I cannot describe the fear that overcomes me when I have to start a new project. Even the slightest action such as writing a 2 line email or attending a call terrorizes me to the point that I would do anything and everything else instead of what I have to do. I have been dragging a project for the past year and a half. That is 18 months or 540 days or 12960 hours of procrastination.
I don't know when nor how this fear came about. I was not like this a couple of years ago. Yes, I have suffered from depression for many years now - on and off, but this fear of failure has gotten worse over the last 2 to 4 years.
Part of it is, I guess, due to my low self esteem (although I have always had a low self-esteem- so why this fear of failure has crept in recently - I really don't know.). I am afraid of failing because the failure would be a proof of my low self worth. It would be a testimony to the fact that I am an incompetent little dimwit who cannot do anything. I am so afraid of failing, that I end up not attempting anything, thereby guaranteeing my failure. I do not understand my logic.
Another trait that I despise about myself is that I think too much and I care too much about other peoples opinion of me. Every little thing affects me and pushes me in my depression. And I mean, every tiny little thing ...
''someone didn't answer me ...it must be because they hate me or they think I'm stupid ...'' this is the type of conversation I have in my head. PATHETIC!!!! I know. And this type of conversation doesn't help me achieve anything. I know it. I know all my issues, yet why can't I get past it.
It is especially hard to get back on track after a bout of depression. When depression creeps in, whether it is for a few days, weeks, months (I never know how long it will stay), it is hard to get back to where you left when you do feel ''better''. Everyone else has moved ahead and you have stepped backwards. At this point, guilt and anxiety decide to give you company. You blame yourself for not doing anything, because it is your fault that you didn't do anything.
"Yes, it is my fault. Yes, it is my fault. Yes, it is my fault. I am lazy. I am lazy. I am lazy. I am stupid. I am stupid. I am stupid..." This is the latest track I have been listening to. Quite a mood booster and a very motivational track to listen to.
The joys of my life ... sigh...
It's been a while.
I'm not sure why really. Maybe I just couldn't keep over-dosing on so many success stories!?
Oops, wrong website. Madness comes with everything other than a cure, apparently.
And i do know why, so I shouldn't pretend. Have had my head up my bum. Which is right where I left it. Oh well.
So wha'd I miss? Anything exciting? Pointlessly controversial?
Is America great again?
Hi everyone, it's Shane. I'm sure most of you figured out that I left DF after a pretty long period of inactivity...I'm not making a comeback or anything. I left the site for a number of reasons, none that I need to go into here...and honestly, I'm getting by fine without it, and most days I'm generally happy and mostly depression free. It still rears it's head now and again, but I mostly have it under control with the help of a few people in my life and a formula of natural coping skills and brutal, daily honesty with myself and everyone in my life. This is just a short update for the many friends I made over my time on the site. I left abruptly, and maybe I'm flattering myself, but I've been thinking lately that maybe my friends here have been worrying or at least wondering what happened to me. After all, when someone in the DF community just drops off the planet, it's usually not a good sign. I just wanted to let everybody know that I'm fine, doing well, making progress...and I think about many of you all the time, and I hope you're all doing well, too.
Like I said, I have no desire to make a comeback and no plans to become active on DF again anytime soon, if ever. Just wanted to reach out to the good people I've met on here and let them know I'm doing all right and express my fond wishes that all of you are finding peace and balance in your lives as well. Never give up, always keep trying. Everyone has to walk their own path and find their own way, but I was able to find some peace by practicing honesty and kindness in my daily life. Treating everyone with love and respect has given me peace, and I'm starting to reap the benefits of it....improving lives of people I touch, and also receiving some peace and joy for myself in the process. I am drug free in every way. I have put down the antidepressants, sleeping pills, and anti-anxiety meds. I wasn't getting results, and the more I learned about the medications I was blindly taking because a physician told me to, the scarier the whole thing became. I came to realize that the professionals pushing these drugs don't know what they do or how they work, or what long term effects or consequences are. I am not recommending that ANYONE do what I did - if your meds help you and you trust them, then a salut, God bless, good luck. I've replaced my drugs with healthy, natural coping skills, I no longer self medicate, either. I have found balance, and my path has led me away from drugs in any form, whether they are drugs that I chose and bought of my own free will, or drugs I was sold by a physician.
