I can see the good things I have going on for me today; if only I had more days like today. My anger towards my mother has recently been reaching higher-than-usual levels. I seem to be mulling over behaviours of hers that I never really gave any weight to previously: the intermittent face slapping, the odd chase around the house with the belt (I can't remember if she ever lashed me with it but I do recall experiencing paralysing fear), throwaway comments about my fluctuating weight when I was struggling with my eating disorders, the belittling of my decision making, the occasional round of emotional blackmail and her general inability to be an emotionally supportive parent to her child who was bereaved of her father very young. When I vocalise that or put in writing I feel like a truly horrible person. That feeling of guilt is currently something I'm working on in therapy, which I'm attending bimonthly. My therapist would have preferred me to have at least weekly appointments in view of my frequent and prolonged episodes of suicidal ideation but he eventually respected my decision to take it slow. Although I feel more comfortable than ever around my therapist I have an issue with him at the moment. Allow me to recap. On Friday I was watching a re-run of a crime talk show online: it's basically one of those sensationalist trial-by-media cesspit programmes. At some point a mother accused of matricide was described by her lawyer as having borderline personality disorder to the show host and panel. It wasn't the first time I'd heard of the term, 'Girl, Interrupted' introduced me to that. I'd never looked into it though, mainly because I was unaware that personality disorders can lead to co-morbid mental illnesses such as anxiety and depression. Long to short of it, I found myself spending most of the weekend researching: first wikipedia, then the DSM-5 and ICD-10, then related websites and youtube videos. The latter two refer to 'internalised', 'acting inward' or 'quiet' borderline personality disorder, of which I could find no mention in either the DSM-5 and ICD-10. The closest match in the ICD-10 is referred to as 'emotionally unstable personality disorder; borderline type' and described as follows: And that's pretty much me, with the exception that any threatening or violent outbursts I have (physical, psychological or emotional) are directed at myself and as far as I know I have not engaged in self-injury with the intent of emotionally blackmailing someone not to bail on my ass (it's usually because I wanna **** myself - but don't - if you know what I mean). Just to make sure I wasn't doing a half-assed job of my pseudo-self-diagnosis, I checked what medication is usually used to treat borderline personality disorder. Sure as sh** fluanxol (which I have only just recently come off), fluoxetine and lamotrigine were all on the list. I brought this up with my therapist (especially since some literature points out that professionals often shy away from diagnosing patients with borderline personality disorder because it is a highly stigmatised illness and is difficult to treat) however he said that a 'diagnosis' would 'put a label on me' and 'take away from my story' (whatever that's supposed to ****ing mean). My therapist's evasiveness has actually made me all the more suspicious, so my psychiatrist is next in the firing line when I meet him next month. It's taken me four hours to complete this entry, so now I'm going to **** off and relax a bit. I think I've earned it.
  5. herba

    So fed up.

    @Jalen, I just want to tell you that you're an immensely brave guy for hanging on for this long despite all the adversity you are going through. Like yourself I have become very isolated due to my depression and I often find myself blaming myself for the way things are turning out in my life. Assigning meaning to a life that feels meaningless is a very difficult obstacle I'm trying to overcome and it sounds like you too are struggling with it. I promise you that you will not struggle for ever, even if it feels like you will. I know this is going to sound like the hardest thing ever, but is there something you could try doing that give you a sense of purpose without you hating it? I don't know if you're into any kind of arts, crafts or writing activities; if you are it may be worth giving one of them a try. Since I've been pretty much demotivated to death recently I've set my self one target for the time being: have one hot meal a day. It's given me incentive to cook more, which means doing less garden shrub and spending less time staring blankly into a space while playing depressing music. This past week or so I've added checking out DF daily, watching one programme/documentary that interests me - even if very remotely - every other day and attempting to crochet a third of a granny square a day. I guess I'm faring decently. I know these sound like pathetic goals but I have found them helpful to drag me out of the zombified-depression-state. Hang in there dude. You might think you haven't got this, but you do. The fact that you have been brave enough to survive this long is a testament to that. Never forget that. Sending you positive vibes.
