Category: depression

Throw Me A Life Line

Published on by A Girl & Her Wolves

Am I ever going to stop talking about my depression? Probably not. Why? Because not everyone gets it. Some people I’ve told about my depression don’t believe that I have it because I don’t look or act like it. I’ve mastered the “fake it ’til you make it” routine. On the outside, I look like a normal well-adjusted adult who has it together. On the inside, I’m a jumble of all kinds of shit.

Just to clarify, I didn’t choose to be depressed. I didn’t choose to have anxiety. I’ve been through trauma that will never disappear. I’m always going to carry that with me for the rest of my life. If there was a magic pill to make all that go away, I will not hesitate to take it.

I’ve been considering getting a ketamine treatment. I’m a good candidate for it as my depression is medication resistant. When I take two anti-depressants and an anti-anxiety medication and I still feel like I’m drowning, I’m desperate. I know all about the side effects. But I feel like shit ALL. THE. TIME.

I’m constantly feeling low and I’m cruel to myself. So many times I tell myself how everyone is better off without me because i’m sick and I don’t think I’m ever going to get better. I feel like I’m getting worse. I fear for my life because I wake up every day wondering if this is it…this is the day that I’m going to go off into the deep end again. I mentioned to my husband this morning that I’m falling apart.

I should be relaxing and taking advantage of this downtime considering the mental trauma I just went through at my previous job. But my brain won’t stop running and I can’t sit still. I need to be busy all the time. It’s driving me crazy that I am not being mentally stimulated and challenged. At one point in time, I used to know what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Now, I don’t even know anymore. I’m not really living, just existing. Being unemployed and getting up every morning without anywhere to go is just making my depression worse.

So where am I really going with this? I’m bored out of my mind plus you add on severe anxiety because I’m so unsure of my life right now. Am I ever going to get a job that won’t make me feel like I’m going to get picked on? Am I going to get unemployment? How will my family eat? How do I keep my lights on? Do I need to sell my shit? So many uncertainties and I don’t have any answers. All the while, I’ve got people depending on me and I feel helpless because I don’t have any fucking clue how to fix this shit.

The Universe Is A Dick

Published on by A Girl & Her Wolves

I’m typing all of this from my phone because even though my desk is only about 10 feet away my brain is telling me to chill out and just lay in bed.

I’m a very wound up person. It’s gotten worse as I’ve gotten older. I’ve lost patience with people and I don’t want to be around them unless it’s work or family. I can’t stand the small talk and the fake conversations. I’m really angry and annoyed.

And I’m thisclose to giving up on life.

Please. Before you call 911 and report me for being suicidal, just remember that I have suicidal thoughts. It comes from my depression which used to be mild a year ago and then turned into major.

I think life is another person who enjoys picking on people and see how much it would take until they crumble. Growing up, I didn’t show emotions most of the time. I didn’t let my mother see me upset when she got upset. My lower lip didn’t quiver and I could feel my eyes dilating to where they were probably just black. This is how I learned to show people that I can’t be broken. So when life is fucking with me, I dig my heels in and refuse to fall apart.

But there are times when I feel like I should fall apart. Just to make myself feel human. Because when shit hits the fan I’m stoic. I don’t react. Inside, I’m screaming and I’m angry. On the outside, I’m that really calm person directing people to the exit during a fire drill.

Please don’t ask me to direct people to the exit during a fire drill or a real fire.

So here we are, life is kicking my ass again. I’m not mad. Maybe because I’ve gotten so used to it. And I’m not just talking about the shit I’ve done to put me in certain predicaments, I’m also talking about people who have shit on me in the past. Some of them have to bear the responsibility of why I am the way I am.

I’m not a people pleaser. I’m not one to nod and agree to everything. I’ve learned that if you let people walk all over you or jerk you around you set a precedent for everyone else to do the same. I’ve stood up for myself and got in trouble but at the end of they day, at least I didn’t take shit from anyone. Maybe that attitude is why I don’t really associate with a lot of people. I can count the number of friends I have with one hand and one of them is my sister. That attitude may be the reason why people don’t fuck with me at all. But I’ve also learned that other people’s opinion of me is none of my business.

Maybe there’ll be brighter days ahead. Maybe something will change the way I feel about the universe and everything else in it. But for now, let me be dark and angry because I deserve to at least feel something even if it feels like my heart is being crushed and my blood is boiling.

I Wrote A Suicide Note

Published on by A Girl & Her Wolves

Because…I don’t know. Because there are days when I’m terrified of tomorrow. Because tomorrow is unpredictable. Unpredictability terrifies me. Because I have so much bad shit going on around me that it’s literally tearing me apart inside. But at the same time, I’m clinging on to whatever sanity I have left and hoping for that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

I wrote a suicide note because if I do finally put an end to this “woe is me” life, there are no unanswered questions. It’s right there…the reason why I decided to strip the world of my existence. I wrote the reasons down…people I love wouldn’t have to ask why. The reasons would completely relieve them of what they could’ve done to prevent it. Because the reasons are there to say that there was no way it could’ve been prevented.

I wrote a suicide note because I don’t trust myself. I have been to that point in my life more than once when I tell myself that I’m done. Completely. That point when I’m so terrified to be alone because no one will stop me from swallowing whatever poison I could find. I was alone the last time I was in that dark place…clinging to life…my husband saved me. He didn’t let me die. He drove me to the hospital in tears while I begged for him to turn around and let me go. I didn’t have a suicide note then.

I wrote a suicide note and left it in my wallet to remind myself that I have something to live for. It’s a weird reminder, but it’s a reminder. I open my wallet every single day and every single day it’s a reminder that I am still alive. It’s a reminder that each and every single day, no one else knows what’s in that note. Only me and me alone.