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.

Blank

I can't do it. I can't write for NaNoWriMo even though I was excited and feeling defiant last night after my rant on the subject.

I made a NaNoWriMo account, and things started out well. I'd decided on a fantasy, based on a short story I started years ago, but never finished. It was a fairy tale, and I went through it, getting vague ideas of how to expand, characters to introduce, and a direction I wanted it to go in.

I began writing. I got interrupted. By the time I returned to it, my mood had dropped and all I wanted to do was scrap the whole thing. I no longer want to write. I don't even want to blog, but I feel like I should tattle on myself to really drive home the lesson here; I can't see anything through, not even when no one's going to see it but me.

Loser.

You're not supposed to talk about yourself like that, it doesn't do any good and it's not healthy.

You're crying, loser. You're crying because you decided you don't want to write a story. A story no one even cares about. This is why you can't get a job. How do you expect anyone to want to hire someone who's sat on their ass for almost three years? You don't want a job, anyway. You want to spend all day on Facebook, playing with apps. You want to sleep sixteen hours a day so you can pretend you don't actually exist. Why don't you just f~ing kill yourself?

I don't want to kill myself. I just don't want to live.

No wonder. You're so lame, I don't even want to look at you. And now your face is all red and blotchy like a stupid blotchy-faced lame crying person.

That's a really stupid insult.

Pssht. You don't deserve better insults.

Cool.

No, not cool.

Dammit, blanked out. I hate losing my train of thought, though this time it appears to have stopped me from beating myself up.

Anyhow, the point is that *fights blanking out again* um... Oh yeah, the point *blank* I've been fighting *blank* Fighting depression and stuff for weeks, I think sometime in October, I don't remember when. Missing that job didn't help. I should do laundry. Maybe NaNoWriMo was a bad idea, if I can't handle the stress of writing a story. I don't know how I could *blank* Disability. I don't know how I could apply for disability. I managed to get through college. I think that being able to do something productive, something I could be proud of, would help, but I can't seem to get started.

Oh, I give up. My mind wants to be blank.

Failure is Not My Muse

NaNoWriMo gives me the following advice:

Tell everyone you know that you're writing a novel in November. [...] Seriously. Email them now about your awesome new book. The looming specter of personal humiliation is a very reliable muse.

Humiliation. Well, that used to be a great motivator for me. Lately, however, the fear of failure has been sending me directly to failure. For example: Recently, a job became available as desk help at a local hotel. I was incredibly excited by this. So excited that I began to worry about being rejected. Getting an e-mail from a fast food place telling me that they have no open positions I am qualified for is an annoyance. Getting one from some massive Graphic Design company is disappointing. This was something which felt reachable.

The first day, I sat at my computer and tried to distract myself enough to calm down. The second day, swamped with guilt, I lay in bed alternately staring at the wall and sleeping. The third day, I hid beneath the covers and cried.

I later confessed my nerves to my father, a huge mistake on my part. I should know better by now than to hope for encouragement. Instead, he reminded me that a former boss of mine (a woman I couldn't stand, who fired me when Workforce Development stopped paying her back half my wages) eventually left to work at this hotel.

"I was fired from that job, you know," I told him. He just grinned. I don't know why. Why was he grinning at me? He seemed to think it amusing. Anyway, I spent the next two days alternately sitting at my computer and sleeping, and never went in to get an application.

Despite the likelihood that I will not manage to write a 50,000 word rough draft of a novel, I have told a couple people.

I will not be telling my family. As much as I long for their approval and support, that is not what I would get, if anyone managed to read it. Whatever I write seems to apply directly to them. My sister read a play I wrote, which was based on characters I'd used and changed multiple times; she decided that I had made her a cripple and was bashing her.

Actually, the only reason the main character had a brother at all was that I originally created the pair for a role-playing site which needed more single male characters. I crippled the brother for the same reason I killed his mother in my play, to give my protagonist a deep source for his guilt. Not because my parents are divorced and... I don't even know why I'd injure my sister. Except that she trashed my work.

So there's no reason for me to worry about pleasing anyone with what I write. I'm telling you, because you're all very supportive and I love you all to pieces, and two of my friends know. If I fail, I will not feel humiliated, and that's good. Now I just need to decide what to write about.