  6. I needed a couple of days off from DF; I felt like I had nothing to contribute and nothing to say. Tuesday was a a new low for me, but yesterday I found myself feeling slightly more positive. I think Trump being elected President of the States gave the misanthrope in me something to smile about since the impending apocalypse is probably that much closer now . American politics has officially turned into the greatest reality show of all. I can see "Keeping up with the White House" hitting E! anytime soon now! In case you're wondering, I wasn't rooting for Hillary either; her white-lady, bourgeois feminism made me want to throw up in the same kind of way Emma Watson's does. When the news broke I messaged my partner, then I logged into my old Facebook account to have a giggle about it with Robert. His opening line in our chat was "Where the hell have you been man!?" I really didn't think he'd notice or care I'd been gone. I didn't realise he was invested in our friendship; I assume by default that nobody really is. I've isolated almost everyone I know. The only people I have any sort of relationship with at this stage are my mother, my partner and my cat. I managed to find it in me to set an appointment with my therapist after much cajoling from my partner; Monday at 3.00 p.m. it is. I've started trying to crochet a bit. So far I've managed a third of a granny square. This morning I woke up with a really dicky tummy so I slept in until 9.00 a.m.. It was pretty glorious. I'd forgotten what having a long lie in feels like. I'm going to go around the forums and blogs now. I feel like I'm finally in a place where I can lend a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on at last.
  7. I was having such a good day on Sunday. I managed a full face of make up before braving the big bad outdoors for lunch with my partner's family. Yesterday I spent the larger part of the meeting I had to sort out my work hours and duties crying. Colleagues, bosses, even the damn head were understanding and kind and offered words of encouragement (so much for the higher ups ascertaining my condition being kept secret; but I never bought it would have been so I'm not surprised). What I spent nine and a half years trying to avoid (i.e. letting my mask fall at work) happened with gusto. While I appreciated everyone's concern, the pitying looks just made me cry harder. I'm 'that one who had a mental breakdown' now. No one said it, people don't do that. But if you're mentally unwell and good at reading people (I'm both) you'll know what I'm talking about. Advice I received by every psychiatrist and psychologist (#sarcasm) in the room included: - You have to get out of that hole. If you can't, you're not trying enough. - I took Valium for a week, I know what you're going through. - Your psychiatrist doesn't have your best interests at heart (sure, a boss would say that; he's got his best interests at heart) - Are you staying at home twiddling your thumbs? - Was it the job that did this to you? That put a bit of a damper on the rest of the day and when I fell asleep I knew today would be . Sometimes you just know. The highlight of my day was watching the waves crash against the rocks while fantasising about my funeral arrangements. Needless to say, I'm not having a very good time.
  8. It's lunch with partner's family today; or rather his grandfather, the grandfather's wife, his half-brother and the latter's long-term girlfriend. It's an unusual family dynamic if you have not noticed. My partner and his half-brother (as well as his other, natural brother) are not on speaking terms with their dad for many (many) good reasons. I can't say I'm looking forward to the lunch but I rarely look forward to anything that entails me leaving the house nowadays. Who knows; the fresh air might do me some good. I can't stay holed up in the kitchen forever. Yesterday was a very successful cooking day: I made two banana cakes, a shepherd's pie and ravioli sauce. I was cooking for at least six hours and felt quite in my element. It was a good day; I had very few suicidal thoughts and since I was feeling less depressed I had more motivation than I'd had in ages. I also managed to stay away from the bottle; a huge plus. This morning I managed to drag my sorry ass into the shower by 7.00 a.m.. I hadn't showered since Wednesday. That means I had two showers this week; no improvement on last week then. I know how gross that sounds. I wish I had more incentive to wash more often. I do the pits and crotch everyday, but daily full-body showers haven't been on my agenda for at least a month. At least I still have it in me to brush my teeth twice a day (at least). I'm a bit fussy with oral hygiene like that. On a more positive note I managed to exfoliate and moisturise today. It had been so long I forgot I even had a loofah. I might actually find some time to sort out my eyebrows if I can keep this up! Ever since I reneged on my Facebook I am missing chatting to a 'friend' I grew quite close to over the past year and a half or so; we'll call him Robert. We've known each other socially for about seven years but never had the opportunity to talk about anything that isn't trivial for the larger part of that time. After I came out as bisexual with him we started talking about more personal matters and he admitted he has also gone through some dark times and has battled depression. We're very different people but I felt like we could 'get' each other in that sense. Part of me wants to reach out, but then I think what's the point? I'm finding it so hard to be friends with myself, let alone someone else. If he ever needs to reach out he has my number and he knows I'll be there. My sex drive is so crap nowadays. I do worry what toll it might be having on my relationship even though my partner is very patient and understanding. Although he suffers from depression too it hasn't hit his sex drive as hard as mine's been hit by the multiple medications. ____________________________________ (9:16 a.m.) I took some time out from this entry to have a cuddle with my partner and sort my face out. My eyebrows look decent for the first time in a month and a half! I also cleansed, toned and moisturised and put leave-in conditioner in my hair! I know these sound like the most pathetic of feats, but for someone who hasn't had enough energy to shower regularly as of late it's a bit of a personal triumph. I might actually manage a coat of mascara later on. I rediscovered Incubus recently; Robert turned me on to them again after sharing 'S.C.I.E.N.C.E.' on his page. Boyd is in his 40s and still as fine as hell. I want to treat myself more kindly today, especially since tomorrow I have to trek to the office to finalise the details concerning my new work arrangements. I'll admit I'm nervous. I left the office in quite a state and I'm not entirely sure if any of my colleagues will be pleased to see me since it happened very suddenly. I thought of messaging the head lady in our office in advance to check if my presence would be appreciated. I don't feel like awkward charades.