I love all of you, and you're all in my thoughts and prayers. Peace and love, friends. I'll always hold a place in my heart for the souls on this site.
I've grown up in a small country with about a million inhabitants. We have a soviet past and it has prevented our country from turning into Scandinavian-like country. So, as one may imagine, I am used to pretty basic life with not too many "pampering" products (especially food).
Now I'm living in another country to have a brighter and safer future (economically) and better opportunities for education. This country is so close, only a few hours journey from my home country but still I feel like I have moved on another planet. Oh I wish I had endless amount of money to spend! (you know, like in Sims2/3 where you put the cheat code in and build your dream life). I felt it especially today when I accidentally visited a grocery store I've never been to before. It was HUGE. My god how huge. I lost my head and every possible memory of what I came for. At least I didn't leave hungry as I got offered pizza, some salad, chips, some bread...life was good. :D
I wandered through the aisles like a kid in a candy store. SO MUCH STUFF. Like ... around every corner it felt like christmas. Only problem I had? Yep. Money. Of course.
The stores fruit & vegetable aisle was the same size my near-by home store is. Amazing. I love fresh food!
Dear Santa, please send me a few million euros so that I could spend it all on this ridicolous amount of food. Thank you!
Uhh..I'm almost depressed now. Too much good food...even if I had money I still couldn't be capable of choosing out what I need. But I definetly must go back. And do some some research for good recipes. I love home cooked food and that place was in that sense an awesome paradise.
I made it through the day - and it was a good day.
It really was a decent first day back to work. The sun was warm for the majority of the day, and my arms are covered in scratches from taking down christmas lights.
I'll take tree branch scratches over scratches from the thorn riddled roses - for now.
I still broke down into tears when I got home to my fiance (let's just say B from now on)
It was longer than I expected - I think that was my downfall. Over the last couple of hours, all I could think about was how much I missed B last year when I was working so much.
The spring is especially hard - I will have to work 6 days a week for about 2 months. Shifts usually last from 7am - 6pm. I can maybe stay awake until 8pm?
It's so hard being away from him for so long, my love, my rock.
But I am so - SO - thankful that I have him to come home to.
It was a good day, but I still cried when I came home to B and some turkey burgers waiting for me at the dinner table. He said all the right things - he always does.
When I'm at work and starting to miss him, I try to think of the supporting words he has shared with me. I have to do it in a sort of distant way - if I think too hard about how much I love him, and how
much I know he loves me I cry. It's a sort of happy and safe but terrified at the same time.
When I was very young I used to pray, and write journals to myself. I was convinced before I was even a teenager, that I would not make it out of my teenage years. I fully believed in my heart to be dead by 20.
I can't explain to you how much this man has saved me, in all the best of ways. How much I've put him through with my emotional-pain, but he still stands by me, still helps me grow every day.
For all the horrible things that have happened to me, and all of the heavy fear and hurt I carry in my heart every. single. day. - it's all worth it to have B by my side.
It's going to be another long year - but it's going to be okay
Firstly, let me say I'm going to complete this blog in stages, or parts, as it's probably too long to impart in one foul swoop. I apologise in advance if it's long-winded, boring, irrelevant or whatever, but it's merely my way of 'outing' this whole debacle from my system, in a way I've never before felt I've been permitted to. By doing so, I'm hoping I can unburden myself of some of the unhappiness I live with daily. I'm not sure anything I say here is going to be of any use to anyone, as I've become the eternal pessimist where any help I've been offered, attempted, or found fault with has helped me in any way over the years, but if nothing else, it may entertain (yes, entertain) some of you, raise a smile, or garner a response, either negative or positive from someone. Despite the obvious gloominess of the topic, please trust me when I say I am able to actually laugh at some of the content now - looking back, as I've become a great believer in that adage 'there is humour in adversity.'
So, grab a cuppa and if you're sitting comfortably, I'll begin .....
(There is no particular timeline in this blog, so I am effectively starting in the middle of the story as it were. Hopefully, by the time I eventually complete it, you'll see how it all makes sense. Hopefully being the operative word!)
Like many of us I've experienced all the usual comments from doctors and consultants, which ultimately move you into a further downward spiral. You know, 'pull your socks up.' 'what have you got to be depressed about?' 'haven't you got over this yet?' and so on and so forth.
