Tag: depression

I am very interested in Hank Hill. I am obsessed with him. I re-watch the episodes over and over and I am always touched by Hank.

He’s not a perfect man. He often is a hypocrite. He’s emotionally distant and all that jazz but I love contemplating his character.

I love how he is such a good friend. I am particularly interested in his friendship with Bill. Hank claims his best friend is Dale, but that doesn’t jive with me. In all his behavior, I think that Hank values and coddles his best friend Bill more. He enjoys his relationship with Bill because he is always in charge. He makes Bill’s decisions for him…. I can’t decide if it’s toxic or not, to me it seems like real love. To take care of someone and always know what’s better for them.

He goes through great lengths to help Bill. He takes responsibility for things that he can’t possibly control. In an episode I watched recently, a college kid threw a water balloon at him and his mom and he took the hit for her. Then he said, “I’m sorry I let that happen.”

He’s so controlling and I don’t why I find that incredibly appealing. Someone who knows better than you, so just let them. That sounds weak minded but it feels good- to surrender, to let someone else have control. Some would say that makes you truly strong, if you talk to the right people.

In the episode I was watching, it’s about Hank driving his mother and her friends to a miniature musuem. He mused about the miniatures and said, “She only took them out when she was heading into a funk. Like when I was 10 to 14….” And he also commented, “-from that time you went weird.”

Hank is so proficient with dealing with Bill because he had to deal with his mother’s depression. Hank instinctively reaches out to support Bill because he has been used to that role in his life. When it was time to do a suicide watch for Bill, Hank took a leave of absence from work to help him. Maybe he had experience with that when he was younger. (Although the point could also be made that previous to show’s first episode, Hank has had to do a suicide watch for Bill before when Lenore left.) But still, his first experience with depression undoubtedly came from his mother.

Yet another thing Hank and I have in common- feeling crushed by our mother’s depression. Feeling responsible for her as a child, the roles reversed. We are the care taker and they act the part of child.

I just love this character. I could go on about him ad nauseam.

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You Wouldn’t Like Me (Would You?)


There’s a war inside of me
Do I cause new heartbreak to write new broken song
Do I push it down or let it run me 
Right into the ground
I feel like I wouldn’t like me 
If I met me
Well I can’t stop talking
For fear of listening to unwelcome sound
And you haven’t called me in weeks
And honestly it’s bringing me down
I feel like I wouldn’t like me if I met me
I feel like you wouldn’t like me if you met me
And don’t you worry, there’s still time
There’s nothing to live for 
When I’m sleeping alone
And I wash the windows outside 
In hopes that the glare 
Will bring you around
Sunshine is days away
I won’t be saved, I know all the words
I can’t say that I’ll love you forever
I won’t say that I’ll love you forever

I have been browsing online for creative writing classes. I stumbled upon the OSU-OKC website, the school I wish to go back to when I can get around to paying off my damn bill. But my finances is not the point of this post, so I digress;

LIFE STORY

LOL is it bad that my first thought reading this was, “Oh no, well, mine is more like a cautionary tale.” I snickered. Truly!

I’m working on a volume right now. It’s about some core issues I struggle with, and the book is DARK. It’s poetry full of angst, regret, and sorrow. “My summer was saturated in death and mortality.” It reflects heavily in my dark volume.

Because my next thought made me chuckle, too. “Actually, my story of my life more so reminds me of the theme song to Lemony Snicket’s Unfortunate Series of Events XD

If you are interested in stories with happy endings, then you would be better off somewhere else. In this story, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning, and very few happy things in the middle.

My name is Lemony Snicket. It is my solemn duty to bring to light the sorry history of the Baudelaire children as it happened so many years ago.
But you in the audience have no such obligation, and I would advise all our viewers to turn away immediately and watch something more pleasant instead.

This story will be dreadful, melancholy and calamitous, a word which here means “dreadful and melancholy.” That is because not very many happy things happened in the lives of the Baudelaires.

