A moment in a thought

My thoughts, in my life, of adoption and other such things

Depression is a bitch October 1, 2009

Filed under: Depression,life,Mental illness,Self acceptance,thoughts — Jessie @ 1:21 am
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Yep, you heard me.  It really is.  I have been struggling with depression since I was probably about 14 years old.  I don’t think it has ever really and truly gone away.  Sometimes I like to think that I feel better, and sometimes I REALLY do feel better.  Sometimes I think I might actually be free and clear of being just plain freaking miserable.

But alas, no, the depression always seems to creep its way back.

I have tried antidepressants, and yeah, they do help.  Really they do.  And really, I probably should be on them.  But I have no health insurance, no job at the moment, no money.  So it makes getting things, even simple medications, very difficult.

So I deal with depression.

Someone I know recently told me that in order to not be depressed anymore, I just had to catch myself when I started to feel like I was headed downwards emotionally.  She told me to make a list of things I liked to do that made me happy, and when I started to feel that down turning, to do the things on the list.  She gave me ideas like watching a comedy, and thinking of the really great moments in my life.

Well sure, that works… sometimes!  But not all the time.  Because like I said, depression is a bitch.

It makes me hate me.  Unfortunately I do hate me, especially when I am depressed.

When I am depressed, its hard to see past my faults.  I am totally socially inept when it comes to people.  I don’t understand why this is.  The closest explanation I have is that I never had the opportunities to learn proper social skills.  I didn’t really have any friends when I was little, and the few that I did got so annoyed with me, they would just give up.  I had one, and still have one, who just sorta accepts me for me.  That always amazed me.  But anyway, I didn’t have friends, my parents were USELESS when it came to trying to learn how to be a normal human.  My mother was uber strict about everything, so trying to figure out what was right and wrong was pretty much a hopeless cause since EVERYTHING I did was wrong to her.  In middle and high school I did get some friends.  But they were all like me, loners, hopeless, depressed, stoners who just sort of moseyed on through the day until they could get high, or go to sleep, or do something insanely stupid that would be amusing for a few minutes.  Even then, even with the loners, I was a loner.  I have many of these people as friends on facebook, and even the ones I considered to be some of my best friends, don’t know me at all.  Don’t know the slightest thing about me.  Probably don’t really care.  It hurts to know that I never really connected with ANYONE.  It hurts to know that is probably the main reason WHY I have no idea, now, how to hold on to a real relationship.

I have no social skills.  I am 27 years old and I don’t really know how to be NORMAL.  I mean I am not completely hopeless, but I struggle with basics, like how to react when people say things.  How NOT to say the first damn thing that comes to my head.  When to talk, when to shut up, when to give advise, when to listen.  All these things are learned by trial and error.  I didn’t have any of that, and now that I am older, not many people have the patience to deal with it.  I suppose I am not the only one.  But I guess that many people don’t really CARE that they don’t seem to have these basic skills, me on the other hand, I do.  I thank GOD every day for my Daddy (my bdad) for he is the only one who seems to have enough patience to not only love me unconditionally, put up with me, support me, be my best friend AND try to tell me WHEN I do something wrong, so that maybe I can fix it.  God bless the small miracles in life.

It’s like the core of my very personality is just defective, and try as I might, I can’t seem to make it completely right.

My body sucks, years of depression (theres the bitch again!) have taken its toll on me.  Everyone handles things differently.  I sleep, a lot, and eat.  Its my vice, my addiction I suppose I could call it.  Funny I can spill my heart and soul out but can’t talk about the fact that I have an eating disorder.  Due to this, the general nature of food is when you eat it in excess, you gain weight.  I have been getting fat since I was 12.  I succeeded fairly quickly.  And now my body is something I like to think belongs in a circus with little kids staring at me.  Okay so I am not that bad, but I am fat.  Fat enough to not really fit into clothes right.  Fat enough that I can’t just buy a bra at wal mart anymore.  Fat enough that EVERYTHING is difficult, that EVERYTHING doesn’t really fit.  Things people who are of more normal size don’t think twice about.  Like airline seats, lawn chairs, and sitting next to someone thats bigger than a toothpick at the movies.  Its embarassing, it’s the one thing I hate most about myself.  My Daddy is my saving grace on that too, he eats like I do.  Only somehow blessidly, as he is a man, is not QUITE as fat as I am.  But I am watching him die, from diabetes, from high blood pressure, from heart disease.  Its not a fun thing.  And knowing what is doing it to him, and knowing that I am headed right there.  He is 48 years old, he shouldn’t be as sick as he is, but I am going to be sicker than him.

