Out of My Head

If you've read more than a couple blog posts, you might have noticed that there are huge variations in my mood and state of mind. I've written blog posts about self-hatred and about hope for the future, about hating life in general and about amusing things that have happened.

I want out of my head.

This has been a hard summer, and I don't even know why. For about three weeks it's been severe depression almost constantly. Severe Depression as in sitting somewhere crying until I start to hyperventilate, getting dizzy, then forcing myself to breathe just long enough for the dizziness to go away before it's near hyperventilation again.

I don't want to go to work because hell, it's work. No one wants to go. I've gone every day except two. The first day I was hyperventilating when I called in and the person who answered the phone couldn't understand me. The second day I spent attempting to calm myself so I could go back to work on the third day.

I don't want to go to sleep. I lie in bed for an hour trying not to think, or at least to think about something that doesn't terrify me. I fall asleep and wake up several times, often from nightmares. I lie awake again for a while, and eventually I get sick of trying and get up. Then I zone out because I'm not sleeping.

I don't want to eat. I don't want to do much of anything, really. I've written a couple stories, many of which were violence-themed or crime-themed because it gets the thoughts out without me doing anything.

Here are some things people diagnosed with depression can do at home to ease the symptoms:

• Get adequate sleep
• Eat healthy
• Take a walk outside/exercise

Here is how people in the throes of actual severe clinical depression might feel about that:

• HAHAHAHA *sob sob sob*
• Who cares about food? I'll grab what's closest so I don't starve myself. That counts, right? (Or, alternately, What does it matter? I'm worthless anyway. Gimme the choco-ballos.)
• What does it matter? I'm worthless anyway.

I don't know how I'll make it through the next few days, let alone another thirty years of life. There's not enough good to make up for all this crap.

Personality Tests

I'm a sucker for a good personality test. It has to be difficult, however. I can see results a mile away, and can't help tweaking my answer toward one result or another, or spreading my answers out so I know the result could have gone in multiple directions.

This one, however, stumped me. (Disclaimer: flashy lights, avoid if epileptic.) You're given a couple circles on a pulsing background and asked a question, such as, "Which one is angry?" or "Where will you never be safe?"

I, being the smart-aleck I am, started out picking the opposite of what I thought was obvious. As I went through it got a little disturbing, and I started to play it straight. My results were... me.

Though quiet on the outside, you are often the hidden hero; someone who rushes in when needed and then after the emergency is over fades back into the woodwork. Because of this sense of duty and honor, you can also on occasion be rigid in your viewpoint and unyielding in the face of other ways of thinking. Usually cynical and rarely trusting of others, you maintain a small set of intimate friends. These bonds are stronger than most. You are always grounded in the present moment. Your close bonds can also lead to clique-ishness and a tendency to gossip about those who are deemed less worthy. You are an integrative thinker, collecting data from a wide range of sources and applying it to your worldview. You can become overly task-oriented. In stressful situations you often withdraw from the world to seek peace in contemplation. You often seem cold and withdrawn. Often you will withdraw rather than verbalize your discontent.

Maybe not the best parts of me, but that is me, minus the bravado. That's me minus the logic that keeps me going. "I feel ____, but logically I know ____, so I refuse to show anger because I have no real reason to be angry."

Eh, it makes my mind swim. So of course I took the second test in the series immediately.

This one was four pulsing colored squares, each with shadowy figures in the center. "Which one knows your secret?" "Which is better than you?" Entirely different results, but still me.

A risk taking individual who fights against the burdens of life through a quest for excessive stimuli. This individual is not only impulsive but admires impulsive behavior, as this is perceived as being free of the exhaustion he or she feels from everyday life. Best method of entry is to appeal to the novel and the future development of our protocol. 

This client feels that times have come to a juncture that is requiring immediate action. This belief is often mistaken however and such an individual can react to perceived threats with overzealous behavior or asymmetrical responses. This client will not heed advice, whether good or bad, and will take his or her own guidance, even if it is only chosen as a means of asserting individuation.

This one cut deeper. Part of it is who I want to be. I want to take risks. I want something to truly interest me. Yes, I admire people who can set aside that very logic that I hold to and do what they want. Freedom is a heady thought. Freedom from constantly thinking about the consequences and deciding "It's not worth it," because maybe sometimes it is.