I was originally diagnosed with clinical depression in the mid 90's, at the age of about 45. I was a police officer, working in an inner-city area of London and although relatively new to the 'real world' as I call it, I wasn't finding it especially to my liking. I'd spent 25 years in the Royal Navy prior to leaving at 40 and moving straight into law enforcement. Looking back, I think my naval career enabled me to effectively 'put a brave face on' for the first few years, man up and crack on with the job I had to do. I was no thief catcher, though my arrest rate wasn't bad. I had my fair share of dealing with just about everything you can throw at an individual and, generally speaking, I was doing quite well. The only problem I encountered was inevitably that I was working alongside many much younger officers, who were hard to compete with, as I had begun my career in my middle years, so I had a fair bit of catching up to do. My peers were not quite sure how to treat me, as I was no longer a youngster, so couldn't really be kicked and slapped to learn the tricks of the trade. The result of this was that, by and large, I had to get on with it and teach myself. I had my supporters, but many detractors also, as they were obviously not sure how a man of 25 years in the Armed Services would get on with them. Bullying was endemic at that time and I suffered at the hands of one or two morons. My stance at the time was that I merely accepted their attempts to put me down, as to retaliate would have alienated me and possibly have seen me dismissed, should I have walloped one or two of them. Some four years into this job, I began to feel slightly overwhelmed and found myself, when not at work, crying uncontrollably and not knowing why. Strangely, I still managed to get my act together when turning up for work and carried out my duties diligently and conscientiously. However, I slowly realised I couldn't continue this way and paid a visit to my doctor.
My doctor put me on a series of the usual anti depressants which never really achieved much, apart from the inevitable strange side effects. I think Prozac and Loperamide were two of the many I tried, finally settling many years later on 40mg of Citalopram, as I've found that seems to keep me at a 'functional' level of normality. I voluntarily placed myself in the care of a mental health institution a few years later, as I was experiencing very strong suicidal tendencies. Ten days in this place made me realise some of the nicest people I'd ever met were patients in a similar predicament to me at that time.
I was referred to a psychologist, who possessed no qualities whatsoever, in the listening department. He merely spent our time together trying to tell me my issues were borne of my relationship with my father and then proceeded to engage me with his theories of 'man borne of ape;' in other words, he was obsessed with Darwinism, as I call it! I, quite literally, in frustration, asked him during our final meeting, whether he had ever suffered with depression. He answered 'no,' so with the anger I was enduring at that time, asked him why on earth he felt he was qualified to offer help to people like me. He couldn't answer me, so I stormed out. I was subsequently referred to an anger management psychologist who, frankly, was even worse, in that he claimed to gauge my level of anger, he needed to make me angry! Needless to say, that meeting didn't progress to a second one. During this period I had a German psychiatrist overseeing my referrals, who I would see approximately every two months or so. Our brief meetings were an absolute waste of space and time (mine and presumably his) as he would not look me in the eye during our consultations, but simply briefly peer over the top of his pince-nez glasses and offer no hope or anything useful for me to follow.
Prior to either of these referrals, I had been allocated a weekly visit to my home by a mental health nurse, who was apparently there to listen to me, offer compassion and report back to her team about my state of mind etc. Initially I thought she was very good, in that she at least allowed me room to unburden myself, but this is where I began to slide down the scale of sanity (in my opinion) and became obsessed with doing away with myself. In desperation one day (just prior to Christmas) I rang my doctor to seek help. She told me I had to contact the Mental Health Team, as that was where I had been referred. This I did, asking to speak to the nurse who had been visiting me. She was able to speak with me, but told me she couldn't do anything, as my case had now been referred to psychology. I attempted to contact the psychologist, but he was on leave from his work. At the point of giving up, I rang my work welfare line and they told me to remain by the 'phone and await a call from the on-call welfare manager. An hour or so passed by and the 'phone rang. I explained that I was feeling desperate and was considering doing away with myself (yes, I know this was a cry for help and it was help I wanted). I was tearful and confused, desperate and ultimately at risk of carrying out my threat of doing away with myself. It was now late into the evening. This so-called welfare manager told me he was presently out with his work, celebrating at a Christmas social event, something I gathered from all the noise in the background; clinking glasses and people chatting loudly etc. Amazingly, he asked if I was able to drive myself to my local hospital, where he would alert the duty doctor that I would be arriving and therefore would be seen immediately, instead of having to sit in A&E with everyone else. I still cringe at the thought of someone asking a man who is threatening to do away with himself if he is capable of jumping in a 'weapon,' namely a car and driving himself somewhere - ludicrous in the extreme.
