6 posts tagged “depression”
It will. I'm pretty sure of that.
How I'm able to ramble about shoes being the ultimate escape from myself?
I'm on drugs.
Today was the funeral of a good friend of my grandpa. 14 days ago he basically just fell over and was dead while shopping with his wife.The day before he had been for his annual heart-check. All good, all fine you go and shop with your wife.
It's funeral number twenty one since I was seven years old.The only funeral I didn't attend but would have mattered was that of my fathers.
Ever since I was about seven or eight I called my step-dad "father" and "daddy". With my actual father never really caring for me and my new-born litle sister calling her dad well, "dad", obviously there was nothing much else to expect from an eight year old than to call the man living with her mother under the roof her sister was born "daddy" , too.
My mother tells me that he sat down with me and had a talk with me about how - if i choose to call him dad - i couldn't just take it back whenever I would be angry at him. It was a all-or-nothing deal.
I'm twenty now and I have finally accepted that my father has never cared for me when I was little and that my father died when I was 13. My daddy commited suicide and left me.
My step-dad has always been dead, atleast as far as I can remember he has only been alive whenever he hit my mother or me.Or his daughter.I've never seen him much more alive than in those moments, maybe that's one of the reasons we never left him until now - the overwhelmingness of all that life exploding in his sheer agression against us simply darkened and dumbed us.
I've got a step-dad left now I can't love anymore cause he has misused, abused and lost all that love I used to have for him and I've got a dead father six feet under.
My best friend is seemingly vanishing out of my life without me being able to grasp her at all, Chris is going to be dead in a few weeks time, my mother is starting to go down by all the things he needs to face now that my step-dad has left, all my friends have blocked me out because I have let one of them down once in the time I've known her, my uncle has abandoned me because I earned money instead of attending his wedding and really? I just feel lost. So much. It's beyond where peep-toes and swallows can rescure my footprints in the sand.
I'm facing the floor, basically. My whole body is. It's pressed onto the stained, dirty grey rough idea of a rug my room is filled out with. Scratching against my cheek and the palms of my hands pressing against it. It does feel like I could get up but reality has it i won't.
Not in the near future anyway.
Chris has been hospitalized.Last friday he came over and hugged me and soothed me in sweet new tunes he wrote while being coked up. He's looking like a death, false image of himself two years ago.
He's not going to make it.
I stared at him all through the night, really. After a hysteric call at 2am because all this angst and fear of loss inside me overwhelmed me too much he came and rescued me.
He's brought me ( aka has ripped from somebody ) a little golden ring and gave it to me.
He's going to die.
His ashy eyes are all whidened up and slurred into his head and the way his hands stroke over his guitars has changed in a way I can't put into words. There's a certain agony tagged to his movements I don't understand or get at all and when he kisses me I can't feel his breath at all. It's like a rotten rest of him is sliding inside me instead of him actually being there.
It's not like he is still there anymore either, who am I kidding.
We lay onto the cold, rough grey carpet together just staring at each other after I had calmed and the weight of my body has never felt more like a pressure than that night I think. I wetted the spots next to my face like a giant mess.
I don't want him to die on me.
What do you absolutely refuse to eat?
I've started to grow back into myself.
Walking down the street yesterday after my last theory driving lesson I realized how much I am like I was about a year or two ago. Secretly i'm trying to hide it away and tuck it under by thinking it's just natural because hey, I'm going to be out of school soon. But the truth is I'm starting to close down again.
I don't talk to people anymore and all i am towards most of my friends is being aggravated and the straight opposite of humble. I don't appreciate them and because of all this future scaryness stuck in my heart I become manipulative and greedy, too.
I envy Biancas shopping sprees and that Eva&Ev are both out for a festival this weekend which I didn't have enough cash for. Lots. It's eating me up entirely making me feel even more rotten than I already do.
