In the weeks before my birthday, I become paranoid that I am going to die. I am afraid because all of the ages I have been have not been ages I wanted to die at. "21, what a cliche" I moaned internally September of last year, imagining my demise. 22 and a fired intern- do not want to die as this either. What would people say at my funeral? "She wrote a couple of things publicly but mostly she wrote manic emails to herself." "She was great at filling out the 7 question form to apply for unemployment." No no no.
I felt a lot of shame during 2015. I am too hard on myself. It's just that when you expect something from yourself and you can't meet that? Disappointing yourself is a nightmare. Because where is the resolve. At least another person can stop nagging you eventually. Yourself? Lying in bed at night with your nightmares and your neck sweat? It is very dramatic, but not being able to do what I thought I was going to shattered my opinion of myself. Not that those pieces can't be rebuilt.
Time feels different when you are depressed. It melts by, but not in a fast, nice heroin-y calm way- in a 7th circle of hell way. You wake up and you cannot remember your own age. How can I be this young? Why aren't I computing the chronicity of my life correctly?
I sit in my therapist's office staring at the photo she has above her desk as she clicks on her computer so I can have more pills. It is a blurry painting of a colorful log cabin scene and I find it very calming, and I wonder if therapists all get their art from the same place. I see my therapist as a drug dealer in a way. She is not doing talk therapy and after her feeble attempt at it I don't want her to try it again. "Do you have friends? Do you go out? Are you exercising?" I know I'm too sensitive but these questions offend me. I feel like it encourages the idea that something external could fix this. How can I just trust anyone to have my best interests? I already had a doctor I thought I could trust because he looked old and grandpa-like. Then he gave me pills that I didn't question to which my relationship concluded in a hellish month, complete with cab vomiting and sitting in front of the Hearst building on my lunch break, rocking back and forth on cold cement.
Paxil is a beautiful thing, but it does not fix everything. But I have never been more proud of myself for doing anything. A college degree, working in buildings I only dreamed of entering- this is the big accomplishment. I can't help it- it feels too important. And it makes me feel as though my priorities are in the right place after all.
There is still a lot to work on and mull over. I cannot escape certain moments. I am too in the present and am incapable of imagining my future, at times. I replay scenes in my head. There are nightmares and sleepless nights and morbidity and nihilism.
Worth is still the ultimate question. Where is it healthily supposed to come from; and where exactly am I getting it from? It always feels like someone else has it in their hands. I'm waiting for the buzz of an email or a text; looking at dots, staring at profiles; looking at my stupid fucking horoscope (suddenly I give a shit about horoscopes). Looking for answers that are not me.
I have an issue with forgetting and I just want to admit it! I have obsessive tendencies and I get lost in fantasies! I cannot forget about people who gave me euphoric moments and now can't give me anything. I am resentful and angry at a ball of things. But day by day, it melts away- in a good way. You have to forgive people. You have to forgive yourself, or else you are always going to be guilty. You have to separate yourself from people and events and realize that it is not just about you. Sometimes things happen "just because." I am disturbed by that idea but I also believe it.
The only thing I do know? Friendship is the thing. Really connecting with someone; reciprocal love, unconditional love that has nothing to do with blood? Family that isn't obligation. I will keep this person alive for that. For a home that can't be seen.
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