However, this I did. The hospital and duty doctor were epic, in that I was immediately ushered into a side room and listened to intently by the doctor. She was brilliant and extremely understanding and compassionate and told me that she was going to send me to a local mental hospital for assessment. The initial irony of this was that she said there were no ambulances to take me there, some five or so miles away, so would I mind driving myself! Horrified yet again, I caved in and drove there. I vividly recall sitting at a set of traffic lights during that five mile journey and peering down at my passenger seat. I had placed an envelope there, which I was to deliver to the duty psychiatrist on arrival at the mental hospital. In the windowed section of that envelope was written 'Paul Fewtrell - Suicidal.' The realisation struck me there and then and I once again burst into tears. Despite all this fear, loathing, anger and through the tears, I eventually arrived there and was met outside by a mental health nurse, who was very friendly, kind and welcoming. I was taken to a room and there met the duty psychiatrist and spoke with him and the mental health nurse for what seemed an absolute age. They subsequently told me that I could voluntarily admit myself to the hospital, or failing that, they would 'section' me. Being a serving cop, I knew the consequences of being sectioned, so went down the voluntary route. Fortunately for me, I discovered later that no outside agency, including my employer, would be told of this, without my permission, so I was spared that indignity, although in hindsight maybe it might have helped had they known. I also wonder now if part of me had actually almost planned this in some way, as I was on leave from my work at the time, so felt safe in knowing that I wasn't going to be missed during this period.
During my period of incarceration, I had asked them to inform my then girlfriend as to where I was. She was working away from where we lived at this time and had been unaware of the unfolding dilemma I was dealing with. She showed no compassion whatsoever, but merely rang my ex-wife to tell her. My ex-wife then rang my father, who subsequently visited me. I was allowed to go home for a few hours before returning. My father, possibly due to his age and inability to understand mental illness, refused to listen to my concerns and situation and merely talked of his life and what he'd been up to recently. I therefore returned feeling even more depressed and continued to feel that no one really wanted to hear my side of why I'd ended up where I was. Again, in hindsight, I now appreciate that my father drove the distance he did to see me; I also accept he was not an emotionally 'able' person in these circumstances and really couldn't comprehend why I would have placed myself where I had.
I began this tale of woe a couple of hours ago, have had to go over it a couple of times, to ensure it makes some semblance of sense. It is now 4:30am, so I'm heading for bed shortly, but Part Two will follow when I find the energy to further add to it.
Right, time for another cuppa and settle in guys and gals .....
I appreciate doing this may appear a little self-indulgent to some and maybe you're right. Even to me, it's a bit 'me, me, me' but I suppose having never really been given the opportunity to shed some of my so-called story has made me turn much of it in on myself and I realise that isn't especially a healthy thing to do.
Anyway, digressions aside, I will try to continue where I left off.
Following my leaving that particular mental institution, I managed to pick up my job as a cop and for a short period, all went quite well, but as sure as eggs are eggs, the depression returned and managed to get a firm grip on me. It wasn't long before my team began to realise things weren't quite right with me, but instead of being kind, compassionate, or generous of spirit, they chose to quite literally ridicule me much of the time. I was then working on a plain clothes Task Force, dealing with localised crime; our remit was to target particularly obvious criminals, develop informants, create cases against those criminals that would result in serious convictions and all the time, be expected to be out on the streets arresting villains for all the usual 'naughty' stuff. In building cases against these criminals, we would also be responsible for conducting surveillance, gathering evidence and assisting one another with the jobs that each of us was building.The job was pressured and although I managed to do my bit reasonably successfully, I think I began to suffer with mild stress from it, not to mention the barrage of internal bullying that was going on by my so-called brethren! In the middle of a particularly busy period, I was selected to carry out Jury Protection work, which meant I would be spending many hours away from my normal workplace and, in company with another cop, be assigned to one juror, to ensure their safety and security during an ongoing trial. The Judge in the trial makes this decision and he obviously felt the jury were at risk of being manipulated by outside influences during the trial, so put 'protection' in place. Four cops are assigned to each juror, two pairs working either days or nights, so twelve hour shifts. A third pair is also assigned to enable us to take days off and occasionally attend our police stations to continue our remit there. Hopefully, you can see from this that it's quite a big ask, as not only are you required to be 'on the ball' at all times with the juror, but your superiors at the police station where you normally work are constantly on your back asking when you're going to catch up on such and such - not simply exhausting, wearing and tedious, but leaves you questioning, quite seriously, where your allegiance lies.