The way I've found myself slightly okay with me druing the past year has somehow vanished. I don't talk anymore.With plainly nobody. Whatever it is inside me making me feel so lost and helpless nobody knows about it - and neither do i. Talking has solved it for me apparently, now somehow everybody I used to share my inner self with has gone and dropped off into spheres I can't reach.
I am already scared of the weekend ahead because nobody is going to have time to spend it with me ( Bianca and Carina are studying for her oral exams on monday and everybody else is off to the festival ) to keep my thoughts off the books I can't find of which each is around 25 bucks I shall have to pay if I don't have them till monday.
Things like this make me crumble on the floor. Right now all i seek to be is really sick, depressed and dirty. Cause that's exactly how I feel. I didn't think not working in the kindergarden would do me so much damage either. If there is nothing to do ( and there isn't cause I can't be arsed to even get up most of the time ) all I think about is how much time I could spend with the little ones doing something significant rather than avoiding my thoughts.
Lately I have started to systemize my doings in working steps. For instance making myself a drink is 14 working steps.I categorize them in my head under "amount of effort" and other things and chose to do or not do them due to their worthyness.
Because I do them over and over and over inside my head I get so exhausted by doing just that instead of the actual movement I lose the energy to the actual thing.
It's sick, isn't it?
The easiest things like getting up ( 9 working steps ) become massive, huge, unclimbable mountains by this. It's not that they actually are. Who would say that getting up is a hard thing to do?.. I mean unless you've got to do something unpleasent afterwards. But to me, the act itself is undoable.
So yes, I'm back deep deep inside myself and I seem to hate it here even more than I used to do. Even the shame about my depression is back. Currently I'm considering wether or not to post this because people may find it boring. It's just that most of the times life isn't full of one night stands and advices for people or important things to discuss. A lot of times it's just me stuck in my room trying to keep on breathing. Cause breathing takes 4 working steps and that's a lot.
I'm so sick of people leaving me behind it's disgusting. Franzi's dog had to be put down on monday and we've talked about how she's getting in touch with death currently but in a very sensitive and soft kind of way.
Afterwards I wrote a 10 page piece about the deaths I have experienced since I was about three or four plus all the emotionally and physically sick people sticking around I fear of dying on me.
Ten pages.
It's not like I rambled even. It's 10 pages full of dead people.
My fingers are pressing against the wooden atmosphere of the desk and i'm focusing on the keyboard in front of me. My nose is running and my hoodie is up covering my greasy hair. Bits and pieces of my make up are fading blackishly around my wet eyes. There are tears, but they're not really there. I can tell they are. But if you would take an instant picture of me i would just look like an ordinary girl from downtown on a messed up friday night.
My stomache is feeling empty because i feel the need to oblidge to the goal i have set myself to have lost atleast thirty pounds by next month."Is she starving herself?", you ask. I'm not. I am eating. Very healthy, actually. I have had fruit today and lots of black bread. I have been drinking three litres of water everyday and right now my tea is boiling.
I won't take sugar in it.
I have never known the beauty of the Arcade fire but today I did. I have never driven a car. But today I did. An old one that is, all rubbish like me. Big trunk and all that. I drove it.
There are exactly six flies on my window, which reminds me of Holly. They bump against the shady, pure glass and fall back. And then they do it again. And again.
Just like I type. It's a repeating of nothing, really. Something without substance or purpose. It's just something I do. And i can't help it. I'm a bit of them flies. Knowing nothing of what happens around them. The Arcade fire has mostly soppy tracks but with a melody you could never hum at a funeral. There's a shade of green in their blackness. Some sort of polish mother must be sitting in a rubbish home right now listening to them and thinking that's what the kids do now with old polka songs. Of course that is quite some insane image denying the existance of the fact that most old polish grannies probably do not really know of The Arcade Fire.
There is a bar of chocolate right in front of me. I have unwrapped it last saturday i think. It's there and I'm smiling at it realizing that it would taste like a piece of shit if i'd take it in my mouth right now. It happens that if you change your eating style and stop doing sugar for a while you don't crave it anymore. When, as you do eat lots of sugar your system wants it again and again. I think i have realized this today.