Also, interesting little fact here: When trying to read the second paragraph, I blanked out. I do that sometimes when something hits too close, or is too stressful. Rather than stressing over it, I just lose my train of thought and have to start over (much easier when I can reread what I've written). A quick read tells me that I sometimes go overboard and I don't trust advice. Sometimes just to prove that I have my own mind.

Well, ouch.

You know what's really fun? They have a third test, complete with pulsing lights and disconcerting noises.

You feel frustrated in your attempts to make your will manifest in a relationship, either personal or public. This frustration can be seen by others as irritability or anxiety and occasionally a tendency to drift into righteous anger. There is a feeling that society or people are holding you back, which can lead to a moral exhaustion and a sense of apathy if allowed to fester. If this continues you will ultimately desire only to be left alone.

Insecurity is the watchword for you at this moment. There is a strong sense that you have been socially demeaned or ignored recently. Hopes and dreams have been stymied, leading to an ever greater anxiety or unease. You need reassurance and to believe that your problems will someday be overcome, whether or not this is actually the case. Often your anxieties will lead you to become unreasonable or demanding. 

Mild discomfort now. I'd really rather deny this one and delete this entire post, but I won't let myself.

Big Disclaimer:
The tests I just took may beat your ego to death and creep you the heck out. In fact, they recommend not taking them unless you have a clinician ready to look at your results. I don't know if I just took one for the team or if I'm psyching myself out.

Little Disclaimer:
I love stuff that messes with your mind. For example, The Game, starring Michael Douglas, is an awesome movie that will drag your brain through the mud, push it off the roof on your dad's birthday, then laugh at you.

The moral of this blog post: How I entertain myself alone on the Internet.

Depression is Depressing. III

You don't want to hear it, so I just won't say it.

That's why I'm so quiet.

Depression Theatre: Popping the Bubble

I understand why people kill themselves, and I shouldn't, and I don't want to. I believe in Hell, even when I'm so pissed off and disillusioned that it doesn't feel like anything could exist but the pain. There's not even a reason for it! I cried when a nurse practitioner told me it was low thyroid, because that can cause depression. That's a reason. And I cried again when my regular doctor took me off the thyroid medicine because it was making my heart race, making it impossible to sleep or think, and because that meant it was just depression again.

If you believe the whole brain chemicals thing, it shouldn't make a difference. If you don't believe it, just knowing me is enough to prove it's got to be more than dramatics. I can't control it, God, I wish I could. My eleven year old has better emotional control than I do. She'll freak out at little things, because kids do that, but in half an hour, she's back to herself. Half an hour later, I'm still reminding myself not to do anything stupid. Same an hour later. Same for days, sometimes.

I even have reasons to be depressed, real reasons to be ever-so-slightly discouraged about life. I worked my ass off in school, worked my ass off to go to college, and it seems like life keeps shitting on me. It shits on everyone, I know. It's my own fault for making bad decisions, I know. I should be able to just get over it, just work through it like everyone else does, but the littlest things can set me back so far.

Someone reminds me of my faults, and I'm useless for days, just hating myself. I know logically that I'm smart, I'm a good writer, good designer, good artist, good parent, but none of that means anything because smart doesn't get me a job. Good writer, designer, artist, doesn't get me a job, doesn't get me I don't know, love or something. I don't even know what I want.

Do I want a house of my own? Yes. I would like to get my life out of storage after almost three years. I would like my daughter to have a space all of her own, and all of her toys. I'd like to be able to stop telling her I'm sorry, that's in storage, and tell my family, I can't get that for you, or I can't find out, because that's in storage, too.

I'm not a big guy, so I let someone else pack the storage unit. He and his friend piled stuff up in such a cluster that I can't get it apart without either injuring myself or going into a rage and just breaking it all. My paintings are supporting box corners and there are beer bottles scattered around. My belongings don't remain in storage because I'm lazy.

This is where I'd complain again about being unemployed if I hadn't done so a hundred times before. A note on that subject, though. Pizza Hut sent me an e-mail after I applied saying they don't have any jobs I'm qualified for.

My friends get sick of the drama. I don't blame them.