I did this for about two months, which gives you an idea of how serious the trial must have been? In all honesty, the jury protection work was great fun. Although we're allowed no contact with the actual juror, we have to be in his/her close proximity at all times, except obviously when he/she is at home. When home, we simply sit it out in a car, until such time as he/she goes out anywhere, when we follow. Many amusing stories came out of this period; our juror was a young female who liked to live life to the full, so we spent a great amount of time dining in decent restaurants, going to the cinema or pubs and clubs; all on expenses, although obviously we are not permitted to drink alcohol, for obvious reasons. Despite the enjoyment I derived from doing this duty, my team at my regular police station were giving me constant grief as my work piled up, causing me great distress and unhappiness. I returned to the station one day and spoke with my Inspector, who immediately told me he knew I was suffering with depression, but admired the fact that I continued to try to be diligent with my work practice! To cut a long story short, he told me he could refer me to a police counsellor, which I thought was very good of him. He also gave me his mobile number, telling me he was there if I needed to speak at any time. Again, a very generous gesture, which I've never forgotten, although for a number of reasons it all went a little pear-shaped quite rapidly.
I began seeing the police counsellor who was very good also. She normally dealt with armed police officers, who required counselling following shooting incidents, so I suppose I felt quite privileged to be able to see her. Sadly, after about three meetings with her, I rang her office one day to arrange another meeting and was told she had died of a heart attack! I was horrified to say the least, but didn't think to ask if I could be seen by someone else, so that avenue rapidly closed for me. Needless to say, in a way, this burdened me even more and made my depression even harder to cope with. I had also, during this period, been allocated another psychiatrist, yet another female, who was excellent and seemed to be making headway with me to some extent when, yet again, I rang to arrange another appointment one day, only to be told she was off work ..... suffering with depression! Allied to all this, the Inspector who had been very generous in his working with my depression, had been promoted and transferred to a M***** investigation team, so became out of reach, as his job necessitated that he no longer have contact with those he'd been working alongside. Don't ask me why, but for some peculiar reason, like many jobs, this was one of the requirements of his new post. What with various things going wrong in my personal life at this time; I'd become separated from my wife a few years previously and we were going through hell with trying to sort out our divorce; my then girlfriend had chosen to work abroad as a holiday representative and eventually left me for someone else etc etc ..... I plummeted into a quite severe pit of despair and turned to my doctor again. She signed me off 'sick' from work, as she quite literally thought I was then a danger to the general public, even though I didn't quite see it that way. Again, being brief, I was being investigated by the internal complaints people, as an allegation of 'racist comments' had been made against me about a year previously. That was eventually dropped, even though it was untrue; it was a time in London when many people were making racial allegations against police officers, as they knew the Metropolitan Police 'paid out,' to spare the indignity of perhaps seeing their institution marred by these events. The Met used to support its officers financially, with legal costs, yet during the time I was being investigated, this 'help' was stopped, so I was facing quite significant legal costs had it gone to court; more fuel to the fire of my depression here.
So, I ended up sitting at home feeling absolutely dejected and unhappy with my little lot. I received infrequent visits from my 'reporting police sergeant' who had literally no understanding of the issues surrounding depression and even said to me once that he really couldn't see why I couldn't return to work, as each time he visited, I presumably appeared relatively upbeat. The upshot was that after about a year, I was allowed to return to work. By this time, I was being asked to become a Homebeat officer, which is effectively being give a community to work alongside and with, in the hope that you can nurture relationships between the police and the community, plus deal pro-actively with all the concerns the local citizens have. I was initially quite prepared to take this on, but an incident occurred that totally altered my perception of being a cop and ultimately led to my resignation and a change of life.