  9. @fearispower I understand where you are coming from because your (very legit) concerns are ones which I (used to) share. I made peace with an eventual mass die off (or even complete extinction) some time ago. Between companies fracking for oil and then spilling it in our oceans, ***ushima still leaking radioactive material and the Beijing smog (just to cite three current examples) I don't blame anyone who feels that recycling is a waste of time. The truth is that the governments and the media have blamed average Joe's rubbish bag for what is happening to the environment while taking the heat off corporations which have literally polluted humanity to near-death. Watching people my age (32) setting up pension funds and making plans for their kids' tertiary education is quite amusing. I feel it's only a matter of time before humanity's time is up and if it somehow survives climate change, it'll die off engaging in a world-scale war brought on by food shortages/mass migration... because climate change; and humanity. Whenever this kind of thing gets me down I listen to George Carlin's skit "The Planet is Fine". I find it comforting that this planet will remain (albeit very altered form from its original state) after our species is long gone. I'm going to stop being morbid now :
  10. It may be a bit too early to tell but I'm feeling somewhat better today. Yesterday I crashed in the afternoon again. Strangely ever since I took time off my job mornings have become easier to deal with but afternoons are mentally excruciating. Luckily this morning I have enough wits about me to remind myself of a mantra which has been getting me through some difficult times since late September: Don't destroy yourself. I will not drink today. Drink always makes things worse. I can tell myself a million times over that it will provide sweet escape, but it never does. Sometimes I wonder if it ever has. The last time I legitimately remember enjoying getting hammered was sometime in my early 20s after I graduated, and even then it was a short-lived stint. Prior to that I had a memorable couple of years of fun years binge drinking in my teens. Any drinks that came before, in between or after were only ever intended to numb the pain, lessen my social anxiety or purge myself emotionally and physically. My alcoholism has recently undoubtedly improved. For most of this year I drank daily; somehow juggling a full-time job and getting a promotion in the process. It's funny because professionally I was doing so well. Even though I was falling to pieces inside I still prided myself in doing a good job up until July. Then I changed office. The stress and uncertainty weren't nearly as difficult to deal with as was the reality that my job has been dictating the way I live my life for the better part of a decade. I've always kept my opinions to myself, shut out any racist, homophobic and misogynistic remarks. I've put up with the piousness, the ignorance and the petit bourgeois drivel about boats, inheritances, villas, expensive accessories and private schooling. Before my promotion I told myself it would all be worth when I was making a pretty penny. It wasn't. My first paycheck post-promotion was the most money I ever made in my life, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had traded ten miserable years I would never get back for it. Things went downhill fast after that. My drinking increased; that's never a good thing when you're on three different types of meds. I was also getting through an unsustainably expensive amount of garden shrub (I still can't get over the cuteness of DF's censorship here!). By month three post-promotion I was not managing to save a penny of my sizeable wage because I was blowing ridiculous amounts of cash on mind-altering substances. Things came to a head when I went to bed one weekend and woke up repeatedly every single night dreading work. When the drink and drugs stop working it's usually a giant, red, flashing sign that something in my life needs to change. I spoke to my psychiatrist the Monday after and he agreed some time away from work would do me good. I had honestly expected him to tell me that I should persevere, but I think he could tell that I really did't have it in me at that point no matter how much I wished I did (because after all I had been working towards the promotion for ten years). The mantra I discovered three weeks earlier - don't destroy yourself - dragged me through the worst of it. I told myself that I needed to have the belief that better opportunities awaited me in the future and shortly afterwards my bosses asked me whether it would be at all possible for me to do some part-time work mostly from home. I jumped at the chance: it meant I would still have some income coming in while working on my recovery without having to deal with closed-minded morons. I'll be discussing the way forward with my bosses on Monday. It has already been agreed that I'd put in a 20 hour week doing four hours from the office and the rest from home but some things still need to be ironed out. It's a very uncertain time in my life, but also a freeing one. For the first time in a long while I feel stronger today. I feel like I can deal better than I have been able to all week. I just hope it lasts.
