Hey, you! Don't have diabetes!

I threw up when I got to work this morning. No surprise, though, because I didn't sleep at all last night - just listened to the storm and tried to figure things out.

Waiting to hear back from doc, whether he can see me today or not. My message was pretty pitiful and crybaby-ish. I hate being a crybaby. I hate crying. I hate being sad at all. Or angry, or mad, or any of that. They're sucky emotions, and they cause you to hurt people.

But, no one really cares right now. I'm just making it all up. Surprise! These past ten years were all a guise! I'm not REALLY a victim of this so-called "chronic depression," that psychs obviously made up to get your money.

It doesn't matter so much that I have my good days - what matters is that I'm a horrid bitch when I have my bad ones. Yeah - I got all that. Well, I don't really need people who aren't going to listen to me, especially when I'm trying to explain myself and my frustration. Guess what? Me talk no good when my mess up like dis, hokay? Sometimes me get confused and say wrong thing.




Does anyone give a damn? Not a bit.

But, everyone gets tired of "your shit" after a while. I can't say I blame them. But, you know what? I'm still me, no matter what happens. Even though I go through this, I'm still me. And, when I'm me, I STILL HAVE THIS.

I just REVEL in being depressed and singing my sorrows. You'd think, right? Yeah. No, I don't.

Think it's all about me? Right now, you're fucking right it is. My main concern is getting out of this hole. It's REALLY, REALLY frustrating getting pushed back in. Just when I think I've come leaps and bounds, SOMEthing has to happen. And, I
fight so hard. I know few people believe me or even care, but if this was the one thing that stood between you and being the person you know you're supposed to be, you'd get a tad upset, too. I'm sorry - or so I assume.

I rarely ask for help. I'm not even asking for help, now. I can do this - completely on my own. Just ONCE, though, I'd like to find someone who is stronger than me, someone who knows me for ME, can help me, can recognize the signs, even before I can, someone who cares about ME, no matter how many bad days I have, who can find the gall and the patience to stand by my side, even when I AM at my very worst.

But, I won't put myself on anyone. I refuse to be a burden to anyone else. And, those of you who have had it, see ya. Sorry it didn't work out, but I'm always going to be me. And, I MIGHT sink into another depression. And, it's not going to be convenient for ANYONE. BUT IT'S PART OF MY MAKEUP.


Nevermind. It doesn't make any sense to someone who doesn't experience chronic depression. Because once you're out of it, it's hard to even imagine becoming that way again. One time, I felt that. But, here I am. Depressed AND alone (um, in my head).

Hey, what doesn't kill us makes us crazier, right?


My apologies to EVERYONE I've ever hurt - here is part of my everlasting penance.

Okay, so today was my third wreck in three consecutive days. First, I side-swiped my housemate, Justin's car. Not much damage.

Second, I rear-ended a lady going south on Hwy 31. Traffic had stopped abruptly, I wasn't paying attention, and my brakes are crap, and I skidded right into her.

This morning, I was late to work, and as I was turning into the parking deck, a lady passed me, and I didn't see the car behind her. Once again, if my brakes had been working, I wouldn't have hit her. Anyway, I plowed right into her head-on, but it was just the left sides of our bumpers that were damaged. I take that back - HERS was crushed. Mine was fine. And, she was cursing me, and all I could do was cry. So, I'm pretty sure she's going to sue me.

I can't remember what I said about this being the year that everything comes together. I must have meant everyone BUT me. Which is fine. I'm glad others are doing well. Honestly. I don't like to see other people suffering.

Except my Migs and me are fighting. I wish I knew why. Basically, everyone's mad at me for being depressed and being only about myself. I don't know what to say, except that I can't help it. I have an appointment with the psychiatrist I can't afford on Monday. All I can do is get help. I haven't realized that I was getting back into my depression, until I actually sat down and really thought about why I've been fighting with everyone. I've been so angry and bitter and I can't seem to find any peace within me. I seem peaceful and quiet on the outside, but inside, I'd really just like to beat someone's ass.

What else can I say? I'm not blaming anyone. I know this is all me. IT'S NO ONE'S FAULT BUT MY OWN. Okay? I'm not even blaming my depression, but you know, it IS sorta what's causing me to go downhill. So, I'd really appreciate it if everyone would give me a fucking break right now. No, no one's died. I haven't lost my job. Nothing major has happened in my life. I get it, okay? I haven't been myself for a while.