This same sergeant began to show me the ropes of the local community I would be policing. Fine, no problem, except one day we visited a hostel where immigrants were staying, so I could meet the manger and get an understanding of who lived there and what problems the manager was having to deal with. A coffee, biscuits and a chat ensued - all very sociable and nice. The manager explained that he was often handed weapons, by his night security staff, that some of the immigrants were bringing in. These were produced and my sergeant chose to take a massive knife back to the police station for destruction. A quite normal practice, but normally the knife would be concealed and returned in a vehicle. We were on foot. He was in police uniform and I was in plain clothes at this time. We left the hostel and began walking back to the station; about a mile away. Part way through our walk, we became aware that an awful lot of police sirens were evident in the local vicinity, though no vehicles were seen by us. He had apparently turned his radio off, so we were unaware of what was going on. Just before we entered the police station, which was on a tree-lined street, he told me he couldn't be bothered to take the knife inside for destruction; instead sticking it in the earth by one of these trees! I chose to pull it back out, saying it was a stupid thing to do, not least because it was irresponsible, but also because it was yet another weapon for someone else to pick up and potentially use. He became angry with me and told me to put it back. This I did, as although I was confused by why he would do this, I didn't want the hassle of arguing with him. Another long story short; where I worked, in southeast London, we had the largest mental hospital, called the Maudsley. It transpired that a patient had been discharged that morning, who happened to be one of the immigrants living at the hostel we had visited. As we were leaving, apparently this guy had seen us and due to his psychosis (I'm guessing) he was alarmed that a uniformed officer was carrying a knife and that I was being arrested by him. He alerted the staff on the front desk in the hospital and they, in turn, rang police emergency, stating what he had told them. They either hadn't seen us leaving, or utterly believed that something was amiss. Thus the police sirens we heard. I heard this through a colleague later in the day and instead of owning up to it, or doing anything, I simply went home and typed up my resignation letter.
There was a long period that ensued, with my Superintendent trying to stop me leaving, yet I never revealed that that particular incident was what had precipitated the decision by me to resign.
I eventually left in the autumn of 2000 and within two or three months, decided to move to south west Scotland, where my father and brother now lived. My father had become quite ill and I felt obligated to at least be reasonably close to keep an eye on him; my younger brother has autism and other health issues and my father was struggling to look after him properly. Despite my mother passing away in 1987, with cancer (she was only in her early 50's) I had always tried to maintain the 'family' thing with my father, brother and twin sister. My father and sister weren't really interested and I was constantly fighting a battle in this area, not least because I obviously missed my mother, but couldn't understand why they were being so 'against' wanting to keep the family together as best as possible. I was always the first to 'jump' when my father became ill and was admitted to hospital, despite the fact that we had a classic 'father/son' relationship ..... and not in a positive way. I actually think he resented my achievements and never congratulated me on anything I did, yet I was expected to be all smiles and interested when he did something. My sister couldn't stand my father and kept him very much at a distance. He was a very selfish man I think, in hindsight, but he was still my father and I was, especially during this period, very much a little boy who wanted the love of his father; I would have much preferred my mother, but she wasn't available in this capacity!
I suspect I've rambled too much with this part, not so much about my depression, but hopefully more of an insight has developed and I hope I haven't lost any followers. Part three another day.
If you have, thanks for sticking with me on this ..... hopefully, I can make it a bit more interesting next time.
I feel okay today. Which makes me wonder; what is going to happen next?
The sun is shining so brightly, the snow is melting, the birds are chirping...
Something must be brewing.
If I don't start work tomorrow, it might be a day for a cleaning spree. I want to stay busy.
I have been feeling pretty good the last few days actually, apart from one minor thing. I don't one why, but I can't drink anymore - I last like two drinks, get bored, go to bed. Somehow I always blame everyone else for not keeping the excitment going. In my own head mind you, I'm not one to start a fight about dumb things like that, instead I just let it sour my mood. I have a theory that it's for the best, if I ever do manage to get drunk I black out 100% now so, maybe it's just my body stopping me from getting into trouble, I just wish I could control my petty emotions, and get over the things that don't matter.
But really, I've been okay the last couple of days.
I haven't been lost within myself, it's been a nice break. Like the darkness just washed away with the final days of winter.
I bought one of those bath bombs - the ones with a ring inside. Something to look forward to, I hope it doesn't take long to be delivered.
I can't wait to go back to work ... I want to feel the dirt in my hands and the sweat on my brow again.
Plus I really need to lose weight. I had three months off, and gained instead of shed. I'm horrible at sticking to my guns, and to be honest, it's hard when the hubby still eats crazy amounts of junk; the only thing I could ever say he doesn't support me in, is my health. But that's not in him, I'm a grown up.
