I am not doing well. It is the end of March and like every year around this time i have crashed into a deep depression. It always happens. The inside people get much louder and the spiral downward sweeps me away into my own personal hell. The physical pain has not helped either. It always brings my mood down when the physical pain gets as bad as it has been.
I have things going for me that should keep me out of the depression but they just don’t.
I have friends. Friends that care far more than I deserve. Friends that put up with far too much. Today was a bad day. Very bad. And when John and Danielle realized it and I refused to talk on the phone they showed up at my door to make sure i would be okay.
I have a new friend too. Phillip. A patient man. A religious man, or spiritual. He’s both. He’s Catholic. In the last couple of weeks he has taken me out three times. They were fun nights. The first time he had me meet him at one of his favorite Mexican resturants. After we ate w went to Coldstones for ice cream and then since we were next to the theater we went and saw the film “This Means War” which is a romantic comedy/action film. The following week he came and got me and we went to Northwood’s Inn. He has expensive taste. Much higher class than me. I prefer things like McDonald’s or a cheap pasta place. So does my uncooperative tummy. After we ate we went to Dave and Busters to play arcade games for a while. We then came back to my apartment for a while and listened to songs on youtube and looked through old yearbooks. He was in the class ahead of me at the same high school but I never knew him. He’s lived right next door to Danielle for pretty much forever yet I’d only ever seen him in passing. But he and I both now play Bunco with John’s family once a month and got to talking from there and he asked if I would want to hang out some time. I warned him up front that I can not afford to do anything. I have no money. And then once we went to dinner I warned him that I have issues. I tried to ease him into that but since in the two weeks or so since we first went to dinner I’ve gone from hypomanic to deep depression easing him into is difficult. He didn’t completely run away though, even after today. He came over here and we talked.
There are things I wish I could say, both to him and to others but have a hard time forming into speech. I get to tangled in thought and to confused and do not speak well.
My pain level is really high. Like so high that I am considering taking every pill I could find in hopes of some relief. I cut myself earlier which I know is something that I should not do and it makes people freak out but it helps me in a few ways. The inside people settle down a bit when I bleed. Plus it releases endorphins which help with the physical pain. But the effects do not last very long.
I did not cut alot and I did not bleed a lot and it was not deep. Barely more than scratches with the stupid blade that is not sharp enough. I want to cut more but I try not to. I have too many scars already.
When John and Danielle came over she asked me if I had cut recently and I reluctantly admitted I had. She asked if I had cut today and I even more reluctantly admitted that I had. I was actually still bleeding. I had been cutting my leg when they arrived and had to quickly stash the blade out of sight and cover my leg and hope the blood didn’t show through and that the pants leg did not crawl up enough to reveal the fresh blood. No one should see that. It makes them worry and upset.
There are so many things I wish I could say and I am going to try to write some of them since I can’t actually speak them aloud.
One thing is I do not or cannot really talk about the inside people. It makes it worse. And I do not want to hear things like “Tell them be gone demons!” They are not demons. They are people and they live in this body with me, they share my brain with me. There are some that are bad and some that are not. Some are just small children. They mean no harm. And they have helped and protected me at times.
I appreciate that my friends acknowledge that because of my pain it can hurt to be hugged. But I want to be hugged anyways. Even if it hurts it is still something I crave. I miss physical contact. I grew up in a family that ALWAYS hugs and kisses. I was raised with that kind of physical contact and now I rarely get it but it is something that even when it might hurt some to be touched it is still a craving. I do not at all crave sexual contact. I never have had a real desire for any kind of sexual contact but I do want to be held sometimes. To be touched by someone who cares about me.
I think I forgot to write about the third dinner with Phillip. He was in Anaheim the whole weekend for some kind of religious conference and since his parents had dinner plans he invited me to meet up with him on I think it was friday evening. We went to Downtown Disney and had dinner at the Rainforrest Cafe and looked around the shops down there and then got funnel cakes for dessert.
I feel guilty when I let people pay for stuff for me. I do not feel as if I deserve it. It makes me feel like a burden. But I have let him pay for my meals. It is hard for me to let people do things for me. I want to do for others but I have nothing to offer.
I know this is a mess and not organized but if I scroll up and read what I have written to try to make it make sense I would most likely delete it completely.
