Monday 27 June 2011

Vlogging, too? Yowza.

Yeah, so I've been wanting to for a bit, but today I started vlogging.  And because of what I talk about in my vlog, hopefully my blog posts won't be quite so soul-suckingly depressing.  I know it ended up being super long (I ramble and say "um" much too often), but thanks for watching, if you do.

Thursday 23 June 2011

I miss my therapist

I never thought I'd say that.  I kinda thought that when I was done with therapy that I wouldn't have to go back.  Like, maybe that was a one-time thing, and I'd have it figured out for the rest of my life and wouldn't need it anymore.

But now I do.  I miss her.  I miss being able to tell someone my problems and have them really seem to understand, who wouldn't tell me what my emotions should be like, and how being the way I was wasn't a bad thing, and I shouldn't change just because I thought I had to, because that's what society wanted.  One thing I especially miss is that when I wouldn't say anything after she told me something, she knew that it wasn't because I wasn't listening or that I just didn't want to say anything, but that I was THINKING about it, thinking about how I felt about it, whether I agreed or not, thinking about what I wanted to say about it.

I don't like the way I'm feeling right now.  Part of me is so scared that I'll get to be the way I was a year ago, and another part is really having a hard time caring, which makes me even more afraid.

I think my husband was hoping that now that I went to therapy that I am "cured", that now I won't get depressed ever again, or that now I know exactly what to do so that if I am depressed, I can just fix myself right up and be fine.  But I'm not.  I think that there is this part of him that doesn't want to admit that I have an actual depression disorder, because then I guess that means that I am mentally ill.  I'm sorry, but when I have been suffering from symptoms of depression (and anxiety) for twelve years - at the least - that's not just being sad and worried sometimes.  It's so much more than that.  Some days it's hard for me to leave the house, even with other people, and by myself, it's almost impossible.  As it has been lately.  Some days it's difficult to get out of bed, and do anything productive.  It's hard to feel that it's worth it.

I wish I could tell him.  I wish that he could understand, but he is not like that at all, and he absolutely doesn't get it.  But I am afraid that he won't.  And now this not telling him is starting to make me resentful, and I don't like it.  But what do I say to him?  What can I do?  i don't know that having the conversation would be any better.  I know how hard it was for him to see me in therapy.  I would just rather me be upset than to upset him.

Friday 17 June 2011

Depression trying to pull me back?

It's summer.  I just finished my first year of university; a pretty successful year, considering I was out of high school for eight years before I finally went back.  I got straight A's, and no one else was really surprised that I was getting such good marks, for whatever reason, I was.  I expected there to be a significant learning curve.  After being out of any type of a formal learning environment for almost a decade, I figured it would take a while before I could start getting those good marks that I had in high school.  But I didn't.  Somehow, I did amazing, and even got some impressive kudos from my teachers.  But I worked my balls off, and I was exhausted by the end of each semester.  But I was so damn proud.

So now, I have four months off for summer holidays before I start my second year.  So I should be having fun and relaxing and enjoying myself and be happy.

But I'm not.  I know I should be, which only makes me feel even more guilty.  

I know that one of the main reasons that I have been feeling this way is that I haven't yet found a full-time summer job.  When I was in school, I was working part-time at my super crappy job that I hate with everything in me and would quit on the spot if I didn't need the money, and having a monthly living allowance from my student loans.  And that was enough for us to live comfortably.  We didn't have a lot of spending money or anything, but our bills were paid and that's good.  

But now, it's a month and a half into my summer break, and I still haven't found another job.  Now job-hunting and all the stresses that go along with it are completely consuming my life.  It's all I think about.  I wake up in the morning and before I even get out of bed I am on my phone checking the postings on Craigslist.  Even right now, just saying that and being on the computer, I feel like I should be searching the job bank, Monster.ca, any search engines, anything.  I feel just so guilty for any time that I am not spending trying to find a job.  I can't relax, but I can't do anything because I am so tired and depressed and discouraged.  

So now I am only working the same amount of hours at my old job, but I don't have that extra monthly income.  Our bills are paid, but it's really tight, and our grocery bills are pretty fucking skimpy, and we're trying to scrape the money together to buy laundry detergent and stuff like that.  I've applied at over forty places, gotten three interviews but still no job.  I've gotten desperate enough that I even applied at Tim Hortons; the reason that this is the lowest of the low for me is because my first job was at a Tim Hortons (in a completely different city,  mind you), and at this job, I was sexually harassed.  I'll probably explain in more detail another time, if you're curious, but let's just say the police were involved and I couldn't go back in there for two years afterward.  

And I couldn't even get a job there.  It was one of the places I was interviewed and I didn't get a call back.  I even had what I thought was the best interview I have ever had, and then I think I went and sabotaged myself and fucked it up, so I'm not gonna get that job either.  