  11. Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad I'm not alone to have been through memory suppression. When the memory started coming back about three and a half years ago I honestly thought I was having some kind of psychotic breakdown and had begged my partner to take me to the A&E or a mental health facility. Thankfully he talked me into sleeping on it and the next day I was stable enough to brave a day of work before attending an emergency appointment with my therapist.
  12. I see the world a bit differently than most. I don't believe in the functions of capitalism and democracy because these systems have both failed and it is the same failure of these systems which have given us a two-party system and candidates like Hilary and Trump. But seriously I'll stop here because this is the kind of thing that makes me get waaay carried away X'D
  13. I'm not going to get political. All I can say is that I dislike Trump and Hilary equally and if Trump is elected president of the States the world is gonna see some pretty weird X'D. In that sense I can't wait to see the result; but I'm a bit of a misanthrope like that...
  14. Thank you for your kind comments. It feels so much less overwhelming to know you are not alone. :)
  15. After my first experience of sexual intercourse (which I later came to find out was statutory rape) I became heavily depressed because the other person involved made a disappearing act from my life in the immediate aftermath. I had become very emotionally dependent on him in the months leading up to the fiasco, and he basically talked my 13-year-old self into sleeping him with the promise of a possible relationship that never materialised. For a young girl with a ****-ton of daddy issues it was ought to end badly. When my mother found out what happened later the same day (some physical complications ensued because I was so damn young), she slut-shamed me to hell and back and locked me inside the house for the rest of the summer. It was a very difficult time in my life despite my young age; the first time where I had prolonged suicidal ideation and a feeling of unshakeable emptiness tinged with sadness. This incident occurred before I had an internet connection (or a computer) so my only lifelines were the television and my diary which I wrote in daily and obsessively for over a year. That diary was kind of the no holds barred place for me. The sheer amount of swearing my 13-to-14-year-old self could drum up is impressive. Almost everyday I'd talk about the guy - let's call him Stefan - from time to time cursing that our sexual encounter didn't result in a pregnancy because it meant having absolutely no link to him anymore. Other times - when I hated him for abandoning me - I'd refer to him as 'red panties' (he had been wearing red y-fronts that one time) or s***head or something or other my young teenage self deemed 'degrading' enough. The summer passed but my feelings of desperation hung around throughout the following autumn, winter and spring. Having my mum subtly hint that I was now officially 'damaged goods' throughout all those months really didn't help matters. My only highlight - most weeks - was being at school (because it meant I could be way from home) and holing myself up in my room on Sunday late afternoon and having a sneaky fag while listening to Lauryn Hill's 'Ex-Factor'. In the meantime I'd throw myself at anyone who would touch me with a barge-pole, as I had in the months preceding to the life-defining incident with Stefan. It's crazy. I started experimenting sexually at 12-years-old. I would learn much later on in my life that this early experimentation was a result of a previous sexual assault occurring early in my childhood. That latter event was one that I buried at the back of my brain for many years. Had I not experienced memory-suppression first hand I'd call bulls***. Things started picking up for me in the summer time. By the end of the season my entries came to a halt: my diary had served it's purpose and had allowed me to vent sufficiently. I can't say my battle with those feelings or that incident ended there, but at least getting it out of my system soon after it happened through the medium of writing helped me deal immensely. I was essentially a child dealing with very grown-up feelings and happenings. I was far too young to be going through all that alone but I had no social circle outside of my mother and my class mates. Needless to say neither could relate to what I was dealing with (and I didn't try terribly hard to get my point across either). It's only now - as a thirty-two-year old adult woman - that I can fully appreciate how terribly heavy all of this was. For many years after I never acknowledged the impact this (and other life-changing episodes) had on my emotional and psychological wellbeing; it was just some bad sh_t that happened when I was young. What I didn't realise then is that Stefan would set a precedent for subsequent relationships I would have. Every single relationship up until my most current one would be marred by obsessive jealousy, emotional unavailability, control issues, physical and sexual violence or codependency. On the other end of the spectrum, the few men that treated me decently got treated like absolute sh_t in return. I deemed any man who truly cared about my wellbeing as pathetic, weak and boring. I often looked for partners with some kind of addiction problem or mental torment to justify and complement my own madness and alcoholism. I've only started to truly love within a healthy framework over the past five (minus a bit) years. Being in love - rather than just being deeply infatuated - is an amazing experience.