Always the closer it gets to the dreaded third day of april the worse it gets. The inside people get so loud. The depression gets so deep. The thoughts go into hyperdrive in a very bad way. I do not know why or how but some how we have always known that birthday and the day of my death will be the same. And the inside people remind me aobut it. On nights like tonight when the thoughts go to suicide it does keep me from trying because “you would fail, you have to die on the third of april”. None of us know what year. It could be this year, it could be next year, it could be several years from now. And I know this makes me sound completley loony. I am loony. I do not deny it. but its a strong belief I have had for many years. i believe this as much as i believe in Jesus. I think I might even be a tab more sure about this than i am about Christianity. But I’m not completely sure about anything. Ever.
I hate the confusion.
And each year when I have not died on that day it does not make me feel better. It makes me sad that I have to get through another year at least. Another long year of pain. Another long year of confusion. Another long year of being useless. Another long year of wasting space, time, resources, etc. that others could be using.
I do not work. I live off of other people’s hard earned tax money and then I have the nerve to complain that its not enough money. People are always telling me I should get a job at Disneyland and i often wish i could. i have such a hard time just keeping up with the volunteer position i have at the library. i spend 2 hours a week at the library. Each wednesday i sit for an hour each with Erick and his brother Jeffrey and get them to do some of their homework for about half of that time and then read a book to/with me for the other half. I usually meet with Erick the first hour and then Jeffrey the second hour. sometimes it is switched. I have not given Jeffrey any homework yet but each week I do give Erick writing prompts and he has to bring back five pages based on the prompts the following week. I do not know why I bother. I have such a hard time coming up with these stupid prompts. And i hardly read anything he turns into me. i always end up waiting until the night before to even write up the stupid assignments. i procrastinate too much.
I hate that my apartment is so filthy and so unorganized. I try to clean it but I never accomplish anything. I am not good at anything. I can never do anything good enough. I can’t clean enough to make it clean. No matter what i do everything is still dirty and messy and i feel hopeless. the more i try to do anythig the more hopeless i feel.
“It’s only money” isn’t funny. “You only live once” sure but money is so hard to come by for some of us that wasting it just to have a brand name or going to high class places seems stupid to me. i’m sorry but i am someone who has never been able to afford anything. so that kind of attitude frustrates me.
I have trained myself to only eat about four meals a week because that’s how I make the groceries last long enough so I don’t have to go weeks at a time with nothing at all in the freezer. That’s life.
It doesn’t matter that I do not eat much since food, like all food, just hurts my stomach eeven with the stupid pill. the pill i take for my stomach does seem to help some but i still always feel icky after i eat. stomach hurts and often the food does not get to stick around very long.
I hate when my brain goes into spirals. it is hard to think straight. it is hard to focus.
I tend to be more honest in my twitter posts than in my facebook posts. None of my family reads my twitter posts. Twitter limits how much i can say at once to 140 characters which is a bit too short. so i dont use it much but when i go through twitter spurts it feels safer to post there than to facebook.
if i’m not on facebook at all, not even playing farmville i’m probably hiding and if i’m hiding i am probbably not doing well at all.
i don’t answer the phone if i am crying to hard to speak.
i work extremely hard to hide how bad i hurt and how i feel. i try so hard to hide that i’m near tears. i try to keep people from knowing im a mess physically and or emotionally because its easier for other people to be around me if they don’t know. and since no one can do anything to make it better why should they have to know. what good with that do anyone? so i spend a lot of energy being “fine” even when i’m not. thats what others need. it is not acceptable when i’ not “fine” so i’m “fine” even when i’m really not, which is most of the time.
i know i talk to much and i know i often do not make sense but i can not seem to stop myself from talking. i hate that i talk to much. i just dont know when to shut up. i ramble too much.
i am not a good writer. i know it.
i am very picky eater and i know that makes it difficult and i’m sorry. i have a hard time eating most foods mostly due to smell.
i get very paranoid. i know i’m paranoid but it wont go away. i feel like i’m being watched. all the time. even when i’m at home. i feel like when i close my eyes they come closer and take my picture with a camera that isn’t a normal camera. i dont know what that camera does.
i break technology just by looking at it. and then i end up dropping it. i think i put off some kind of rays or something that makes technology go haywire.
i am useless. i am hopeless. i know my friends keep standing by me but they really shouldn’t. i’m not deserving of anyone caring. i’m not worth the time and even tho they say i’m not a burden i know i am. thats all i’ve ever really been. i’m a pity case. i’m an extra thing to worry about. i dont want to be that and thats one of the many reasons i wish i would hurry up and die.
There is much more in my head but its all a mess and i dont know what i’ve said and what i haven’t so i’m done. for now at least.
i’m sorry. but this is me.