I'm thinking I'm gonna get sick of talking about feelings. That might be the hardest part of this blogging biz...I'm constantly thinking about this stuff, almost always sad, frequently talking to certain people about the way I'm feeling; the idea of now writing about it in a forum that, ostensibly, will at some point be available to others makes me feel sort of sick to my stomach and self-indulgent and ashamed.
I just need to remember that the purpose of this blog is manifold, and while it's going to be hard for me to talk about these things, to think about someone else reading my writing (Joe Hafer can vouch for this hang-up better than anyone else), and, perhaps hardest of all, to think of other people reading this and knowing about the feelings I don't tell them about and laughing at me or thinking I'm overreacting or exaggerating my sadness by believing things are so bad for me when they're so much worse for others -- while all that is causing me to panic a little (A LOT), I need to remember that that's part of the exercise here, that I'm trying to get over those crippling fears. I wish there was a way to make this available only to people who've known what it's like to feel how I feel, so I'd feel safer sharing it, but I don't see how that's possible (perhaps if I understood technology at all, more options would present themselves), so I'm just going to have to try and to get over my anxieties about opening up.
And, God knows I open up enough; my roommates and co-workers and close friends all know all too well how much I need to talk about my depression. That's one of the most painful things for me -- the sudden realization at inopportune moments that maybe I'm talking about this stuff too much, that I'm turning myself into a joke or an annoyance. I know the people who love me want me to be happy and want to help me through this stuff, but I'm constantly afraid that I've reached a boy-who-cried-wolf stage of just talking too much about feelings, that people who don't feel this way couldn't possibly not be sick of hearing about it or thinking I'm being too emotional.
It's such a bad feeling to think that, on top of the suffering you're constantly feeling, maybe you're also wrong to feel that way, or just not tough enough, or too self-centered, and that you're alienating your friends because of it. Sometimes when I'm at my worst, when I'm overcome by thoughts of desperation, I hate myself even more for having been less discreet with my unhappiness and making it impossible for my friends to believe just how painful things can be sometimes, by making them seem that painful all the time. Because no one can be in that much pain all the time, right? Maybe things aren't even that bad, maybe I am overreacting, maybe I deserve to feel this lonely and fucked up because I am weaker than I should be and other people find me disgusting and annoying for my weakness -- these thoughts are so confusing and horrifying, on top of everything else, that I doubt everything I feel and am overcome by loneliness and self-loathing. These are the times when I give up hope of ever getting better, ever being "normal," ever loving myself.
Sometimes I wait around for the heat to come on so I can sneak into my room and cry without my roommates hearing over the sound of it. Yesterday I felt so bad I couldn't -- I just went down there in the middle of the day and sobbed as quietly as I could, choking into my pillow and fighting the desperate desire to hurt myself in some way just to release some of the self-hatred that makes it hard to breathe. Later, when the pain still hadn't gone, I took a shower so I could secret-cry there, so I could get past that most terrible feeling without having to talk about it, since I so often feel like I don't have the right to burden people with this anymore. It must seem insane and ridiculous and fake to someone who doesn't feel this way. For all I know they heard me anyway...it's not a sound that's new to them, and they know me well enough, I'm sure, to not be surprised and to know I just need to cry violently by myself sometimes. God, this all sounds stupid...
OK. That's the kind of thing I'm afraid to just lay out there...I don't see what would be appealing at all about reading something like this, and the absolute last thing I mean by this is some sort of cry for help, to casually tell people, "See how sad I am? Help me!" The people I need to know about my sad feelings know about them, and they do everything they can to help me. I need to find a way to use writing to let me release some of the pain that I just can't get out in conversation, to vent these issues in a way that gives my brain the time and space to sift through them, to work through them in writing and have this record to remind me of all the things I've felt. It will probably take some getting used to doing this, a period during which I'll spew out such sordid details of agony that I doubt anyone would want to read, or that I'd really want anyone to read, before I get to the real constructive business of writing about things in a way that both is helpful to me and provides some sort of ameliorative reading experience for others, whether through being entertaining or funny or (I hope, eventually,) well written, or through actually helping someone who might get something from this. While that's not my primary goal -- God knows there are better-suited vehicles for that, and my primary goal, as I've said, is honestly to help myself -- if there's someone like me, often lost, desperate and lonely, who reads this and relates in any way and feels less alone as a result, well, that's the best I could ask for.
But let's go out with some good news! Last night I was asleep within an hour after going to bed and got a good night's sleep (foster dog bed-take-over-ism aside); tonight I had a few drinks for game night and didn't feel the need to keep drinking and staying up until I felt drunk or tired enough to hope to fall asleep easily; I'm going to bed early so I can try to get up early and try to get more daylight hours and productivity in my week; I started the process today of organizing a co-ed softball team for this summer, which I hope will mean both a new social and athletic outlet and a reason not to be hungover on Sundays; and (best saved for last), I finally e-mailed my doctor about rescheduling the appointment I missed and getting back on the meds. Which I think I really, really need for the time being.
And, I'm writing here again! I really want to keep up with this and not just give up on it and the potential I think it has for helping me, as much as I might be tempted to, especially on the really bad days. Good thing I spent about 5 hours working on the blog design, as that'll at least make me less likely to quit. Anyway. Ideally I'll be ready to share this with someone besides Vance at some point soon...I just need to figure out a way to make this stuff an interesting read that I'd be more proud than mortified to share. It might take a little bit of pouring on the emo and getting the big-fat-tear-y stuff out of the way before I can write like a sane person and actually try to write, not just hemorrhage thoughts, as well as figuring out exactly what, besides feelings, I actually want to talk about here. But for now, writing is a start. And making it through today without sobbing hysterically. Let's see if I can keep that achievement intact until I reach the great victory of being asleep. G'night.
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