  16. @soloviola I'm so glad the day is treating you more kindly despite the unpleasant text and the bad news you received. Overthinking has always been a problem for since I was a child but reached it's crux in my late 20s when I felt like I was completely losing my marbles. I found that my anxiety (both generalised and social) and my panic attacks became easier to tackle after I started receiving therapy and taking medication. Within the space of a few months I went from daily panic attacks and a constantly whirring mind, hammering heart and flipping stomach to a much quieter place. I still have a panic attack every few months but they're very infrequent compared to back then. I hope the sunrise and brightness never fade form your sight again. Stay strong!
  17. Does anyone here have co-morbid conditions/disorders in addition to their depression and anxiety? I have suffered from addiction issues, alcoholism, eating disorders and obsessive compulsive disorder. Self-injury, emotional and psychological self-punishment and very low self-esteem were also life-staples between my teens and 20s. Currently I've got a handle on all of these (although I still fall of the sobriety bandwagon every few days/weeks). I ask because I have been wondering whether it is possible to have depression and/or anxiety without having any co-morbid conditions/disorders as a result.
  18. I liked your post because it really seems like something written from the heart. I'm so sorry you're having to go through this again. I lost my dad when I was still very young and my mum is now getting on. I wouldn't want to think of how it would be to go through something like that especially because me and her have a lot of unresolved issues too. Sending you positive vibes!
  19. I lived through yesterday: by the skin of my teeth; but I did. I predicted I wasn't going to have a good day as soon as I opened my eyes, but the universe decided to really pile it on and break me down by throwing some pretty s***ty circumstances and happenings across my path. Mum and I had planned a day out after popping by the Building Authority to ensure that permits related to my flat are all in order. On my way there I broke down three times; since I don't drive and was on a bus, that was quite embarrassing. It wasn't full on wailing and waterworks of course, but there were some quiet tears and nose-blowing. I used to be so much better at holding it together. Drinking used to help a lot (weirdly enough). So did my former image: immaculate hair, flawless make-up and high heels. Now I just don't have it in me to pretend anymore. It's just me with my bare face (six days out of seven I don't even bother cleansing, toning and moisturising), my slightly greying hair (tied back into a messy bun) and my trainers (because years of towering shoes have given me really bad bunions). I used to be so beautiful but just as equally miserable. I was just better at faking my way through life back then. News from the Building Authority was grim: when I originally bought my place the appointed architect didn't do his job properly which to cut a long story short means my apartment has illegalities in its structure; illegalities which date back to way before I bought my place (think 1995; at that time I was ten going on to eleven). I'm in the process of tracking down the mother****er. I don't expect to be compensated (I literally parted with a grand for this guy's services) but I will cause a bit of racket in his office. That event by itself was enough to make a bad day look even worse but I persevered through it with gritted teeth; I wanted mum to have a good day despite everything. We walked around the capital for a bit, then headed to the old capital and had some lunch. In the middle of our ravioli meal it somehow crossed her mind to bring up my father on his deathbed. I don't mind talking about it so much, but the timing felt way off. It obviously ended up descending into my mother telling me how I was 'scarred for life' by my dad's passing (which occurred while I was still in playschool) and how this is the reason I'm so depressed. It is one of the reasons she knows about; like she knows about my (now under control) OCD. If she knew we could add multiple sexual assaults, alcoholism and other addiction issues as well as her own physical and unintended psychological abuse inflicted upon me to the list, maybe she'd stop harping on about it so much. The mood got a bit lighter when we popped into the local cemetery (because the universe decided it was also going to be a '**** logic' day). So many tombstones; mostly of old people. Too many of younger ones. Graveyards have been a comforting place for me ever since I can remember visiting my first one somewhere between the ages of five and seven. They're mostly quiet. You can hear the tree leaves rustle and the birds chirp and sing. Every step reveals a blooming flower or the flicker of a candle. And best of all everyone around you is dead and dead people can't hurt you. It freaks me out that even my child self had these kinds of thoughts, but let's face it: my childhood wasn't exactly run of the mill. After our trip to the cemetery my mum invited herself over for tea and pastries. Under usual circumstances I wouldn't have minded so much, but at that point all I really wanted to do was get the **** home and get as stoned and as drunk as physically possible. I hate having to resort to alcohol but in circumstances like yesterday's