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?  How can I not get a job anywhere?  My friends and family keep saying that it's because I'm overqualified; maybe it's true, but you also know how people who love you want to say things to make you feel better, even if it is a lie?  That's kinda how I feel about it.  And all of this rejection is starting to get me down and my already low self-esteem is in a fight that it can't seem to win.  

The stresses of being in school, having deadlines and assignments and tests and such, I can handle.  But real-world stresses like money and finding a job are altogether different, and something I have such a hard time dealing with.  I've never been good at all that real-world living things like paying bills and credit and whathaveyou.  People tell me that I'm really smart all the time, and I think, sure, I'm book-smart, but I'm real-world-stupid.  That's what it comes down to.  Oh, ha, and let's not forget pretty much socially inept.  Asking me to start a conversation with someone I don't know is the same as asking my husband (who is not good at math) to solve an algebra equation.  For me, it really is that difficult.  I feel like there are these walls that I am trying to push through to just to get to the point when I can say hello, and then to actually say it is another set of barriers.  And it's like their rubbery, so that I push and push and push, and I feel I'm getting closer, and sometimes I can break through them, but other times something happens and I just end up getting bounced back.  

Now, I can feel the depression creeping in, it's started so slowly that I didn't even notice, until one day I'm thinking, Huh.  I'm really depressed.  That fast, and so inconspicuously my depression and anxiety have quickly tried to get their claws back in to me, and I can feel the scratches and I'm bleeding and losing the ability to fight back.  I am tired all the time, I don't sleep well, I feel like crying a lot, I don't want to leave the house, people I love are starting to irritate me and it seems an effort to be happy around them, even though I miss them a lot, and I just don't feel like doing anything, but I feel so fucking guilty for everything that I think I'm supposed to be doing.  And I kinda feel like my husband is in denial about it.  Even though I went to therapy, I don't think he realizes that just because I did, I'm all of a sudden 100% better and cured, and now I won't ever get depressed again.  And I'm afraid to tell him, too.  I'm afraid I'll be disappointing him.  

Wow.  So, this post has just gone off on complete tangents, and I have no idea where the hell I am trying to go with anything at all.  I just know I have a bunch of shit I needed to write down, and everything is all so tangled and it's hard to keep my emotions and experiences and memories separate.  Just a bit of separation, at least in regard to my emotions, isn't working out so well. 

Sunday 12 June 2011

If the circumstances were different

I just finished reading the book "Tweak", which is a memoir by Nic Sheff about his addiction to drugs and his way to recovery.  I found it during a four hour shopping trip at Chapters, and it intrigued me immediately.

I've always had an interest in the human condition.  And usually the darker side, I guess. I love watching Intervention.  I'm not sure exactly why.  Maybe because it's an area I always fought against in myself, blocked out and believed was "wrong" or whatever.  Maybe it makes me feel I'm not as wrong as them.  Hearing about others experiences maybe make my problems seem less intense, maybe makes me feel better about myself, or I can identify, and not feel so alone.  Maybe all of those reasons, maybe none. Maybe the even sicker thought that I have this fucked up fantasy of experiencing it.

Anyway, back to the book.  I flew through it in a couple of days, a couple of days where I also worked and was job hunting.  There's no other word to describe it other than addictive and nearly impossible to put down or get out of my mind.  His writing is so honest and really gave insight into the mind of an addict, and the vicious cycles he ended up in.

All throughout that book, I kept seeing parallels between him and myself, in regards to his feelings and thoughts and mental state.  It's uncanny, and terrifying in some instances.  He's incredibly sensitive, probably considered "overly" sensitive by general society.  He has problems with depression and anxiety and fear, and a hard time feeling grown up and adjusting to the real world.  But the one thing that really struck me was when he said that he was always afraid to really let people in because he didn't want them to see the horrible, disgusting person on the inside, and reject him.  I don't remember the exact words he used right now, but it's dark, so I can't look back in the book.

Wow.  That's me.  That's me in those pages right there.  That's my first thought on reading it.  But then my second thought is, if circumstances were different, could that have been me?  Is the only reason I'm not a drug addict the fact that the opportunity to do drugs never presented itself to me?  I hung out with the "good crowd", the geeks and the kinds in the student council.  I went to a dry grad.  I had never smoked anything, not even a cigarette.  Until recently, I didn't even hardly know a person who had done anything other than drink alcohol.

But I've got the self-destructive, self-depreciating, addictive behavior.  I don't drink all that often; I don't like the taste of alcohol unless I plan to get drunk, and then I'm drinking enough so that I don't taste it anymore.  Once I start, I can't stop.  Not on my own.  And now that I've had the opportunity, I've smoked weed, and hash.  Just no one has offered me anything else.  And the scary thing is, I don't know I'd say know if someone did.  I'd like to say that I would, but I'm not so sure.