I feel like a complete waste of life having to hide the scissors when I get like this. I've never hurt myself like that, and I don't like even the urge to do it. I can't control that, either. I don't sit down and say, I'm miserable. I want to cut to punish myself/to show people how much I hurt/to remind myself that I really am alive, and I can still feel.

I've been over that before, too.

Why do you even bother?

Because I don't have a choice.

There's always a choice. Your choices got you here.

I tried! I tried to do the best I could. I listened to my parents even when I didn't want to, I never did drugs, I never sneaked out, I didn't even teach myself to cuss until college. I was nice to people who were mean to me. I've tried to be everything anyone ever wanted me to be, so why can't something go right?

Because you don't get anywhere being nice. People are attracted to confidence. They want someone who knows their own mind. What the hell do you know?

I don't know.

Exactly.

And I'd continue trying to convince my inner critic that I'm worth something, but the mind blank just got me. Sometimes it's annoying. Sometimes I'm in the middle of telling someone something, maybe explaining to my sister why I'm acting even more pseudo-emo than usual. Then poof I've got no clue what I was saying.

It's trying to get me again. I'm having trouble stringing together sentences, but right now, I'm fine with that. I was feeling really bad a few minutes ago.

So, to paraphrase: I was having suicidal thoughts and self-harm thoughts, and chose to blog while listening to Don't Jump, by Tokio Hotel. The depression bubble popped. I'm still miserable, but no longer leaking from my face (highly unpleasant, that) and no longer thinking, self-harm or otherwise. If I wasn't out of cereal, I'd go have myself a bowl of comfort food.

Moment passed, nothing to see here. Move along.

*insert amusing cheese factory anecdote here*

Shaken, Not Stirred

Ever had a nightmare so profound that you can't shake it off? I've had many, leading me to such rational acts as telling my father not to go to a certain store for a week, and freaking out whenever he wore a certain shirt. Last night's was one for the books. The kind where you wake sweating, feeling nauseous and fairly certain you've been crying, and for the rest of the day you're on edge, praying nothing happens and afraid to do anything, lest it turn out to be real after all.

Warning: Parental Fear Trigger ahead.

The realism didn't help any. I was sitting in this very house alone, my grandmother in physical rehab, during Thanksgiving break, and got a phone call that my daughter had died. She'd been in a horrible car accident and a piece of iron had gone through her eye. Of course, countless times during this nightmare I got visuals of exactly that, of my child screaming in terror, and I was shattered. My child, one of my best friends, my favorite pet, my life's work, something that will never happen again in my life, gone. Just gone.

I was stricken with grief. I didn't want to live anymore, didn't want to eat, and sometimes I was in shock, like I'd just blink and she'd walk through the door. In fact, part of me insisted it had to be a nightmare, and I'd look at the door, knowing she was about to come in, but she didn't. There was no closure, and I couldn't handle it. I couldn't see her again, it didn't feel real, and how was I supposed to go looking for a job when I my world had just died?

And I was still alone, but more alone than ever. My family was worried, but nobody did anything, as always. If you don't talk about it, it goes away, except for me it wasn't going away and it never would.

I was told I should move to the city and try to get a job, now there wouldn't be anything holding me back, and all I could think was I don't care if she was 'holding me back,' I don't feel free, I feel lost. I had the thought that I could finally move to California, that I'd never have to see my ex again, but if I expected to feel relief, I didn't. What if I did move? I'd be living with someone who has a child of her own, a daughter only a year younger than mine. Could I handle it? Would envy kill me? Self-pity? Would I get attached to someone else's child in a sad attempt to replace my own? Could I live with that? Would I ever be a functional human being again?

I didn't know, and I don't know. I woke sweating, nauseous, and spent, and I've spent all day dreading the possibility that my phone might ring, despite knowing that it didn't happen. When I walked into the kitchen this afternoon, I looked at the door, listening for her, and I knew she wouldn't come in. She's due home Sunday night.

I should have called my ex to talk to her, and for a while it seemed like the perfect solution, but I didn't think of it until nighttime, and at this hour, I'd be leaving a shaky-sounding voicemail begging to hear from my daughter in the morning. My ex doesn't return my calls when he has her, though. She doesn't call, and that would be infinitely worse than just trying to make it through the day, just reminding myself that even if the memories of the dream feel as real as any other memories I have, none of it happened.