it's either that or self-injury and I'm trying to stay away from that because I've been doing very, very well in that regard. All this said and done I granted my mum's wish; like I said I wanted her to have a memorable birthday (after all this could be her last). I hugged her tight before she left. I wasn't sure if I'd even see her again: my suicidal ideation had gotten a bit out of control by that point. I spent the next two hours drinking, smoking and curling up on the sofa lest I see a knife or some pills and act on my crazy ass ideas. My mum calling repeatedly about the architect and other $h1t I really didn't want to hear about ironically got me through a part of those two hours; the cat helped with the rest. By the time my partner arrived home from work I was feeling slightly less suicidal. That's always a good thing. I fell asleep early; the day really wore me out. And today I'm feeling better. Not just less suicidal, but actually less depressed than I was yesterday (or the days leading up to it). There's a lightness in my chest. My eyes don't feel heavy. Something as simple as breathing doesn't feel like a chore. I lived through yesterday: by the skin of my teeth; but I did.
  20. It's two minutes shy of 6.00 a.m. right now. I've been up for over an hour. The cat started having a whine and woke me up; not that it took much effort on her part. I fell asleep at 8.00 p.m. yesterday and before that I had a three-hour nap in the late morning. Somehow I still feel tired, lethargic and apathetic. It's my mother's birthday today and I promised we'd do something special; which we are despite the rain and gloom. It's not the rain that's disheartening me from leaving the house - I actually quite like bad weather - it's myself. Part of me just wants to curl up in bed again and stay there until... until what? I don't even know myself. I'm taking a break from my most recently set up my facebook account; removed all apps from my phone. The new account lasted a grand total of four days then. I've been going around switching accounts for years now, trying to get away from everyone, but above all away from myself. I deleted my original account (again; this is not a new occurrence), but this time I removed all traces of myself from the said account as well. No photos, no tags, no nothing. I'd had the thing since 2007. Deleting it was kind of therapeutic. I needed to get away. I hardly had any friends left there anyway. I intended to try and forge some new friendships with my new account. Then a guy I know through the grapevine asked me if I wanted to meet up to talk (no bad intentions from his end, I'm sure) and I just freaked out. I can't handle people. I can hardly handle myself most days. I need more time. On Monday I have to return to the office to discuss working part-time with my bosses. After close to a decade as a full-timer I recently took some time off from my job to (supposedly) get my head together. Sometimes I do wonder if it was just an excuse to get even further away from everyone and everything, which it may have been but not as a result of me being an anti-social freak, but because I have depression. I have had depression for so many years now. My first really bad episode was when I was 17; I'm 32 now. Fifteen years of on-and-off (mostly 'on') struggling and fighting. I think anyone would be tired at this point, especially since I've been receiving therapy and taking medication for almost four years and yet I'm still having these kinds of relapses. I always tell myself that if I had only sought help earlier, or taken my attempts at seeking treatment in my late teens and 20s more seriously, maybe I wouldn't be here. I think of how I was denied adequate treatment by my mother when all of this started (she didn't really take my illness seriously back then; sometimes she still doesn't understand), and how that could have derailed my chances of ever getting truly better. That makes me feel angry, but no amount of anger will change the way things panned out. I've had quite a few bad back-to-back days. I don't think I've felt decent since the weekend (it's Thursday today). I have managed to cook more this week, which is a step up from last week where my menu consisted mostly of cigarettes, garden shrub (w33d is automatically turned into 'garden shrub' on DF; cute LOL) coffee, tea, bread, cereal and milk. I threw together a tasty mushroom soup and a soothing chicken soup; at least both were well worth the effort. A part of me just wants it to rain and rain and rain so everywhere will be flooded and I'll have a damn good excuse not to leave the house. Sometimes even popping over to the grocery shop down the road takes super-human effort. At least I managed to wash and shave yesterday. I hadn't bothered showering since Sunday and my legs hadn't seen the end of the razor since for almost two weeks. It'd been a while since I let myself go that much. And the rain's stopped, the thunder's stopped and the sky is partly blue. So much for avoiding outdoors today. There is nothing I feel like doing less and yet I'm going to have to drag my sorry ass outside and pretend to have a good time for a few hours. It's become so hard, pretending. I spent the better part of 15 years doing it and now it's just become exhausting. I don't want to have to pretend anymore. I just want to be myself, even if its miserable. That said, there's no way out of today; all I can hope for is that I'll be home by the mid-afternoon.