Just fucking give it a rest, already. I'm working on it.


Jittery brain

Here I am, back at work.

Not much has changed, but by the same token, everything has. This hospital is going down faster than my body on the weekend.

Right now, though, for some reason, I am trembling from head to toe. It's not grossly obvious. But, the way my body is behaving, I feel as though I'm in the early stages of a panic attack. It goes no farther than that. I'm not really stressed, unless this is like that psychosomatic Children's thing.

Back in 2002, when I worked at Children's (I think I've mentioned this once already), whenever I would get to work, go down the elevator to the parking deck, get outside and lay eyes on the building, I would burst into a bitter, cold sweat, the taste of metal filling my mouth, and my head would begin to pound, until the time I finally clocked out of work.

Little did I know, these were "
WARNING SIGNS," my body or God, one, telling me to GET OUT. Unfortunately, the irreparable damage had already been done, by the time I got the message - to both me, and to others.

Sadly, those are the same incidents which keep me awake at night, pondering who I was at that point in my life. Those times were some of my greatest self-discovery and my most tragic self-defeat. That era in my life is when everything completely went to shit. It wasn't enough that I'd lost my mother, so I ran away my best friend. I was in and out of a stupor, drinking and doing drugs, then finally landed in rehab after expressing desire to end my own life.

Little did I know, that feeling would be very close to me - my breath of fresh air, when I felt so stifled by everything else in my life. No, I don't WANT to die. I just want to stop hurting. I need to be in control of something in my life.

Which is why I cut.

I haven't done it in a long, long time, but stress has been high, and the feelings have been strong, tagging along in my shadows, in my subconscious. I feel the draw towards any jagged piece of glass, to place it on my pronated forearm and just dig. It's control. I NEED to be in control of SOMETHING in my life. I can't control the economy, I can't control the emotions of others, I can't control the horrible things that happen in and outside of work, I can't control life or death - but I need SOMETHING. When it gets to that point, I'm really just grasping at air.

I have a very dear friend who wrote a wonderful piece about her struggles, so I figured I could share mine...as a fellow addict. It's the only thing we have. It's so hard - we feel so much differently than everyone else. And, people say we're "weak" or "sick," but we've just found a way to cope with our heartache in a way that (usually) doesn't involve screaming matches or road rage or lashing out at anyone. Mine, does, sometimes - but I will forever be a work in progress. I will always be completely unhappy with myself. I will always know that I was so much stronger, that I could have withstood so much more, that I could have spent less time at home or sleeping or on the computer or at a job I hated, and more time helping others.

I could have been better.

That's what I want on my headstone.

We should always strive to be better.

Just so you know, I'm still pushing. I get really, really tired - a lot lately. I feel as though I've become Sisyphus, from Greek mythology (as well ruled by Hades), pushing that huge boulder up the mountain and being forced to watch it roll down, to only repeat the action over and over, which, by Einstein's standards, was the definition of "insanity."

I really think I'm just going to focus on getting through the shakes right now.


Life sucks, part abillion

I'd like to blog right now, but I can't. Too many people read my stuff now. Or nitpick through it for hints.

Here's a hint:

Leave me alone.

Not so much a hint as a direct command.

It sucks to be too broke to afford your own medicine. It sucks to not be able to function like a normal human being without certain (prescribed) drugs in your system. But, I'm supposed to tell myself that it's just like any other part of my body being sick. I have to give it medicine, until it's better.

I don't want to be sick, though. And, I'll never be BETTER. If I wasn't so worried about my "state of mind," I would have already been gone from here. And, that's all I want, to be honest. I want to be out of here. I want to be gone. I want to be helping the people I'm supposed to be helping. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not happy here.

Why is this so hard?

There are so many things that act as no more than slight distractions from time to time.

Blah, blah, blah, blah...

Isn't that what it all ends up sounding like?

Wish I had something good to report. Thankfully, everything is about the same as it ever was. Unfortunately, I have to return to work tomorrow, after a two-week hiatus.

I feel so...stifled. It feels like someone is standing on my neck.

Metaphorically? I don't really know.

I'm just going to lay here until something comes to me...or until I pass out. Or should I just hold my breath?

Proper comedic timing. That's what I need.

And a hell of a lot of Diprivan and Valium.