I have weird-ass depression.

I have weird-ass depression.

 

It's not exactly bipolar, but the depression isn't ... consistent.

 

The depression for me isn't always ever-present.  I mean sometimes it's so there that the self-loathing keeps me in my house just laying around with sad eyes for weeks on end.  I go long periods eating junk food and not bathing or doing any chores and not enjoying anything.

 

However, sometimes it slips into my subconscious so I can focus on other things.  Sometimes I even have good feelings, or normal emotions for situations, especially when I exercise. Endorphins don't lie.  Plus, I really really like eating, especially bad for me food. I have moments, daily, or at least weekly, where I genuinely become excited about dumb things like animals or rain or something I'm reading. However, there are also times where I'm numb, so numb, that nothing can excite me.  Going 100 miles an hour and swerving?  Nothing. Food?  Nothing.  Cat? Yawn. Suspenseful movie?  Whatever. Stabbing myself in the foot? Who cares?

 

My therapist seems to be a huge fan of medication for me.

 

"Remember when you were on Zoloft?  You never interrupted people and slipped into states of panic when you were on Zoloft!"

 

(She didn't actually say that.  She said, "There were times where things were easier for you on the Zoloft."  But she MEANT the first quote.)

 

Okay, though, I was on Zoloft to control my anxiety from August 2011 to March 2012.  I had severe depression the whole time that I did not have at all before the Zoloft, gained weight, could NOT stop eating. BUT I DIDN'T INTERRUPT YOU WHILE YOU WERE TALKING SO OBVIOUSLY THE MEDICINE WAS RIGHT FOR ME. >:(

 

Then after I went off the Zoloft, I felt better for a few months.  Between March 2012 and June 2012 life was amazing.

 

Right after that I hurt my back in a car accident, had to go to physical therapy almost daily for weeks.  I couldn't even do anything around the house until this month. (Our house is so messy!  It feels great to be able to clean again but there's so much cleaning to do that it's frustrating me!)

 

Then after the car accident I broke off a friendship with a childhood friend because she kept criticizing me all the time.  We'd get into fights each time we were around each other, mostly because according to her I was too loud and giving her a headache, or I offended her sister in law by just being myself, and other things.  I was always in the wrong and she was always right. However, she would try to make up by saying that she loved me anyway.  However, it didn't really seem true that she loved me at all if I was always wrong and she was always yelling at me for it.  We couldn't work it out, so I ended it.

 

A month later, I really broke it off with her because she said unforgivable things to my best friend Joey and his husband about their impending marriage. 

 

(Note to people: when your friend tells you that they're getting married the proper response is, "Congratulations! When's the big day?" Not, "That goes against my all my beliefs and principals and let me tell you everything else about my boring stupid middle-aged white woman politics because I'm a big snorefest who only talks about herself!") 

 

I kind of took them under my wing after that, and the blessing turned out to be that I made the kind compassionate, funny friends I've wanted all along.  But for a long time the three of us felt like shit, because that's what a breakup with a childhood pal feels like no matter how much living well is sweet revenge.  Like, for a whole month at least, we were sad face.  Only, for me, that lasted until about a month ago.  And, I don't know, maybe I'm still pretty sad.

 

Then last fall I took a class in Child Welfare where we studied forensic evidence that proves whether or not a child was really being abused or not.  Each week there were stories of children with scabies, children abandoned in wet diapers while their mom was on meth (same children), children held down in boiling water, molested children.  And on, and on, until I just ran out of tears to cry. By December final exams, part of me was seriously, seriously, seriously considering ending my life.  It was the second December in a row that I'd felt that way.

 

Instead of ending my life, I dropped out of school and tried really hard to make my life better for a few months. Without meds, but with a lot of therapy and a lot of goofing off.

 

Now I'm on my way to acing my first class at my new school and my new major, incorporating some healthy habits, cleaning my apartment, going out with friends.  I feel like I'm starting to really get my life back.

 

However, at least every few days, I have mornings where I wake up and just cry on my bed because this kind of stuff happens:

 

These are the comments where I don't hit post.

And I realize I don't have my life back.  Not really.  I'm just going through the motions of my life in hopes, much like Allie Brosh, that in between everything that a) tortures me with too many feelings b) kills my feelings dead and c) the cycling of those two states of feeling, I might trick myself into not having depression and anxiety so I don't have to try a medication that makes it worse.

 

And don't even get me started on my Misophonia ...