The more depressed I become, the more I blog. The more I blog, the more readers I get. And though I am basically a selfish sad-sack, I feel I should have some Public Service Announcement, so here we go:
Most depression is treatable! And not with hardcore treatment like ECT, either – I mean physical movement (I hate the word exercise as much as I hate doing exercise), counselling/therapy, and/or medication.
My case is an unfortunate exception, where I’ve got a strong family history, a seasonal component, and a history of abuse and trauma, among other things, followed by years of trying to find ways of trying to get on top of depression once and for all. I would really plead with you, if you feel you are depressed, to give yourself an honest and necessary chance to have it properly treated. Resources will depend on where you live, but some Googling or a chat with your family doc might be a good place to start.
To Write Love On Her Arms (www.twloha.com) is my favourite website about depression and some of the blog posts are truly beautiful. So please, if depression is new to you, don’t let it end your story without reaching out for help.
thanks for reading this.
I haven’t watched this one for years. I watched it tonight and I could’ve strangled Sandra Bullock, listening to her tell Harry Connick Junior ”Ah can’t dayte yewww” and “Ah can’t kiss yewwww.” And then we’re supposed to believe that she found the magical powers of hope by the end? You don’t need magical powers of hope when a handsome piece of work like that is throwing himself at you from the first minute. You need magical powers of hope when it’s been fucking years and there’s no one even taking an interest.
I was trying to sew on some fucking buttons tonight because I’ve got literally a box full of tops but I can’t wear because the bottom is falling off, and I lost a needle and a spool of thread. I don’t know how the fuck I could do that. I was sitting fucking watching the movie on the couch, and sewing on buttons, and I must’ve knocked the spool off the coffee table or something. I can’t find it now, and I’m paranoid that the cat will step on the needle although I guess that’s not likely if I can’t see it. I am sure it’s fucking depression concentration that’s at fault, that I went to get a glass of water and put the thread in the cupboard or something stupid, but now I’m too tired and sad to look for it. So I guess I’ll wait till tomorrow.
In other news, I started taking my illegal Accutane this week. I understand that they don’t want people to take it and get pregnant, but there something wrong with the system when I just find it easier to pay out of pocket on the Internet for them than to to jump through the official hoops. I found some North American sources which are tied to steroids distribution. I never would’ve thought, but maybe taking steroids for bodybuilding makes you break out.
I often listen to movie soundtracks at work and the final theme to Dragonheart came on. So of course I had to like look up the final scene, which actually has a happy ending if you make it that far, but I didn’t. I just started crying at work, boo hoo hoo. I gave myself a nosebleed from crying so hard actually.
It’s basically a redemptive story… good has to die so that evil doesn’t triumph… but I’m just too soft hearted for that shit apparently. I can tell myself that it’s just a movie, and a 20-year-old movie at that, And the dragons aren’t even real anyway, but I’m really crying because there is evil in the world and I know animals are suffering somewhere and I’m afraid to die alone. Couching it that way makes it seem like a much more reasonable response.
When I got home I decided to just pat the cat for as long as he wanted to be patted, which is forever apparently. I feel like such a wuss for not having emotional control.
I missed work yesterday because of a migraine. It was really really bad. I couldn’t move because I was sure that I would throw up, and I needed to move to get a needle to give myself so that I wouldn’t throw up. I didn’t even call in sick because I couldn’t move to reach the phone or my iPad.
Today I woke up with a migraine, and went to work like a trooper and then came home and now I have the one sided throb and frozen feet. So I’m in bed, even though it’s only mid evening, but I’m thinking about all that I could or should be doing. It sucks.
And as I’m wishing I could get out of it and worrying that I can’t fall asleep, I found this Captain Awesome blog:
I want to say that I know how hard it is to open your home and your heart to parents who seem to take pleasure in criticizing your adulthood.
I know what it’s like when you clean up to the best of your energy, groom yourself to the point of snapping a proud selfie, and cook with the finest things you can afford… and instead of appreciating these gestures of love and respect, your parents comment that you’ve ruined your hair, that they don’t like your weight, and they don’t see why you live in this dump. I know that this stings like a slapped face, and that for days afterward you’ll be probing this hurt, feeling around its edges like a bruise, unable to let it go.