I have done quite a job today.
And you know, it all feels rotten. Why? Cause compared to the masses of things i still have to do it means absolutely nothing.
Yet, it's all feeling weirdly balanced. In a way i never knew of. Apparently as of lately my brain decided to make it bothersome to change my sweater. The thought is in my head.
Yet, my body won't listen. It's like the little kid in my group at the kindergarden i work at. He's smart and all. But he just doesn't get things. You tell him to pick something up and you can tell he heard you. You can tell he got what you meant. He's seing the 'My first story about ducks' book, or the bright red wooden train with the disgusting biting marks in it revealing how many kids must have sucked and bitten on it before. He's seing it. Yet, no reaction.
He's slow, that's pretty much it.Disabled aswell, but not in a rough way. Just too slow. After the 6th time you tell him he gets it. The brain has finally found a working transmitter docking onto whichever transmitter docking thing it has to dock on and he grabs the piece in front of him and puts it away.
I really do admire that kid. He's my fave of all. He reacts on you in a very gentle way. Telling you to fuck off results in a heyyyy...' with a very slow movement of hand and a drool over his navy blue sweater.
However, being a 19 year old girl with the transmitter-docking-abilities of a 4 year old slow-kid seems a bit odd. Even to myself. And then i'm sat there inside my bed, with all those blankets stuffed around me, the heater on 5 blasting whatever out of it's white clean shape and my brain is telling me to
& i know that i have to and i know how to and i understand the need. But nothing's happening.'FUCKING TAKE THE SWEATER OFF YOU GONNA DIE OF HEAT IF YOU DON'T'
Can you tell i'm a bit fucked? Cause i certainly feel like it.
yes i'll try not to let them take me down
not to let them take over what's left of what was me
yes i'll try and i'll try and i'll try
not to cry when skinner tells about the
times he never went to church
and I'll keep you deep inside
keep you underneath the hurt
if there's anything you left of you
to remind myself of you
you'd better let me know
cause i doubt it'll ever show
i hope i make you proud
cause i don't know what life's about
Today in school we talked about love.
We based our discussion on the play "Intrigue and love" by Schiller.and eventually we came across the point that one can only share love if one loves the self.
The good 'ole
i thought. Neverminding the fuss everybody was making about the statement one of my classmates made. Being well sure that i do love. Even though the love i have for myself is limited to very little.You have to love yourself to love others,
, i said to myself being fully fine with the thoughts running in my mind."Maybe that's why i only love so very few and why it wears me out so much."
But then my teacher said something which made me feel a little unwell, indeed.
He talked about how people who don't love themselves replace 'love' with different things. However, those people are rather sure of the things they assume to connect with the receiving and giving of love as love itself.
& he added, most of the times the replacements are rather sick rituals, common returns of habits and behaviours. He mentioned eating disorders and self harm as ones of them and even though i consider myself one of the many who tried those things unintentionally and intentionally to make myself feel better i was well sure that i can differ myself from being somebody who isn't noticing that she is using those as a subsitute for love.
Then, anyway, he said that most of these people don't even do those things. Some of them just love. They love and they receive love and they give love and they love their mates and their mum and their cats and toilet papers.
Especially if those they love can connect to their sickness.
After class i went home and cried.
This feeling is immense, really. Right now i am too scared to even breath. This is overtaking and loaded with lots of the things i don't want to face.Maybe nobody is getting this. But the thought of eventually only loving people and allowing them to love me back cause they appreciate me being sick is quite intense.
It's thrilling.
It's unwell.
It's there.
Which is the scary part.It's there. And if it's there i spose i do those things. And i don't know if i want to be somebody who does that.
Obviously, one could just say that people like to be around people who understand their personality and it's causes. But this is not 'understanding the sickness' this is 'appreciating the sickness'.
Which is a whole new level.
The question is : am i like that? Do i love cause it keeps me from confronting myself from what is wrong with me?