Hire Me, I'm a Liar

I'm about to lie on this next batch of job applications.

I've been searching for two years (with periodic breaks/breakdowns) and the only time I made it to an interview, all my charm and optimism did me no good; I had just convinced the hiring manager that I only wanted to use my art degree for freelance work, but what I really wanted was something steady. I loved Arby's and would be thrilled to be the store manager.

She walked away from me, looked at another application, then asked the man how he would get there every day, since he'd listed that he didn't have a car. He wasn't sure, and he'd never been employed... she asked when he could start.

So, lies and cheating, since the truth has gotten me nowhere.

I'm going to stop listing my Bachelor of Fine Arts. No one knows what it means anyway, and it just makes me sound pretentious. My high school degree, as long ago as it was, will do.

I'm going to combine all the jobs I worked at University into one long-term job. If all you do is glance at the page and I've worked five places, it's got to look bad, but my title was "Student Worker" at all of them. So, from now on, I was "Student Worker" at University for three years. When they ask what I did, I'll list what I did where, and my supervisor can be the supervisor from my final position.

I've tried to keep in touch with people from college. One of my two possible professor references (assuming I decided to list my degree after all, in a fit of insanity) has died, and the other is a hipster, which I'm not saying is necessarily a bad thing, but I admitted that I had a PC in front of him and he couldn't stop laughing. By the way, Macs are for people who don't know how to use computers.

I went there.

One of my close college friends has since decided I'm lame because I was unable to get a job within a month, and because she got married to a wealthy guy and I was apparently a charity project, so I've lost her (good riddance), whittling my contact list down to...

K: Friend in college. Trained me for a week in a student position she was leaving.
Peer: Trained for position as graphic designer at University.

E: Friend. We met while writing role-play for a Harry Potter website.
Peer: Creative writing, group projects, personal research.

H: Friend: Also met role-playing on a Harry Potter website.
Peer: Creative writing... You can see where I'm going with this.

I know, normally when one lies on an application it's to make oneself look better. You want to inflate your own importance, make yourself seem even more valuable than you are. Well, I tried that for the first year, when I was actually looking for Graphic Design positions. However, it's been almost three years, and I just need a job. I need money so that I can stop living with relatives and feed myself without government assistance.

Hey, you say. This is another complaint post about unemployment!

It's about time you caught on. Seriously though, it's a completely different angle this time.

I'm a terrible liar. I can do it on paper, but if one of these places actually calls me in, I can imagine the look on my face if someone said, "You've never had a job, at your age?" I know, it's a hamburger-flipping job and saying That's right, never been employed, I've always depended on the kindness of strangers. *cough* I mean, I cared for the home while my significant other/family member/pet iguana brought in the money is more likely to get me that entry-level position than Yes, I have a degree, but I swear I want to work here, and I'll do a really awesome job!

It's funny, in that way that's only funny if you tilt your head; when I was applying for Design jobs, my friends and family got onto me about being picky. Now I tell them that Pizza Hut sent me a "We currently have no positions which you are qualified for" e-mail and get responses like, Well, duh. That's because you're over-qualified.

My sister tells me (though I already know) that I have to stop submitting my resume. I have a nice resume. The guy from Apple was impressed, though sadly he hated my portfolio and wasn't hiring anyway.

I have several resumes. I have my Design resume, my Clerical/Office resume, and my Generic resume, which states my objective as looking for a "challenging" position. Why the hell does the McDonald's website ask you to upload your resume if it doesn't want it? That's the trap I fall into. I see the "Upload Resume or CV" button, and I have to click it.

But no more.

I have a high school diploma from many years ago, and have never worked. I have low standards, and will take any job you offer me. Speaking of which, do you know anyone who's hiring? I'm willing to move if relocation is paid for.

The 90's Called, They Want Their Prank Back

Yesterday I received a prank call. I dealt with it in an adult fashion, trying not to snicker too much, notifying the caller that he had the wrong number, and hanging up rather than continue to feed the troll. A good friend suggested something less mature, but far more amusing, that I could have said. My sister suggested something else, also amusing, but not likely to solve the problem.