“This little world you’ve built for yourself is total crap!” is never going to be something you’re grateful to hear.
so. On. Point.
that is all. Wish me luck!
1. Batiste dry shampoo can help on mornings where you should’ve taken a shower, and your hair is greasy but you can’t actually work up to taking a shower. Even if you have to use what seems like a lot. Don’t mess around with those loose powders; they’re not worth it.
2. Waterproof eyeliner and mascara. This probably goes without saying, but I bought a Tarte clay paint eyeliner and was loving the way it went on and perfecting my wings, until I had a teary moments and realized that even light dabbing with tissue was making me raccoon eyed.
3. Lip colour will make you look more put together than you actually are. Just slap some on in the elevator or something.
4. Use your depressed symptoms to your advantage! I’ve gone to work in interview suits, because I don’t feel well enough to do laundry and none of my regular clothes are clean, and everybody thinks that I am super up when really the opposite is true. Yes, it sounds like putting on a suit is a bunch of work, but when it’s clean and hanging in your closet you just pull on a skirt, pull on some boots, put on a top like usual and you’re good to go.
5. You might be poor like me, but don’t fucking stint on your beauty products when you’re depressed. I’ve got some dollar store purse packs of Kleenex, and they’re thin and rough and release a shit ton of fibres when you pull one out of the pocket. If I’m having a cry away from home, dealing with some shitty ass Kleenex is enough to make things way worse, because how do you feel about saving that dime now?
6. Try wearing natural fibers. I know I feel way better in linen or cotton then if I’m trapped in polyester or nylon.
7. Fluffy is the word when you’re at home. Fluffy bathrobe, fluffy slippers, jersey sheets, fuzzy blankets.
I called tonight, thinking i’d be kind and check in. There’s literally nothing that I can say that won’t end up going wrong. So for example, I said that I was going to make some kraft dinner with salmon tonight for dinner. My mom responded by saying “that’s not very healthy! I only eat Kraft dinner once a year!”
OK so I said that I had found a great hotel for a trip I have coming up, and that it was literally two blocks to the train station, which would take me straight to the airport and I wouldn’t have to worry about a cab or a shuttle. My mom responded, “is it safe to walk around? The last time we were in a big city they told us we shouldn’t be downtown after five.” So I answered “Yes, thanks, tips” and she asked if I would rather she didn’t care. The choice isn’t between either you’re the most negative person on the planet, or you don’t care at all!
She’s just a fucking wet blanket, can suck the joy out of any news, can see the cloud in any silver lining, and I hate it.
Not that my dad is any better. I mentioned to him while trying to make conversation that I found a couple of great suitcases on Kijiji. One of them is a hard sided Hays carryon, and the other is a brand-name super rugged check in size. I paid $130 for them both, and they would’ve cost about $700 to buy new. My dad, who wasn’t really paying attention because he was on the Internet at the same time as being on the phone with me, moderate about how they had lots of suitcases and they could’ve given or loaned me one. The problem is that their suitcases are literally the cheapest suitcase you can buy. Like just a thin little nylon box with a cheapo zipper, and pardon me if I want to be able to buy souvenirs or presence and not have them get crushed by the airline on the way back.
I felt kind of sad about that afterwards actually, but my dad just thinks about what the cheapest thing is. That he can’t actually appreciate quality or enjoy it because he’s too busy buying the crappiest thing he can get his hands on.
Anyway, it put me in a bit of a bad mood and made me regret that I tried to connect with him in the first fucking place.
I’ve lost my wallet. I’m fairly certain it’s not lost lost in the permanent sense, that it’s in my house somewhere, but hell if I know where it is. I stopped at the grocery on the way home from work on Friday. The stuff from the store made it in the house, my bag made it in the house, I must’ve taken my wallet out and now I’m superstressed cause I don’t know where it is. Fuck! I was going to go and get a passport photo taken before I realized it was gone, so I’m wearing a shit load of make up and even eyebrow pencil and now I’m doing things like looking in the fucking deep-freeze and sweating like a bitch. Double fuck!
Went to a hobby tonight, saw a gal there with Shiny Hair and a sparkly wedding ring who was thin and pretty and the same age as me, and felt like a fat piece of crap. So much for how getting out is supposed to make you feel better!