Violet, Klaus and Sunny were intelligent children. Charming and resourceful, they had pleasant facial features, but they were extremely unlucky. Most everything that happened to them was rife with misfortune, misery and despair. I’m sorry to tell you this – but that’s how the story goes.

-Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events

There is something about writing dark material. So shameful to admit to being the author. Is it, though? So much of myself I feel I shouldn’t share… but then, the things that happen to me must surely happen to other people. I’m a wife who worries about her marriage. I’m a daughter affected by her mother’s drug abuse. I struggle with drugs. I’ve gone to therapy and should be going, still. I’m a member of the Al-Anon community on my better days.

I want to publish my dream blog about my experience with my sobriety. It’s also dark and personal. Like I said, everything I write is dark right now… it’s seeping out in my poetry and collage making. But do I have the balls to own my shit????????????

If my family ever read my dark volume, they wouldn’t be amused. I say some very hard things about my mother in particular. The book is about the despair of losing your identity.

I used to be a Native American woman. Now truthfully, I am a Mexican-Native-American. I never knew I was Mexican. Do I call myself hispanic, latino? IT’S SO FOREIGN TO ME. I reject my father’s label. My identity was different for twenty four years. My narrative was a different story without him. I never knew I was Mexican. I never learned the culture or the language. It’s going to be a weird book.

I imagined going to creative writing class and sharing my real self. I remember during the orientation for my dietitian class and one of my classmates was so remarkably honest. He said he struggled with substance abuse in the past and used his new lifestyle to commit to sobriety. I found myself wanting to share in that confession, but I could never.

Because you don’t want people to look at you sadly. They never know what to say. Their questions are annoying. I told someone during my sobriety I packed on the pounds and they unhelpfully remarked, “Oh, isn’t it the other way around? Get high on weed, get the munchies, get fat?” Well it wasn’t in my case genius way to make me feel like a failure.

I have a stupid eating problem. I have a moderate case of bulimia. I suffer from anxiety and depression. Cue this song:

And finally, one other quote reminds me of my life;

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Social (Media) Anxiety

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I hate social media. I have recently renewed my facebook account and started over. I was tired of seeing memories from years ago pop up in my feed. My page was not myself anymore. I am not all about family venues, friends, and adventure. I am all about anxiety, depression, binge-eating, and marital concerns.

I get depressed because of social media. I can mindlessly scroll for hours down my feed looking at what others have posted. For pretty much the duration of my relationship with Jacob, I have been absent from social media. I quit because it was too risky when I had an obsessively possessive new boyfriend. I had no privacy whatsoever; he looked through my phone and got paranoid at every notification, every ding. He smothered me and made me give up all my friends, and I did it because I was going through something in my life. I naturally went down a different path than my friends, choosing to fall into drugs and alcohol. My friends found other methods to cope with their problems, and bully for them.

I’ve been caught up in trying to forget my problems. I have been lazy and trying to get comfy living in my own hole of depression. When my depression is at its worst, I convince myself nothing is wrong and ignore everything fantastically.

Until I wake up one day months from now, and realize I’ve been on auto-pilot. I haven’t been paying attention. Weeks go by and you realize how little you care for yourself, how thinking of yourself and trying to tend to your needs is painful. It’s painful being aware of your shortcomings and trying to accept them. Better to be stoned and not bothered about it.

For a while.

There always comes the moments when you wake up. You look around and realize you don’t live the life you want to have. You realize you’re miserable and you were doing so well pretending otherwise. You didn’t realize you were such a good actor. Or worse, perhaps no one is paying attention.

Are you calling out for help? No, you’re too afraid to be yourself. How can you be vulnerable in front of people and admit you have hang-ups? Today was oddly strange. I worked the overnight shift & had a conversation I may not have otherwise. A girl at work confided in me her struggles getting therapy now and when she was younger. How candid I was admitting I had the same problem. How can you afford them? We talked about depression medication and the effect it had on us.  We talked about psychology. I would normally – never in a thousand years – admit to someone I don’t know well that I’ve dealt with depression before. There’s still such a stigma attached to mental illnesses, it’s daunting admitting that you have one.