Hopefully with work, I won't have the time to eat so much. As shallow as it probably is; I want to be able to show off my new tattoos this summer with confidence.
Wish me luck, ha.
Oh if you're easily offended, please find another blog to read.
If you have other ideas about evolution and whatever, this is not a chance for debate.
It's supposed to be humor. If you're too angry to find the funny, then you need
to re-examine your coping methods.
So I have anxiety bad enough to take medication for it. I have social anxiety, and when I'm in certain situations I just feel like dying, it's so bad. talking to people makes me feel anxious, I feel like I'm being judged all the time. I feel like screaming but it just ends up being an internal conflict, because you can't just scream in public or around people, that's rude.
I've always wanted to visit the grand canyon and yell as loud as I can into the mouth of it, something empowering, like "**** aaaanxietyyyyyyy!!!!!!" or "**** everyone!"
it would be a release like no other. I hate boundaries and feeling trapped, and I feel trapped. like no one really hears what I have to say because I can't put it into words.
It has been an odd few days.
After my assessment last week, they said they would ring me on Thursday. They haven't yet and I as I can't start at the hospital right now anyway, I haven't rang them either.
When I had my phone coaching last week, I asked if I could come in soon without it costing me my booster sessions. I have my appointment a day after our house guest leaves. It's all just added stress, having someone in the house for the upcoming week and a very busy weekend ahead of us that means a lot to me as well.
It's been difficult these past few days. We've had some great news and family life overall is very good. Obviously I still do not bring in any finances in and feel like a slight burden at times but I put in the effort to make home life good.
But the fight on the inside is just an uphill battle. I think I gave up and I am going through some family events now as if to pay my dues and trying to make it work.
But I am so down.
I think I dug a hole for myself and it is becoming increasingly more difficult to try and climb out of it.
I am not entirely sure if I am even trying at all anymore.
All I can do to keep my head up is resort to target behavior whilst having the DBT voices still shaking their heads at me, making me feel worse.
Here's one for all my friends on DF, even the ones who quietly surf the site and haven't been able to write anything yet.
You are all worthwhile, and you are all worth the fight. Don't forget that.
I may not have met you in person, but I still care about what happens to you.
Remember, 'If you need a friend, there's a seat here alongside me...'
I'm not even sure that I'm really tired. I'm not really sure of much anymore. My last post, 'Faces', really seemed to suck a lot out of me. Do you know what I mean? When you finally admit to something huge about yourself and the act of expressing it feels like running a marathon and digging your way out of the rubble of a bomb blast. It just empties you somehow. And that's kind of the way it is. I feel emptied.
I feel like I have to hide so much of myself when I go to work everyday. I guess it's a good thing that I live with depersonalization so much. My co-worker & boss are both highly critical of others, and highly suspicious of those they deem different than themselves. They talk about their own med prescriptions (mental health meds) and yet they can't wait to tear down others who struggle with mental health issues. They are always the exception to their own rules for others. Instead of seeing a bit of themselves in others, they seem to see only people who don't measure up. One never stops criticizing everyone and everything around her, and the other is so compulsive about being liked that it approaches psychosis. In short, I feel that hiding much of who I am is a virtual work requirement.
Much of who I am does not fit in well with society on a good day. I'm in my mid 40s, and yet I really like anime, action movies, and martial arts movies. I really hate chic flics, and I'd rather have my hand stomped on than watch some sappy rom-com. :-/ I genuinely do not enjoy interacting with others, mainly because I cannot do so on my own terms and at my own level. For me, just sitting in the room with you would be like a simple conversation. Actually having a simple conversation with you feels like telling you my life story. It feels much too private, like I'm being made to let you peek in the windows of my house. All the while, I feel like an alien in a human suit, desperately trying to 'pass'. And yet, that is what I must do to provide for my family and try to keep my head above water.
When I think about life in terms of 'what should I do to feel safe', the answers are so far beyond anything that have the freedom to do right now, it's just not worth thinking about. And probably never will be. I have my first counseling appointment with a new pdoc next week, and I'm really hoping he works out. I could never get straight answers out of the other place about cost, they weren't covered on my insurance, and on top of all that, I was only able to talk to the pdoc via teleconference. Call me crazy, but if I'm talking to someone, I like for them to... you know... be there. :-/
('Entering Mordor' by Monolith Art Team,
found on Rogue Telemetry website)