very very long and depressing
I feel like my entries are becoming far too emotional and depressing, and yet I somehow want to post everything I think about right here. Like it's my outlet, my safety zone. I can control who sees it, if I want anyone to see it at all, reach out when I cave and say I need someone, or post silly random things. And I don't force anybody to bear it or listen to me, they can skip if they don't want to see or read about my insanity that's becoming far more apparent and obvious in recent months.
You'd think seeing a therapist would do me some good, and occasionally I feel fine, and do just fine, but some days I seem to be a total mess. I've been spending about three nights a week on caffine pills for the past couple of weeks, and average maybe four hours of sleep every other night, and then crash and sleep for 12 hours on Tuesday and friday nights. If I was accused at this point in time of isolating myself and becoming a complete hermit like I've been accused of before, they'd actually be right this time around, because I take few if any calls, and hardly go out. I get sick randomly, have way more headaches than I've ever had my whole life, and some days I come home and lie in bed crying because I'm so sore I'm in total pain even bending over. And the worse part is I just don't know what's wrong with me, and I'm too chicken to go see a doctor.
You know, I think I'm avoiding people because I don't really want to completely divulge the truth. At least, not actually saying it. Writing it seems different somehow, less threatening. It's hard to look at people you care about that are asking if you're doing okay and say no, you're not doing okay. You're doing less than okay, everything seems like total shit, and usually it's the depression talking. You feel like you have no control over anything, and somehow you've made all these expectations of yourself that you just aren't or can't live up to. And then combine it with the crippling fear of the unknown, not knowing what you are going to do or how you're going to live once the real time to stop school and work comes. Just saying that to someone you care about is almost not an option, because you care about them so much that you don't want them worrying over you, or making your problems theirs, or making them feel bad because there just isn't anything they can really do about it, and you know how much that's one of the worst feelings to have. Or even worse yet, that they'll be freaked out or judge you and leave.
My sessions are odd too. It's hard talking about very personal things to a total stranger. I can't even look at my therapist while I'm talking half the time. I don't know why, if it's because I'm ashamed I'm there or talking about things I hardly even talk about to my closest friends. Maybe it's easier to feel like you're talking to yourself, or maybe it has something to do with the fact that it's like there is a wall there, and you're talking to a wall that at random points materializes into a person to say something back, usually something about you or asking a question about what you've been talking to yourself (and the wall) about. But you don't really know your theapist (for obvious privacy and safety reasons), so it's not like a sit down for coffee and converse about all this stuff. Well, we converse about a lot, it's just odd not knowing as much about the other person as they know about you. You just feel so silly sometimes sitting in that chair, not knowing what to talk about or how much to tell, and wondering what they're thinking, or if you're just being stupid.
I wonder sometimes how I got to this point, this far down. If I was like this all along and was just pretending everything was okay, or if there was something that just made me snap and all but give up on so many things. I try so hard to dig myself out, but somehow it seems like I gain ground in one area and totally lose it in another at the same time. I feel guilty for even feeling this way, like I should be thankful for so many things, and being like this is being ungrateful. I never used to be able to understand how people could get so down, and now, I sympathize and feel for them. I sometimes wonder if Josh felt the same way as I've been feeling.
I prided myself so much on being able to handle everything on my own. I felt like, still feel like, I have something to prove to my parents. That I can do everything right. And I don't really know where that feeling comes from. It ends up just creating more of a gulf than there was to begin with, because I end up not wanting to tell my parents anything for fear that they'll think that I'm not doing okay, or that I'm messing up. I have a huge fear of messing up, of failure. I'm a big perfectionist, in almost all areas of my life (minus cleaning ;p). And I think that affects my relationships with other people, because I don't want to depend on anybody and I'm afraid if I'm too close, I will. That and a good number of people I've known have died in the past three years. I actually went out on a limb and told my father I was in therapy. I did this during the "you need to lose weight" speech, which was a much more different speech than the one I usually get from him or my mom. My dad, as much as I love him and know I'm his little girl, usually only gives hugs upon greeting and leaving, and occasionally bedtime. And while I was working a little on my cardboard lock, he came out to hook a few things up, and just randomly hugged me. He started the weight speech, said that he was afraid of me being like my stepsisters, getting so heavy that it made me so depressed that I would lower my standards on men and on life. He said he used my weight as a depressed gauge, the heavier I was, the more I was depressed, since I like most people tend to have a bad habit when it comes to eating when sad or upset. He said this was the biggest he'd ever seen me. I told him I was seeing a counselor for depression, and we talked breifly on what I was depressed about, which of course led it's way to Karl, and relationships. But being skinny doesn't make you happy, and I'd been very unhappy for a long time, for many things, not just because of my weight. And losing the weight isn't going to make me happy. Even though I do like the fact I'm down from 200 to 192 and a size 16. And the way I've been treating my body this semester with all these stupid caffine pills, walking long distances with real heavy projects, and fast food hasn't been good to me either.
Ugh. Speaking of the parents, I about busted out crying when my dad started on school finances, and trying to finish by the end of next fall. He said I should do 18 hours of classes. Which would be 6 art studio classes, plus a job. I seriously contemplated just leaving, selling everything I had and going somewhere far away without telling anyone, and just doing things my own way until I was finished with school and then reappear. I hate my older brother sometimes for ebing able to be like that, to not have to have the parents telling you all the time what you should have or where you should be. I don't want to finish school on this kind of a timetable, I just don't.