No one wants to hear about my problems. I keep them to myself, and I drown in all the turmoil they cause me. My husband doesn’t like me to be honest with him. He would rather me keep things to myself. When I try to expose my deepest hurting to get some relief, he is incapable of providing the comfort I seek. He doesn’t relish me being such a deep feeling individual. His emotional intelligence is not quite on par with mine. He takes things the wrong way and gets defensive. We fight.

He resents my mental illness. He doesn’t understand. He takes my illness personally. He thinks we don’t have sex at long intervals because I’m withholding on purpose. I’m sorry but my libido along with my spirits are DOWN IN THE DUMPS & YOU’RE NOT HELPING.

I have a feeling that my anxiety, depression, and drug use are a question the likes of which came first, the chicken or the egg? Does my self medicating cause me depression, or am I depressed because I am self medicating? Does the weed cause or ease my anxiety? I know that when I quit smoking, I have to take more anxiety meds. My depression is much worse when I am detoxing. I become quite morose during sober periods. I take offense much easier. I am emotionally raw and sensitive to every little utterance. I require more attention, love, and support. I am a pain in the ass when I am sober. I hate myself when I’m sober.

I hate myself now, too, but it’s easier to convince myself I’m okay when I feel like this. I can ignore the self-loathing when I am like this.

About four years ago, my mother admitted to me that my dad wasn’t my biological father. This fact alone is jarring, especially when you have believed he was your crappy dad for the past two decades. A chance to receive your genetic material from someone else! You think it could be someone great, could be someone you would be lucky to know, maybe?!

You’re not that lucky. Imagine my dismay when my mother told me her alcoholic ex gang-banging Mexican lover was my biological dad? And she wants me to accept this, everyone in my family says it’s an opportunity for us to be a family together finally. My mother is over the moon in love and thinks I should welcome him with welcome arms.

When he finds out, he instantly wants to claim me. He suspected I was his all those years ago, but he wrote me off when my mother rejected him. He loves me and is thrilled at the thought of having such an accomplished daughter when he comes from nothing. He treats me like I am golden and stands up for me when my mom says unkind things.

He is surprisingly more like me than I want to admit. He is sympathetic and generous with his words- and who am I, but a fool that wants to listen to pretty words?

I’m starved for sentiments of love, out loud declarations of how great I am. No one tells me I am beautiful or amazing. No one appreciates me. No one wants to know the real me. But he does, and I hate him for it.

I would like to hate him, but really I ache for him. I want his sentiments to be true, for his actions to back up his words. But I have yet to feel it. I doubt it. I doubt him.

My father keeps invading my life. He sends me a message one day weeks ago and I still feel bad about it everyday. How to beg someone to leave you alone and spare their feelings?

Consumed by guilt and resentment. Want to forgive and move past things, but then I find myself taking one step forward and three steps back. I was willing to talk to him and have a relationship with him and now I am stingy with my time again.

Why should I make time and spend mental energy on you, what do I owe you? Why do you shit on my life and make me feel bad? You were absent for so many years, why don’t you just keep doing that?

I don’t want to expose myself- fuck you, you’ll only hurt me in the end. I know you’re not worth it. I know I will regret knowing you.

This is the stuff that is really on my mind. People think I am a cool customer, that I never get mad and just roll with the flow. I try to appear that way, but really I am eating myself up inside. I want to talk about my shitty marriage, depression, and dad issues but who wants to hear it? Who will be my friend when I am just so utterly down? It is my habit to turn away from depressed people, so I expect to be rejected.

Time to Make a Change

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The last time I posted, I was very dissatisfied with things going on at work. I am still upset at this point, and for more reasons than one.

My enthusiasm for my work is gone. I’ve been very fed up with the lack of staff. I don’t particularly like the people I work with. I know it would make me happier to work somewhere that is managed better. The managers at my current job are just not well-enough equipped to do their jobs. There are so many tasks and standards to adhere to, and not enough hands or time.

Things seem to be going south. Further and further. My boss just gave her two weeks notice, for health reasons. I am not looking forward to the interim period where they are trying to hire for her position, because…. yes, I have determined I am not interested in it.

