Fuck You; I’m Depressed. Let Me Bring You Into My World. And Music, Asshole.

I made the fucking soup myself, “The Love Of My Life”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It only took me seven days to muster the courage to attempt “The Soup!!!!!” Luckily, I preserved the vegetables properly and therefore they were not only viable, but dare I say BALLIN’. I always asked “The Love Of My Life” to make this soup for me. My Dad used to make it. It is a simple recipe. And “The Love Of My Life” had promised to cook for me, always. But, he bailed. So! I’m doing it myself. Suck on that, “The Love Of My Life.”

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I’ve done everything right in my life with some exceptions.

But I find myself to be a complete failure.

“The Love Of My Life” thinks I hate myself. I used to hate myself. I guess under certain influences I do hate myself. But in Real Life, I do not hate myself at all. For what I go through on a daily basis, I’m a FUCKING SUPERHERO. Like Hiro, from “Heroes.” [Sup, Dwight?]

In the past several weeks I have been called “bipolar” by my Ex, “The Love Of My Life,” AND I have been questioned about whether I think I am “Manic” due to my recent behavior juxtaposed with a seminar on Mental Health this person attended.

I probably seem Manic right now. I am not. I am suffering.

As someone who recently returned to the world of Facebook, (not my favorite place as it is usually a place where everyone shows how amazing their lives are and how cute their kids are and how wonderful their engagement was and, look(!!!!) now they’re married(!) and they are vacationing all around the world. (WHAT JOBS DO YOU HAVE? HOW DID YOU GET THEM? WHERE DID YOU MEET YOUR PERFECT SPOUSE WHO WANTED TO WIFEY OR HUBBY YOU UP? (And why is “wifey” a misspelled word here but “hubby” isn’t?) HOW COME I’M NOT PREGNANT WITH MY THIRD CHILD? Why didn’t I tell (married person) about how I felt about them before the got married?) Oh! Right! I believed my lying Ex. Then there is that one person who I would definitely want to date if I thought he was interested, but I don’t have enough self-confidence to make that known to him. Then there’s the cryptic people who I just REALLY want to tell me WHAT THE FUCK THEIR CRYPTIC SHIT IS ABOUT.

So yeah, that’s Facebook for me.

I use Spotify. (Who cares, right?) I just want to say that I created a playlist on Spotify called, “Fuck You, I’m Depressed.” And I won’t apologize for that shit. First of all, that’s a great playlist. Second of all, that’s how I feel inside.

It is my personal opinion that Anxiety and sometimes Depression have become a kind of “trend.” I know very few people without anxiety — whether the anxiety has been diagnosed as Anxiety and those people are being treated for Anxiety or not — or just anxiety — suffered by those who do not seek or cannot afford treatment. I don’t mean that people don’t actually have Anxiety/anxiety in saying it feels like a “trend”; I would argue in most cases these people are afflicted.

Now, I want to tell you some weird things my Anxiety causes me to do. Then, I want to tell you some weird things my Depression causes me to do (or more often, not do). These things are not at all exhaustive and I am reserving the right to add tremendously to this list in the future. It’s not poetic. It’s my real shit, laid out in an ugly hodgepodge manner.

Anxiety

  • I cannot leave the house without at least one beverage with me. Whether it’s in my car or my bag, I FREAK the FUCK OUT if I do not have something to drink with me. (It’s usually water, or more often, Pedialyte, since I am ALWAYS dehydrated now.)
  • I have CRAZY INTENSE Separation Anxiety. It’s actually the “worst [I’ve] ever seen,” said my Psychiatrist. Before you read the next part — I KNOW. I KNOW HOW WEIRD IT IS.
    • Now. Until the Psychiatrist asked me whether I followed people around my house, and I replied “No way, it’s not that bad,” only to come home to tell my Ex, “The Love Of My Life,” about the question, and after which he stated, “are you serious? Every single time I get up from the couch or leave a room you ask me ‘WHERE ARE YOU GOING?’ like I’ll never come back, even though you know I’m just going to the other room for a minute and I’ll be right back,” I never acknowledged how deep this problem went.
    • I thought about that. “The Love Of My Life” was right. I followed him to the bathroom. I sat outside the bathroom with my legs crossed while he used it and after I tried to talk to him the entire time he was in there, we had a privacy moment at the end of his bathroom visit, and that was our “normal.” I followed him around the apartment, CONSTANTLY without realizing I was doing that — so I don’t know where that comes from, why I do it, or how to fix it, but it certainly was not fixed or even somewhat alleviated by “The Love Of My Life.”
    • It didn’t start with “The Love Of My Life.” I followed my Mom (and sometimes accidentally without realizing it — I still do) and my sister to the bathroom, growing up, constantly. I couldn’t stay home alone at an age when I should have been able to because I was afraid my Dad would never come back, FOR NO REASON I CAN JUSTIFY, so I used to go with him on jobs.
  • I need to know what time it is, or at least have the time available to me at ALL times. I grew up — thankfully — with clocks in every room of my home — in a beautifully normal way that matched the decor and made sense — it wasn’t weird. But I like to know what time it is. I have three things on me that can give me the time no matter where I am.
    • My Ex NEVER ALLOWED ME TO PUT UP CLOCKS. He did not like the “ticking.” And the alarm clock with soothing blue numbers (a gift from my Mother) was “WAY TOO BRIGHT FOR ANY SANE PERSON TO SLEEP WITH WHILE ON,” so I was not allowed to PUT THAT THING UP BECAUSE “The Love Of My Life” COULDN’T SLEEP WITH THAT INSANITY. Not even a non-ticking clock. No sound. No sight. (My Mom had gifted me that alarm clock so I’d be on time for work, but it lay hidden only for me to peak at when “The Love Of My Life” was away overnight.) Once — he did allow one clock in the kitchen — but he put it out of my reach — and the battery died quickly — leaving it stuck at one time forever. If the power went out he would NEVER fix the microwave’s clock — the one thing besides my DVR (and the things on my person) that told me the time. If he stopped something from heating up in the microwave before the time was up he wouldn’t even press “cancel” so I could see the time. I swear I’m a petty bitch — but this stuff adds up when you do EVERYTHING IN YOUR POWER TO BE PERFECT for “THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE.”
    • I now have at least one clock in every single room of my completely changed and newly decorated and equipped and incredibly improved apartment. They all fucking tick. AND I LOVE IT. As for the alarm clock my Mom gifted to me? I display it proudly and the blue light burns non-aggressively on my dresser.