My mind feels like it's been going at 80 mph for the past hour and a half and is finally slowing down. Well, I'm rather positive that I have strep throat again like last year sometime, so I'm going to be good to myself and take some meds and go to bed, since I have work and all that other fun jazz tomorrow. I just hope these projects go better and faster than some of these things have been, and that I'll survive this year and pass my 3D class by the skin of my teeth.
You'd think seeing a therapist would do me some good, and occasionally I feel fine, and do just fine, but some days I seem to be a total mess. I've been spending about three nights a week on caffine pills for the past couple of weeks, and average maybe four hours of sleep every other night, and then crash and sleep for 12 hours on Tuesday and friday nights. If I was accused at this point in time of isolating myself and becoming a complete hermit like I've been accused of before, they'd actually be right this time around, because I take few if any calls, and hardly go out. I get sick randomly, have way more headaches than I've ever had my whole life, and some days I come home and lie in bed crying because I'm so sore I'm in total pain even bending over. And the worse part is I just don't know what's wrong with me, and I'm too chicken to go see a doctor.
You know, I think I'm avoiding people because I don't really want to completely divulge the truth. At least, not actually saying it. Writing it seems different somehow, less threatening. It's hard to look at people you care about that are asking if you're doing okay and say no, you're not doing okay. You're doing less than okay, everything seems like total shit, and usually it's the depression talking. You feel like you have no control over anything, and somehow you've made all these expectations of yourself that you just aren't or can't live up to. And then combine it with the crippling fear of the unknown, not knowing what you are going to do or how you're going to live once the real time to stop school and work comes. Just saying that to someone you care about is almost not an option, because you care about them so much that you don't want them worrying over you, or making your problems theirs, or making them feel bad because there just isn't anything they can really do about it, and you know how much that's one of the worst feelings to have. Or even worse yet, that they'll be freaked out or judge you and leave.
My sessions are odd too. It's hard talking about very personal things to a total stranger. I can't even look at my therapist while I'm talking half the time. I don't know why, if it's because I'm ashamed I'm there or talking about things I hardly even talk about to my closest friends. Maybe it's easier to feel like you're talking to yourself, or maybe it has something to do with the fact that it's like there is a wall there, and you're talking to a wall that at random points materializes into a person to say something back, usually something about you or asking a question about what you've been talking to yourself (and the wall) about. But you don't really know your theapist (for obvious privacy and safety reasons), so it's not like a sit down for coffee and converse about all this stuff. Well, we converse about a lot, it's just odd not knowing as much about the other person as they know about you. You just feel so silly sometimes sitting in that chair, not knowing what to talk about or how much to tell, and wondering what they're thinking, or if you're just being stupid.
I wonder sometimes how I got to this point, this far down. If I was like this all along and was just pretending everything was okay, or if there was something that just made me snap and all but give up on so many things. I try so hard to dig myself out, but somehow it seems like I gain ground in one area and totally lose it in another at the same time. I feel guilty for even feeling this way, like I should be thankful for so many things, and being like this is being ungrateful. I never used to be able to understand how people could get so down, and now, I sympathize and feel for them. I sometimes wonder if Josh felt the same way as I've been feeling.
I prided myself so much on being able to handle everything on my own. I felt like, still feel like, I have something to prove to my parents. That I can do everything right. And I don't really know where that feeling comes from. It ends up just creating more of a gulf than there was to begin with, because I end up not wanting to tell my parents anything for fear that they'll think that I'm not doing okay, or that I'm messing up. I have a huge fear of messing up, of failure. I'm a big perfectionist, in almost all areas of my life (minus cleaning ;p). And I think that affects my relationships with other people, because I don't want to depend on anybody and I'm afraid if I'm too close, I will. That and a good number of people I've known have died in the past three years. I actually went out on a limb and told my father I was in therapy. I did this during the "you need to lose weight" speech, which was a much more different speech than the one I usually get from him or my mom. My dad, as much as I love him and know I'm his little girl, usually only gives hugs upon greeting and leaving, and occasionally bedtime. And while I was working a little on my cardboard lock, he came out to hook a few things up, and just randomly hugged me. He started the weight speech, said that he was afraid of me being like my stepsisters, getting so heavy that it made me so depressed that I would lower my standards on men and on life. He said he used my weight as a depressed gauge, the heavier I was, the more I was depressed, since I like most people tend to have a bad habit when it comes to eating when sad or upset. He said this was the biggest he'd ever seen me. I told him I was seeing a counselor for depression, and we talked breifly on what I was depressed about, which of course led it's way to Karl, and relationships. But being skinny doesn't make you happy, and I'd been very unhappy for a long time, for many things, not just because of my weight. And losing the weight isn't going to make me happy. Even though I do like the fact I'm down from 200 to 192 and a size 16. And the way I've been treating my body this semester with all these stupid caffine pills, walking long distances with real heavy projects, and fast food hasn't been good to me either.
Ugh. Speaking of the parents, I about busted out crying when my dad started on school finances, and trying to finish by the end of next fall. He said I should do 18 hours of classes. Which would be 6 art studio classes, plus a job. I seriously contemplated just leaving, selling everything I had and going somewhere far away without telling anyone, and just doing things my own way until I was finished with school and then reappear. I hate my older brother sometimes for ebing able to be like that, to not have to have the parents telling you all the time what you should have or where you should be. I don't want to finish school on this kind of a timetable, I just don't.
My mind feels like it's been going at 80 mph for the past hour and a half and is finally slowing down. Well, I'm rather positive that I have strep throat again like last year sometime, so I'm going to be good to myself and take some meds and go to bed, since I have work and all that other fun jazz tomorrow. I just hope these projects go better and faster than some of these things have been, and that I'll survive this year and pass my 3D class by the skin of my teeth.