The hours are undesirable. The work load is undesirable. The responsibility of covering shifts that are missed by co-workers are too frequent/taxing. I am quite unenthused with needy guests lately. I’ve been stressed out to the maximum, and resenting the way things are being handled. The attention to detail is annoying. I am tired of management, actually. It pains me to admit that.

At least for a while, I might possibly need a break. As I was anguishing over my career and life in general, I decided to call someone wise for advice. Talking to Jake is good because he is supportive but he doesn’t always understand where I am coming from. I decided to give my Grandpa a call, and I laid it all out on the line for his consideration:

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I have been considering changing career paths. It’s been really distressing to me admitting to myself that I don’t have what it takes to properly do the front office manager job. I found myself explaining to Grandpa that I was not able to adhere to the standard I hold for myself in the job, and that’s true because I have high expectations. It was very comforting talking to my Grandpa, because just when I really think I’m being stupid, he has a way of making me sound really smart.

He says it’s good to recognize your own limits. It’s only giving up if you choose to view it that way. He says I’m making a conscious decision to better adjust myself. Just because I don’t have the maturity and organizational skills to manage the job now, doesn’t mean that I won’t be wonderful at it years from now. Exploring a new career path does not mean that I can never go back into the hospitality career.

I thought a career change might be nice because it would be a whole new way of life. All the jobs I have applied to have been during normal working hours, day time hours. It would be a radical change for me, and who knows if it would make me happier?

I’ve been stuck wondering if I just need some anxiety or depression pills to make me better, or do I need a whole new everything?????

I’m going to try the whole new everything.

 

1 Million & 1 Thoughts Presented By Me

When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize you. “Ooooh, I wanna make up my mind, but I don’t know myself.” -Mike Snow

If you’ve ever read the book Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates might be familiar with this concept. You become deeply depressed and mentally disturbed by the fact that you don’t actually know what you want- that’s why you do what you do, why you infuriate you- you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know what you want. And if you don’t know either of those, then you don’t know yourself.

It’s a horrible feeling when you stop to think about it. That’s just it, you don’t think about it most of the time. You play your life on loop day after day, and before you realize it you’re sobbing uncontrollably and losing your shit. You didn’t realize you were so unhappy, and the shit hits the fan all at once. You feel a tremendous amount of anxiety and grief, a horrible feeling of somehow being out of control of yourself. So melancholy and suddenly obsessed with all these perceived short comings now that you’re thinking about it.

I’ve been stressed at work lately. The schedules keep falling to shit and we are desperately short on people and I feel pretty pressed most of the time. I get too many people in my face and this weekend played havoc on my stress and anxiety levels. It was just wall to wall people, completely sold out for several nights in a row and to top it off we had a loud, family reunion congregating in my lobby and the amount of noise was out of control. I felt transported to back when there were pep rallies at school and how loud it was. I could barely stand people to talk to me and add one more thing to my list to do. I hated people on Thursday, I was ill all day and having a bad digestion day. I popped at least 4 anxiety pills that day.

Then, on Friday before it was time to go into work, I had an anxiety attack at my home. I was contemplating getting ready for work and doing my hair, and suddenly I noticed my hands were shaking and I was short of breath. I was slightly late because I had to make myself calm down before I could drive to work.

So, as you might have surmised, things are not necessarily going well with the new boss. She is letting me do things I would rather drop. I use to do a lot of the role because I was trying to get the job, and now it’s my turn to let go of a little. But that’s not what’s happening….

I feel like the new boss isn’t measuring up. I guess I was expecting a lot better, but instead this lady is gutzilla and is messier than me!! I tried so hard to be clean and make a first good impression, and the first day I met her, she left a huge mess for me to clean! And that has been a pattern for her so far, unfortunately. I dislike it heartily. I’m having to train my new boss and it’s aggravating. I want her to take more initiative. That’s not too much to ask.