I still feel sick and exhausted, I don't want to drive anywhere, and I hate that anything that takes my mind off it is only temporary.

So one time, at the cheese factory, someone walked up to me in my new hoodie, and without preamble, cut the ties that pull the hood tight because we weren't allowed to have any loose items or jewelry above the waist. So I clipped a stuffed turtle to my belt loop in protest, and no one ever said a word against it.

I made that damn turtle a raincoat out of an empty bag of latex gloves, and it worked with me for over a year. Yes, I've told that story before, but I told it better this time.

It's All In Your Head

I had forgotten about the anxiety part of depression, for the most part. Yes, I remember that one time in high school where my mind was spinning with so many thoughts that I simply blacked out, and yes, I've had sleepless nights since, but that doesn't hold a candle to actually spending four nights off my main depression/anxiety medication.

If you think it's all in my head, you're right. I'm trapped in here with it, and though I've never had a true manic episode, thank God, there's such a fine line between the two sides of bipolar that the depression is all worked up and I can hardly hold a thought.

I'll regret posting this later.

I'll call myself an idiot, then remind myself that I'm not technically stupid, and that there are worse things than this. I'm alive, right? Those thoughts won't comfort me, but they'll keep me busy for a while not wishing myself dead. Because really, do dead people care if they leave behind a handful of grieving and guilt-riddled people? I think not.

But I'm not wanting to die, so that's a moot point. The point is that I managed to sleep for three hours, which I'm proud of, before being trapped in my head in bed for the next two hours, messing up my covers, and thinking and rethinking the same things over and over.

How am I going to get a job, no one's hiring. I should shower and walk around town asking for a job today. On three hours sleep, on the edge of freaking out? Good luck, loser. I'm not a loser. No, I'm just a waste of space. No, you're not. You're right, this is unhealthy thinking, you should take the day off and try to relax. relax how?! I can't freaking relax! Think about something calming, think about how well that writing is going. I wanna write right now! Ugh, five a.m., she's asleep. You should be asleep. Why can't I sleep?!

Only say all those sentences at the same time repeatedly for two hours.

So hopefully my doctor will call in my prescription today, because if this is day four, I'm not going to make it to my appointment at the end of November.

I'm No Quitter

I did not quit taking my medicine. I do not enjoy crippling depression, despite how glamorous it might seem on the surface to be reduced to a pile of sobbing, third-day-shirt self-hatred for no apparent reason. Not that I don't have several damned good reasons to be depressed, like my car being out of service, being unemployed in a small town and required to search for a full-time job to get food stamps, etc.

So, funny story: My mail goes to my sister's house. She went on "vacation" and holed up in her home with her husband and their dogs, and temporarily cut off all communication with the outside world. Can't say I blame them. Unfortunately, during their solitary week, a letter came for me saying to reapply for my insurance and food stamps or they were cutting me off. I didn't get the letter, didn't respond by their date, and lost my medical insurance. Hahahaha, good one, right?

So I scraped up enough money for two of my three medications, but the third cost $99 before tax, so I didn't get that one. I did, however, get my ass in gear to get my insurance reinstated. What's really funny *chuckle* is that all this coincided with my prescriptions expiring *haha* and my doctor doesn't like to renew them without seeeing me *snicker* but I couldn't afford a doctor's appointment! Hahaha!

Well, my insurance is reinstated because my unholy terror of being left without my medications was highly motivating. Unfortunately, another of my medications expired, and though I  was finally able to get the $99 one (at the bargain price of a single dollar), I didn't take it for a few weeks, so it'll take time to build back up in my system. Because it would be too easy if they were instant-happy pills, which to my knowledge don't actually exist.

Remember I mentioned once losing my train of thought when stressed? I could reread what I've written, but I'm feeling pretty apathetic right now, which is a preferred state, so I'm not going to mess that up. The complete blanking of the mind is a relief.

So one time, at the Career Center, I applied to work at the cheese factory. Night shift. We'll see if they hire me, since I quit last time.

A Shmoo Can Do Most Anything

I have a somewhat important and completely random question for anyone who knows what a SHMOO is.

