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ewtNot a good day. Started out alright and then I was late for busking and then when I eventually left I got about as far as Canary Wharf and then just couldn't deal any more and turned around and came home and spent most of the day alternating between crying and sleeping and having nightmares. Half of what I was crying about was having no money, of course, which is not terribly helpful - going out and busking today would have been helpful, in that I would have a bit more money. Still not nearly enough, but a hell of a lot more than I've got now. Oh, and I did something odd to the fourth finger on my left hand and it hurts; still have a full range of motion and so on, so I don't think there's much to be done about it except wait for it to stop hurting. Ankle is nearly better but I'm nervous of Aikido tonight. I didn't manage busking yesterday morning either but at least I sat in Green Park and tried to organise some things.
Maybe forgetting to take my medication today was a bad thing, although judging by the 2 or 3 times I've forgotten in the past, it doesn't usually do that to me until evening. Good one, ewt. Way to self-sabotage.
What with all the crying and the sleeping I didn't get much done today. I had lunch. I updated my wishlist, which is a reality-avoiding timesink if ever there was one. As if things are really going to make me feel better. Still, a lot of them will make my life circumstantially easier and more convenient, and there's value in that in and of itself. I hope.
I don't think the brainhacker or the GP or the head of Student Services really know how debilitating this depression thing can be sometimes. It's so fucking hard. Hell, on my good days, I don't really acknowledge how bad it can be; for example, this might normally be a post I write and then delete, or filter heavily so only some people can see it. And I always try to show my good side, present a brave face to the world, pretend I'm getting on okay, so it's not like I can blame anyone for not understanding, really, is it? It's so heavily engrained in me that I musn't inconvenience anyone, mustn't upset anyone, with anything as trivial and unimportant as my feelings. And I'm angry about that, because I shouldn't have been taught those things. I should have been taught that it's okay to look after myself, and I wasn't. I should have been taught it's safe to say what I think, discuss how I feel, even put my own needs first sometimes, but I wasn't, and now I'm trying to teach myself but I'm really struggling, and no matter how much I desperately want to believe that everything will be okay, that disaster could happen (and does) but I'll still be me and people will still like me enough to give me a hug, there's this cold, dark part of me that just says, "Yeah, right." The world doesn't work that way.
But at the end of the day, pretending everything is alright, trying to find the silver lining, is the only coping technique that I have that even comes close to working, in terms of trying to have a 'normal' life and getting anything done and fitting into some of the basic things that society expects. Hiding under the duvet like I did today doesn't work. So the things I were taught - well, they're not entirely misguided. My feelings, pathetic or not, don't alter the fact that rent must be paid. How can I be angry that people who cared about me taught me the best they knew and just tried to stop me from turning into a spoiled brat? It's so easy to look back with hindsight and be really recriminating, to pick over every single inappropriate punishment, every harsh word uttered in frustration, every small abandonment and to become enraged. What's the point, though? I know they cared, I know they tried their best with the information and resources they had at the time... it isn't really their fault I'm so afraid. And now I'm getting so much help, again - from Trinity, from the brainhacker, from my friends - yeah, me with friends - and it still isn't enough. The common factor here is me, folks, not how I was raised or what my relationships have been like or how much money I have/haven't. I am the one that has to find a way out of this, and not really knowing what to do doesn't change that, and even if I could legitimately blame anyone else for how I got here, it wouldn't change it.
And even having written this I feel like going back to erase it all to protect the feelings of those who care.
Good grief. Hand, staple, forehead.
So what can I do to salvage this day? Take my medication - late is better than missing the dose. Put clean sheets on the bed, get a load a laundry in so I can hang it out tomorrow morning if it isn't raining. Do the washing up. Iron my Aikido kit. Practise horn. Have some supper. Choose a bit of the living room and tidy it properly.
I'll be lucky to get half of that done in my current state, but even half wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Send hugs.
Maybe forgetting to take my medication today was a bad thing, although judging by the 2 or 3 times I've forgotten in the past, it doesn't usually do that to me until evening. Good one, ewt. Way to self-sabotage.
What with all the crying and the sleeping I didn't get much done today. I had lunch. I updated my wishlist, which is a reality-avoiding timesink if ever there was one. As if things are really going to make me feel better. Still, a lot of them will make my life circumstantially easier and more convenient, and there's value in that in and of itself. I hope.
I don't think the brainhacker or the GP or the head of Student Services really know how debilitating this depression thing can be sometimes. It's so fucking hard. Hell, on my good days, I don't really acknowledge how bad it can be; for example, this might normally be a post I write and then delete, or filter heavily so only some people can see it. And I always try to show my good side, present a brave face to the world, pretend I'm getting on okay, so it's not like I can blame anyone for not understanding, really, is it? It's so heavily engrained in me that I musn't inconvenience anyone, mustn't upset anyone, with anything as trivial and unimportant as my feelings. And I'm angry about that, because I shouldn't have been taught those things. I should have been taught that it's okay to look after myself, and I wasn't. I should have been taught it's safe to say what I think, discuss how I feel, even put my own needs first sometimes, but I wasn't, and now I'm trying to teach myself but I'm really struggling, and no matter how much I desperately want to believe that everything will be okay, that disaster could happen (and does) but I'll still be me and people will still like me enough to give me a hug, there's this cold, dark part of me that just says, "Yeah, right." The world doesn't work that way.
But at the end of the day, pretending everything is alright, trying to find the silver lining, is the only coping technique that I have that even comes close to working, in terms of trying to have a 'normal' life and getting anything done and fitting into some of the basic things that society expects. Hiding under the duvet like I did today doesn't work. So the things I were taught - well, they're not entirely misguided. My feelings, pathetic or not, don't alter the fact that rent must be paid. How can I be angry that people who cared about me taught me the best they knew and just tried to stop me from turning into a spoiled brat? It's so easy to look back with hindsight and be really recriminating, to pick over every single inappropriate punishment, every harsh word uttered in frustration, every small abandonment and to become enraged. What's the point, though? I know they cared, I know they tried their best with the information and resources they had at the time... it isn't really their fault I'm so afraid. And now I'm getting so much help, again - from Trinity, from the brainhacker, from my friends - yeah, me with friends - and it still isn't enough. The common factor here is me, folks, not how I was raised or what my relationships have been like or how much money I have/haven't. I am the one that has to find a way out of this, and not really knowing what to do doesn't change that, and even if I could legitimately blame anyone else for how I got here, it wouldn't change it.
And even having written this I feel like going back to erase it all to protect the feelings of those who care.
Good grief. Hand, staple, forehead.
So what can I do to salvage this day? Take my medication - late is better than missing the dose. Put clean sheets on the bed, get a load a laundry in so I can hang it out tomorrow morning if it isn't raining. Do the washing up. Iron my Aikido kit. Practise horn. Have some supper. Choose a bit of the living room and tidy it properly.
I'll be lucky to get half of that done in my current state, but even half wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Send hugs.