Keep all that in mind as you read my responses to the text I received this evening, from the same local mobile number.

     Heyo yet [sic, I say, sic to infinity!] have Cheyenne duffys number

     No but she said she's got the strap-on ready. U gotta bring the lube this time. Yolo

     What the f*?

     She says she likes em big and black. She's out, man. Just grab some KY on the way.

     Mkay lets go

     Gotta get rid of some1 first. Cops are all up in my grill bout that junk you gave me.

     Well don't get caught next time and that won't happen

     K, they're gone, but don't kill me man, they just wanna ask you a couple questions, y'know?

     Yea i got the lube lets go

     Where you at, boo?

     My house

     I'm with L~ and H~, you better get your ass down here b4 we start without you.

     Im stuck here you come here

At this point I wondered what I was doing. I'm an adult, and here I was in a text-hijacking battle with what I assumed to be a random teenager. Not to mention the kid kept tripping me up by playing along. How long was I willing to keep this up? And how the hell could I win?

Competitive Streak: 1
Good Sense: 0

     L~ has my pants, I'm stuck too

     Sucks to suck

     You oughtta ask Cheyenne bout that, you know what I mean?

     No I Don't have her number

Damn, good one. I had to ponder that, and this time my friend didn't have any witty comebacks for me. She did, however, have Cat Facts. For the one of you out there who doesn't love clicking link trails, a brief summary (and my response to I Don't have her number):

     Thanks for signing up for Cat Facts! You will now receive fun daily facts about CATS! >o<

     Okay

Wait, Okay? That's not how it's supposed to go! I decided to make the best of it and regaled my new text-buddy/subscriber with interesting facts, such as:

     Cats use their tails for balance and have nearly 30 individual bones in them!

     That's cool

Really? Oh, a tough one, are you? Yes, actually. It was a Troll battle, me giving cat facts, him remarking that they were interesting, me asking him to prove he's human by stating his favorite animal, him answering with Cat. It was a full hour before I received Who the f* is this, which I admit I'd been hoping for much sooner.

I replied with a Cat Fact. And since he hadn't responded to my offer to cancel hourly Cat Facts, I sent another one an hour later. And another an hour after that, with another opportunity to cancel.

     Cats bury their feces to cover their trails from predators. [To cancel Cat Facts reply 'dghdfjnhddhtd56666443hgfdfefuutregjbvcyu65468990']

     'dghdfjnhddhtd56666443hgfdfefuutregjbvcyu65468990']

Yes! I was finally getting somewhere! Maybe we could end this peacefully, after all. But alas, I'm a smart-ass, and so I asked for confirmation.

     Are you sure you want to cancel? Life without Cat Facts is not as fulfilling. [Reply YES to cancel]

     No

     Thanks for signing up for Cat Facts. You will continue to receive Cat Facts every [hour].

Only I didn't make it another hour. This being the real world, I got a phone call shortly after the Cat Facts renewal, from a very sleepy-sounding, very confused-sounding, woman. So I had to be a grown-up again. I related a brief account of having received a call and multiple texts from that number, from a teenage boy, and then apologized for having disturbed her so late at night.

Whoops.

Is Your Refrigerator Running?

I got a random phone call today. I always answer in my most respectable voice, just in case it's a job offer. Who knows, maybe someone sent my resume to someone who sent my resume to someone who somehow got it in front of some bigwig at Disney and now I'm going to become a famous designer. Or maybe it's the bank and they're willing to hire me as a part-time teller.

Or maybe not.

Hey, can I ask you something?

me: Excuse me, who is this?

It's Javon, can I ask you something?

me: This is Lyric, I think you have the wrong number.

Lyric? Can I ask you something?

me: Sure, go ahead.

Are you DTF?

me: *tries not to laugh* No, but thank you.

What if I'm black?

me: *hangs up*

A friend suggested that I should have offered Javon a turn with a hypothetical strap-on, but alas, I was too busy being amused at receiving a true prank call, something I thought went out of style with the invention of Caller I.D.

Poor kid. He and his laughing friend would have had a lot more fun with someone who'd never heard the term DTF before. Maybe I'll call him back in a couple days when he's forgotten me.

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*