Instead, I eat, and overeat.  I don't leave the house unless I have to.  I spend way too much time on the internet; I know that I'm sure everyone can say that, but I lose days on the internet and have no idea how it happened.  I don't cut myself, because people can see the results of that; I bang my head against hard surfaces, cause myself pain that I can comprehend when I can't handle the pain I can't comprehend.

I suppose I should feel grateful that I never ended up on the streets, whoring myself out to get my fix.  But instead, I feel scared.  Were the opportunities and situations different, that could have been me.  Could it still be?

Thursday 9 June 2011

A little untitled poem

swept up into the breeze
off my pillowcase
my dead skin
my dead self
out the window it goes
so close to your cheek
can you feel
the fluttering ghost of me
once-upon-a-person?

Wednesday 8 June 2011

The words just come flowing out.

A LOT.  Every time I write a post, a comment, anything, I say to myself, I'm gonna keep this short.

But it never happens.  Am I rambling, saying pointless things that don't need to be said?  Or do I just have a lot to say?

I was gonna write a post.  But then I commented on a friends blog.  And it was kinda long (as everything that I write is).  And I thought, this would make a good SHORT blog post.  So now, after rambling beforehand, here it is, and I promise I won't do any afterramblings.

It's weird being a different person around different people so that you get to where you wonder which one is the "real you", or if even any one of those is, that maybe you is just hidden down deep, afraid to come out for fear of what people will think of him/her. Then you think, maybe I'm all of those people, and then you feel schizophrenic or something. Is that just me? I guess that right now, I am trying to reconcile myself, and be the same one person around everyone. Don't know if that's the right thing to do, but hey.

I used to feel extra guilty for my depression. I would hide it, deny it to myself, try and get myself to cheer up, but then I would feel guilty for being happy, because how can I have the right to be happy when there are so many people who are sad?

Monday 6 June 2011

Phobia and trust.

I'm afraid, really afraid, of bees and wasps.  Terrified.  I think it could even be called a phobia.  And I always have been, and likely always will be.  Just the thought of being close to one makes my heart race.  Seeing pictures of them makes my breath catch and it feels as though my stomach is trying to escape my body.  I once had one land on my hand while I was walking to work and I nearly lost my mind.  For the rest of the day, just thinking about the incident made me physically shudder; I could feel a ghost of its little legs on my wrist.  Just writing this makes me feel nauseated and nervous, like I need to twitch or shake my whole body to get rid of all the invisible bees and wasps that could be crawling on my in another universe.

So you can imagine how I might react if I was in a vehicle and there was one on the window next to me.  On the inside of the window.  Augh.  And the other day, that is just what happened.

I'd had a horrific day at work (A JOB I HATE).  I was already tired, moody and on-edge.  My husband came to pick me up; I got in and shut the door when I noticed a bee (or wasp, I'm not sure) sitting on the top of the passenger-side window.

Oh, it's just on the outside. I wasn't entirely comfortable with that, but it wasn't enough to make me freak out.  I kept staring at it anyway, as though I couldn't look away, and to assure myself it was on the other side of the window.  No, it's NOT ON THE OUTSIDE, IT'S ONTHEINSIDE!!  I just plain lost it.  I screamed and started scrambling away, trying to get in the back seat somehow without having to get closer to it.  Once I was perched on the center console I started crying.  My husband kept telling me to sit down, that it was just a tiny bee, and he would get it.  But I couldn't.  I had to get away, there is no way that I could just sit down, get even an inch closer to the bee when it was already close enough to get me.

Then he got mad.  "Just SIT DOWN!"  I thought he was mad I was on the center console, so I tried harder to push myself into the back; however, the rules of physics obviously evaded me, because there was no way I could have fit in the tiny crevice between driver and passenger seats.  NoIcan'tIcan't.  I was utterly overcome with terror, and all I wanted in the whole world, all that went through my mind, was to be as far away from it as I could.  Pleasedon'tmakeme...please.


He growled, got out of the car, came around, opened my door, swatted the bee away, got back in the car.  I was still crying; he was still mad, I could tell.  But he asked if I was alright, but then started to tell me how he was sorry for getting mad but: I couldn't freak out like that, I needed to stay calm, "I know you've never been stung and I want to keep it that way", he was going to handle it, I was overreacting -- but I was so scared, sometimes I can't help it -- "yes you can, you just don't".  For the most part, I didn't answer; I didn't look at him, tried to stop crying, waited for him to just say "its okay" and comfort me.  And as always, whenever he is "talking to me", he kept repeating the same things over again.  I mentioned his fear of spiders, and how I understand how they freak him out, etc.

But then he said "but I guess I trust you enough...(something else I don't remember exactly)..."