Depression

  • Time ticks away. I can hear it (see clock section above) — every second that goes by in my apartment. That’s how I know I’m “in it.” That’s what I say when I’m trapped in “The Abyss.” If I ever ask you if you’re ever just “in it, you know?” I’m asking about The Abyss. The Abyss is where you are stuck when you are ready to move, but cannot. You are ready to move on to the next thing you are supposed to do. You know you have things to do and if you don’t do them soon you will fuck them up or miss them altogether.
    • I do NOT think I can do this feeling justice with the written word, but I WILL try.
      • I have sat on the toilet for forty-five minutes without moving. It leaves bruises on my body. My legs and feet go numb. Some of the time I’m staring at nothing. Sometimes, I’m looking at something, but I don’t actually see that thing. Sometimes I’m just thinking about the ticking of time and how I cannot move. That’s the most important thing I want you, reader, to remember from this blog, if you read it. I cannot move. No person is holding me there. Depression IS holding me there.
    • People/blogs/articles will describe Depression as an inability to get out of bed. THAT, is true. I’ve cancelled plans, appointments, been late to events that meant EVERYTHING TO ME to be on time to (like baby showers, or funerals, or just seeing my Mom — which is the most precious gift I ever receive) — and it multiplies the guilt that a Depressed person like myself feels, whenever it happens.
      • Can you imagine being in bed — it’s 2:38 P.M. — and you PROMISED someone — SOMETHING — hours earlier — or even withing an hour of that time — and not being able to move? Your body may want to (or it may not want toor even not be able to!) and your mind most certainly might want to get the hell out of bed that late in the afternoon.
        • You might start to berate yourself. “Why can’t you get your lazy ass out of bed?” “You’ve missed half of the day already!” “Get up!” “You can’t be tired because you just slept ten hours!” “Stop staring at the wall and move. Move. Move! FUCKING MOVE!”
          • But you can’t. It’s not possible for someone with the kind of Depression that I have to “just” move — to “just” snap out of it and go. It’s NOT POSSIBLE. And berating myself has never worked.
    • I have lost HOURS to The Abyss. And I think about the worst fucking things too. I think about how I could have spent that time talking to my Mom. I think about how I could have spent that time working on starting my own business. I think about how I could have gone outside. I could have exercised. I could have been writing my book. I could have been doing ANYTHING but staring at NOTHING for ______ minutes/hours/days. But those of us with the kind of Depression that I have, when we enter The Abyss, we really couldn’t have done any of those things, because it’s a disease beyond our control. And although sometimes medication can help, it cannot save you. It doesn’t “fix you” as so many ignorant people expect it to — to get you back on track.
  • You do not feel like a good friend. And, even if you are, you feel like a bad one.
  • Your partner doesn’t understand. Mine did not seem to most of the time. It would be easy to fault him for this. But I also believe those who are not afflicted with any kind of Depression cannot understand what it means to be captive to your own body’s refusal to move when your mind wants your body to do just that while simultaneously refusing to let it do what it longs to do.
  • Insomnia. It haunts you. You walk around your apartment or house or mansion or whatever you have until sunrise — at least — because you can’t sleep. (SHUT UP, BIRDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) “Thanks for the drugs ‘Doc,’ they do jack shit when the time comes.”
  • You need help.
  • You might actually hate yourself, and need someone to help you NOT hate yourself anymore. Sometimes that person gives up on you. My Ex tried to be that person, but he gave up on me.

I just need to add a disclaimer here: I’m not even close to being over “The Love Of My Life.” He has still never acknowledged anything I did for him. He literally told me that I never gave him anything. He said, “What did you give me? An iPad? Thanks.” I dated this “man” for five years of my adult life. It fucking hurt like hell when he mocked me like that.

But you know what has always stayed with me despite “The Love Of My Life,” despite every other “man” or “guy” I’ve dated?: if we have no appreciation for the same music — we’re not going to make it. I was always open to “The Love Of My Life’s” music — (aside from electronic migraine music) — but he would not give my favorite music a fucking chance. He always made a comment about how terrible it was, how much he hated the “sound,” or how it was lame and how life wasn’t like that. I used to bring him new music I had heard that gave me goosebumps when I heard it — thinking about him and our life together — and he couldn’t even pretend to listen to those things that were so important to me.

So maybe FUCK that person who won’t take the time to listen to the music you’ve taken the time to bring to him (or her).

Let ’em go.

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