The shmoo was a creature from Al Capp's Li'l Abner, which became insanely popular on its introduction, and I'm trying to find a certain shmoo-themed song for my grandmother online somewhere. That would be "A Shmoo Can Do Most Anything" (1949) Music You Enjoy, Inc. Any video, or anyone who remembers the lyrics would be greatly appreciated. This is as much as I have:

a shmoo could do most anything because he is a shmoo
a shmoo could be most anything that you want him to
if he's in trouble he won't cry
he knows just how to multiply

If you don't know what a shmoo is, you should google it. Seriously. A single shmoo could fix the world. After destroying the economy, but I'll let you insert your own joke about that.

Image borrowed from http://www.deniskitchen.com/docs/new_shmoofacts.html

Depression is Depressing. II

There's a lot of stigma that comes with clinical depression. My own father has said I'm just crazy, though admittedly he hasn't said it to my face in years. I mentioned having seen a school psychologist once and everyone suddenly got worried, leaning away as though I might suddenly attack them with my hat or the nearest utensil. No, actually, I had a bad case of senioritis, but details.

It's some of those everyday reactions that (pardon the pun) drive me crazy. At first, my being unhappy, for whatever reason, garnered a sharp, "Build a bridge and get over it." Pause for explanation: One of the differences between feeling depressed and clinical depression is the inability to get over it, and that there doesn't need to be a reason for it. All the happy thoughts in the world can't get rid of the hopelessness.

This is where I fight my own stigma. I live it, and I've lived it for over a decade, yet I still feel like it's some kind of personality defect. Everyone has hard times, but most don't collapse, unable to do anything but try to keep alive. Yes, we've all been there, and that's why it's so tricky, that's why it's so hard to understand. We've all wondered if the world would be better off without us, and we've all had that flickering thought that maybe if we lost control of the car for just a moment...

Would that flimsy-looking metal barrier stop the car? Would the car flip? Sink? Could I get the door open? Would anyone report it, or would I die? Would I want to be saved? Are my underwear clean in case the EMT has to cut my clothes off?

We all think that stuff. Right?

I tend to think it more than most. I hate the two bridges I cross four times a day going to and from my daughter's school. I wonder if there's any bank on the other side, or if I'd go straight into the water. I'm afraid that if I did lose control of the car, people would think I'd committed suicide and that would trump any good memories they might have of me; the ultimate failure.

The people who have dealt the most with me over the past years, who have seen the uncontrollable mood swings, still have problems completely understanding, and I mentioned this earlier before I started a side-rant. At first it was, "Build a bridge and get over it," which by the way makes it worse because God, I wish I could do that, you have no idea how much I wish I could do that.

Then people began to accept, but not being in my head, couldn't tell if I was legitimately, normally depressed, or uncontrollably, clinically depressed. The response became, "Did you take your medicine?" Yes, I did, actually. I do not like curling up in a corner somewhere crying while trying to convince myself that suicide will send me to hell, and an eternity of hell can't be much better, so I am highly motivated to take my medicine each night before bed. Plus, if someone randomly saved me from an attempt, I could end up crippled and unable to even try again.

Ridiculous? Possibly. Morbid? Probably, but if it works, it works.

I've gotten a new reaction now, and I think I'd have preferred the old, "Did you take your medicine?" The problem, apparently, is a misunderstanding. I'm having a hard time right now, what with being technically homeless and other things I don't feel like listing off. I think that gives me a right to claim legitimate, non-chemical depression. I got beat up by a cat yesterday (story for another time) and was mopey because a) I hurt, b) I'm sick, and c) it's gloomy outside, and well-meaning family started listing off basic blessings for me, as though they feared for my life. Yes, my daughter is healthy, aside from her illness, yes, I have a roof over my head and wheels under my butt, but I hurt, I'm sick, and I'm sweating a bit because I refuse to take off my sweatshirt so everyone can see that I wallked out of the house today with my shirt on inside-out.

Thank you all for reminding me that I have a place to sleep at night. (Though I'm sharing the bed and am so sick of Christmas decorations I could scream. Just sayin'.)

I am going to post this, and I'll come back later to fix the typos. It's difficult to compose a legible blog on one's phone, qwerty keypad or no. OMG it's so hard! *sniffle* I hate my life! I'm going to go cut because the only way to deal with my pain is to fall into broad stereotypes!

Right.

Edit: edited