Trust..........TRUST.  Reallly?  This is where I stopped talking completely.  Didn't look at him.  Kept my arms folded, kept my eyes straight ahead and unfocused.  When did this become a trust issue, would you like to tell me that?  If I just trusted you enough, I would suddenly not have this phobia, and I could sit back and just listen to you all the time.  


There was little else but one thought going through my mind, one thought controlling my actions and reactions: get away get as far away as possible get away NOW.  


That phrase, those few words, they hurt and made me angrier at him than I have been in a long time.  I don't get angry, or show that I am angry, at people very often.  And I suppose I didn't then, either.  But you'll have to excuse me if my trust is not completely rock-solid when I have trusted you in the past and you've let me down.  You can't just start over and expect to get all of my trust again and get mad when it isn't there.. you've got to fucking earn it back.

Maybe I'm the one who won't let go of what happened so long ago, holding grudges, just can't forgive and forget, keeps thinking about the negatives instead of the positives, I don't know.  I just don't.

All I know is I'm frustrated with him telling me how I should react, how I should handle my feelings and emotions.  Just when I'm starting to realize that I am a very emotional person, and although I don't want to have the destructive spirals anymore, I still want to be in touch with my emotions, and my emotional nature is something I am starting to embrace, or I at least want to.  And he always makes me feel as though that my emotions are something I need to rationalize and control, and that they are wrong.

But as always, I doubt myself.  Maybe he is right.  Maybe I do need to trust him more.  Maybe I am just not trying to control my (IRRATIONAL) fears.  Or am I allowed to be afraid, and not have to control them just because it's what he things is right, just to make him happy?  Again, maybe he's right, if I just control myself better I will be able to handle it, I will be happier?

I don't know.  But I'm still upset, and I don't know what that means.

Thursday 2 June 2011

Oh hey there.

Nice to meet you.  I'm Karen.  How's about a little introduction?

I'm 28 years old, living in the aptly-referred-to on our licence plates "Beautiful British Columbia", Canada.  I am married to my high school sweetheart, and we have a funny little cat.  I'm highly emotional, something I am working to reconcile.  I chew my nails.  I'm a bit of a hermit, not getting out of the house as much as I perhaps should.  I am a child in many ways.  I have green eyes that see the world through black thick-rimmed glasses. I'm the epitome of an introvert, and maybe just a bit neurotic.  Okay, maybe more than a bit.  I pick earthworms out of puddles and am afraid of the dark.  Books and blankets; these are a couple of my favorite things.  I've got such an intense empathy that sometimes it hurts.  

I'm not new to blogging.  I've been doing it for almost five years.  I have another blog (two, actually) that you'll likely never know.  But I'm new to this one.

I'm a recovering Facecrack addict, and want badly to get back into blogging.  But lately I feel restricted on my main blog.  Like I've gotta censor it.  I can't say fuck; no swearing at all.  I can't talk about my anxiety and depression and the fact that I've been in therapy or drinking or insecurities or strange thoughts or my someone recent experimentation with smoking pot.  I also can't talk about anyone that I know on my blog, because what if they see and they don't like it and they get upset?  How can I complain about someone if there's the chance that they might read it?   

For a while, my cousins and I had a secret blog.  We wrote things and shared things with each other that we never would have with the rest of our family.  It was a place we could yell and swear and tell dirty jokes and complain and not worry about the judgement or the talk that would inevitably happen, whether intentional or not.

But a year ago, I wrote a post about how pissed off and upset and hurt I was when, a couple days after my husband's best friend was killed by a drunk driver, a customer at work kept pressing me as to why I was "just okay" and told me to just smile and that it was all in my head.  I spent 15 minutes in the bathroom bawling on the shoulder of a lady whose name I still don't even know.  Might I also mention that I had recently just started going to therapy at this time?  And what happened?  I got fucking judged, in the one place where I felt safe.  Now, I can't post on it.  Can't comment.  I still check it periodically, though the posts have been pretty infrequent.  

Now, don't get me wrong, I love my family.  But there's some things right now that I don't want them to know.  Fuck, most of those things I listed up there?  Not even my parents know.  For a lot of reasons, I don't know when, or IF, I can tell them.  I'm also sure that my family, they don't always mean to be judgmental, but it happens, regardless.  One thing gets around, and it just keeps going and going, and soon it's being talked about in hushed tones at family gatherings, and then before you know it, my grandma has heard.

Maybe the brave thing to do would be to just write on my existing blog and accept the judgement, the thoughts, the behindthebacktalk.  But right now, I'm not sure I can be that brave.  I can handle the judgement of complete strangers (though I hope you'll keep reading and we'll be more than that), but not that of my family.  But right now, I'm much too insecure.  For the time being, this will have to suffice.