  21. Hi Peach, thanks for your kind words. Words like that give me hope. I've definitely been thinking about keep a blog here; I think it could help.
  22. I've been having a particularly rough day and I haven't left the house at all in over 24 hours. You're not alone, hang in there.
  23. Oh man. We're practically in the same boat. I've just taken some time off work; the idea was to 'work on my recovery'. It's week three now and I'm basically spending my days shuffling between the kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and grocery store down the road. I too have been dealing with depression for 15 years, so like yourself I can't understand how I quite haven't gotten a handle on it. I also get how you feel like you can't muster the energy to at least force yourself to go for a walk, or the gym or whatever outdoor activity that previously brought you pleasure. Depression is very debilitating like that. Would reaching out to a local support group be helpful? Is it something you think you could manage? If you can't I fully understand, I'm not at a point where I can do that. DF is kind of my only hope at the moment. If you ever want to chat just hit me up. I can't promise you I can offer solutions but if you just want to rant/vent or even have some small talk to keep things light, I'm here okay?
  24. I've been suffering from mental health issues (including depression and anxiety) for many years; my partner started becoming mentally unwell three years into our relationship. Despite our respective illnesses we try our best (and sometimes manage) to maintain a balance between meeting each other wants and needs and taking care of our own selves, but it takes a concerted effort for both parties. We have some 'rules': we voice any issues we have immediately, we listen, discuss possible solutions and brew over them together for a while before making steps to implement them. I'm (infinitely) lucky this time around, but it hasn't always been the case. In my previous relationship I was also in a similar situation to yours, with the difference that my partner then was totally unwilling to admit he had a problem (despite drinking to the point of blacking out every weekend, drunk driving, refusing to go out during the day unless for work chronic sexual dysfunction and zero emotional availability). I stayed for years hoping that he would seek help and change. I stayed because I myself was too depressed, too tired and too worn out to walk away and start afresh. I literally preferred staying in it than walking away because it all seemed to hard to accomplish at the time, especially because to all our friends we were the 'golden couple' and his family were especially invested in our relationship. We shared a house together (it was his place) which I invested a ****-ton of money in. All these felt like good reasons to stay at the time - in the most legit sense ever - but at a distance I realise that they only served to fuel the feelings of lack of control I was experiencing. The constant feeling of lack of control over my circumstances ended up manifesting in alcoholism, OCD and eating disorders which I have since managed to get under control. I'm not saying this will happen to you, but I do urge you to take care of yourself. I don't know whether you are receiving professional help for your mental health problems. If not, would it be possible to tackle these with the help of a psychiatrist and/or a psychologist? Self-help is amazing but sometimes the only way I feel like I can stop 'spinning out of control' is by talking things out with my therapist. This approach could help you feel for centred and thus give you the strength and energy you need to deal with fixing your relationship (if it can indeed be fixed) or going it alone. In the meantime it might also happen that the contract you mention elapses, and this will help you deal better in the interim. If these options are not a possibility maybe you could join an Emotions Anonymous group in your area? While this can't substitute the help of a medical professional it could really help you vent and possibly make some acquaintances that can listen to the part of you that's hurting, the one who wants to drink until the she doesn't exist, not the one who puts on a brave face for everyone, everyday at her own expense. Just keep in mind that your boyfriend's mental illness does not excuse him for not taking your concerns, feelings and worries seriously. His issues do not excuse him dismissing you as 'being ridiculous' or laughing at you when you try and broach the subject. Sending you huge virtual hugs and good vibes!
×
×
  • Create New...