I really do try to space out my ‘sad‘ posts. I don’t want to scare everyone away. Because, you know, I’m pretty f-ing scary. Boo. So, my advance apologies. Here’s a photo I took to lessen the sting of my patheticness (not an actual word).
Okay, back to the ‘story‘…
I guess I really am going to be like this forever.
Today was that next monthly appointment I mentioned (basket case). I practiced what I was going to say… or try to say… at least a hundred times. And when she asked me, ‘how are you doing?’ I said…
‘I don’t know.’
I guess it’s better than pretending to be okay. Better than saying all right or fine. [But just so you know, fine doesn’t mean fine. The scale goes: great, good, okay, not okay, I hate you, fine. (credit: Max Black)]
I told her I’ve been having those crazy-sad weepy ‘episodes’… usually at night… alone. I told her I wipe away tears and act like everything is fine when I hear someone approaching. It’s like the hurry-up-and-hide-your-Amazon-shopping-cart when the boss comes over thing. I told her I do what I have to do – appointments, pick up kids… – but that’s it. Other than those necessary tasks, I never leave the house.
[Of course, going out usually involves spending money I don’t have, so it’s good in that way. But it’s really about not wanting to be around anyone… wanting to hide with my issues, wishing them away, even knowing that’s impossible. But I swear, I’m not a stupid person! I’m really smart. I always have been. Straight-A student and all of that. One of the ‘nerds.’ And I know that pretty much everything I’m doing is wrong. But that’s where ‘smart’ ends. I can’t fix this. No fucking perfect report card is going to fix this.]
I also told her I feel hopeless about the unemployment/job/financial situation. I told her the only time I can feel better is when I’m not thinking about it. But if I don’t think about it, it only gets worse and grows bigger and bigger. And eventually, not too far from now, it’s going to be monstrous and I’ll never be able to ignore it again. Yet I still won’t be able to deal with it either.
She asked me about the girl I was talking to – the recruiter who could maybe place me in a job, even a temporary one until something better becomes available. The truth is, I have followed up with her a few times (which is huge for me), but she has yet to find anything for me. Last week, I thought it might be about time for me to contact her again, but it was Thanksgiving, and that was enough of an excuse for me to skip it. Now we’re in the midst of the Christmas season. So there’s no point contacting her until January. Which
may or may not be valid. But I stick to that because it means I can avoid the whole awful situation for a few more weeks with less guilt than I’ve been feeling lately.
But somewhere in the crevices of my fucked up brain, I know it’s not valid. I just can’t bear any of it right now. I think it’s called denial. Or stupidity.
And all of this is to say… nothing changed.
I’m on the same meds. Nothing new, nothing different. Part of the problem is that I have been on other meds and they’ve either given me such horrible side effects I had to stop or they’ve done nothing at all. And there was no discussion of therapy.
It’s my fault. I didn’t say anything about never really feeling ‘happy.’ I didn’t say anything about my ridiculous lack of motivation to do much of anything… except write. I probably didn’t explain well enough for her to really get how awful I’ve been feeling on too many nights lately. But it’s not always.
Today, I am actually doing okay. But I did leave that appointment feeling like I am never going to get better. It seems like there is nothing else that can be done for me. And unless I get that thought out of my head, feeling ‘okay’ is going to vanish and it may never come back.
Even on a decent day, I’m worrying about the bad days… past and future.
Too bad I can’t afford a vacation. Or even a massage.