Small things make me happy too, sometimes. I awoke from a wonderful dream earlier today. In my dream, the whole family was there. It was still sad news, because Granny was sick but not with diabetes. We were all seeing her off, like a final good bye party but at this party everyone was happy. She had both her legs and was standing next to Grandpa arms linked, and she was youthful and happy, her smile exuberant. I only remember it being that way in pictures. We were all wishing her goodbye.

I’ve felt particularly wistful about her lately, what with my nuptials and all. I feel excited because I know she will be present, she would not miss my day. Even beyond the grave, Granny will come to me and I will her spirit to enter the room, gladden everybody’s hearts. She was such a wonderful woman, and it will feel wonderful to feel her near again. I’ve missed her so much. Please help heal everyone, all of us, even beyond the grave. Your reach is that far, you can still reach us. I know you can help mend my mother, you can help my aunt and me, too. You always did. I miss you so much.

The Lady in Red is a Lie

On the outside:

lady

On the inside:

Affirmations

I care about myself.
My body and my mind are important to me.
I will make better, healthier decisions on my own behalf.

I will practice mindfulness and gratitude each day.

I deserve my own self-care. If I don’t take care of myself, how can anyone else rely on me to help take care of them?

********************************

My life to me seems like one of the sad indie movies only I would appreciate. Filled with melancholy, a person confused and just messing everything up. I find myself thinking of my artist days when I was younger. I loved being a part of an artistic community and attending weekly poetry readings. We were just a bunch of reckless freaks trying to express ourselves. We might fuck everything up, but at least we were free to make our own mistakes and write about them later.

I miss expressing myself more often. I used to draw and write and journal a lot. I miss that part of myself. I just don’t have the quiet in my mind to accomplish it half of the time. I feel so weird and misunderstood. Sometimes Jake gets angry at me, offended at my sadness for no apparent reason. He thinks there’s something wrong with him, that I’m somehow not satisfied, and I have to tell him over and over again it’s not about him.

I’ll be 26 in little under two days. That was always my scary age as a young 20 something. I used to always figure- I should be established in my career by that point in my life. I should have found the man I want to be with the rest of my life, be getting married. I should be able to take care of myself and function as an adult, be independent.

It seems like everything is on track. To the naked eye, looking at me, it would seem I have those things I have wished for. Latta my boss is almost one foot out the door at my current job and I am devoted to Jacob and will become his wife in less than two months (!!!)

But still yet, when I am alone or at my home, I am a failure in my own skin. I am filled with angst and woe. I worry that I don’t show enough caring for my ailing mother, that my Grandma would be ashamed to see my lack of involvement in her life. Simple things overwhelm me, and I find it difficult to get dressed and leave the house. I don’t talk to any of my would-be friends.

Lately, I’ve been feeling a dampening in my spirits. Everyday I don’t write or meditate, my mind is a jumbled mess and more and more gets piled on. I yearn for a therapist almost as much as I long for a friend. Lately, I stuff my face every night and eat way past the full point, and I don’t see any sign of stopping. My body is cumbersome to me, I get ashamed and don’t want to have sex. I intrinsically feel that I do not want to feel pleasure, do not deserve pleasure. I get embarrassed of myself. I see myself expanding, and I just start wearing looser clothing and trying to ignore how my wardrobe keeps dwindling smaller and smaller. I don’t feel comfortable in most of my clothes, the skin in which I reside makes me restless. I have too much anxiety, and I don’t take my meds regularly. I never sleep in the night, and I can’t drag myself out of bed in the afternoon before work. I barely take care of myself, and it feels like I’m falling apart and all the pieces spilling through my hands faster than I can repair myself.

I’ve felt far away from myself, a thinness of presence. I barely listen to Jake sometimes and have no idea what he’s just said. I feel like there’s a bottomless pit of despair inside me being barely concealed by a smile. How do I fool all of you?

Or Am I?

Happy Mother’s Day This is the most apt thing I’ve seen in a while. How to Break a Broken Man by BattyNora In Terminus, Gareth tells Rick that, as ringleader, he must pick one of the group in the train car to be sacrificed, but … Continue reading