Depression does this.  And it works in mysterious ways since no two people react quite the same.  But its a disease none the less, one that eats at you from the inside out.

And for me, no one knows.  NO ONE knows.  Sure some people know I am depressed, but no one has a clue when I am in my room alone that really I am curled up within myself.  No one knows how often I wish I wasn’t born, because I feel like everyone I know would have benefited from this.  The really deep depression makes me feel like I just shouldn’t be here, that I was just a god damned f’ up to begin with so why the heck am I here?  What purpose do I serve other than to cause others stress and pain?  It makes me so angry that I just can’t seem to be the person I want to be.  I feel like life was wasted on me.  That maybe my aparents would have been happier if they had just adopted a kid that actually FIT in their family, one that tried harder, did better, and didn’t screw up all the time.  Maybe my bmom would feel better if I had just had the life she wanted me to have, if I just WAS that kid that could fit.  If I was actually a well established human being that she actually LIKED.  The grown up one that could be her friend and not annoy the f@%k out of her.  If I wasn’t born, than no one would even HAVE to know I had been here.  No one would have to have suffered the pain that I cause, no one would be any wiser.  Maybe they would be happier.

Then I wouldn’t have to hurt.

Because G Damn it, depression hurts.  It makes me think these things, it makes me FEEL them inside!

My only blessing is that somewhere deep inside me I do know the truth.  I know that I am worth something, and that my aparents probably wouldn’t have been happy with anyone.  My bmom is probably happy somewhere that I am alive, if for nothing else that she has someone to email all the time, and an eternal connection to my bdad.  That I didn’t REALLY cause undue pain to my bdad just because I am alive.  That I DO deserve to be here, and I DO deserve to be happy.  I DO come out of that shell, I am lucky, because I REALLY DO.  The deep depression, the deep dark nasty life sucking mean bitch depression isn’t there all the time.  I am blessed with that, because sometimes I look back and wonder how the hell I even survived that.

I think I survived because when everything is always dark, you get used to it, you get adjusted.  But now, now I get some light, I get some happy, I get some sunshine, and optimism and love.  I hold on to those for dear life when it gets dark.  Because now that I know what light is, the dark seems so much darker, and so much deeper.  But I hold on to that light.

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What does it feel like to be a borderline? September 13, 2009

Thats an interesting question.   And I could answer it in so many different ways.

Its been a long time since I have defined myself as a borderline, an adoptee, an anything really.  For a while now, I have sorta just accepted some semblance of me and described myself as that. But there are parts of me I suppose that may never really go away.

I read about Borderline Personality Disorder and realize that even if per say, I don’t qualify for the diagnosis, what it feels like to be a borderline will never be far from my mind.   I will never forget what it felt like for me.  Hell still feels sometimes.  (although I feel like I need to put a side note here, that I have recovered from having to feel a lot of these things anymore, I am a lucky one)

It feels like being lost.

It feels like not belonging in your own body, in your own skin.  Sometimes its even hard to feel like you really do exist, that this body you live in exists, and that it is somehow connected to you and to the actions that you put it through.

It feels like sometimes pain is the only way to make you FEEL like you exsist again.  Of course I am not talking mental pain, no that is something that is felt on such a deep level, you have to close it off just to remain somewhat functional.  No physical pain, physical pain is the connection to the reality of everything.  Without it, sometimes you can get compleatly lost in the non-reality of the disconnection you feel.

It feels like your mind is disconnected from everything sometimes, like you can’t quite get a grip on anything because there is just no way to grasp it, instead it just slips through your fingers just when you think you might get ahold of it.

It feels as though other people don’t really exsist once they are gone.  As soon as they walk out the door, or hell even just go to bed in another room, it feels like they don’t exist anymore.  Of course somewhere in that rational mind you know they still exist!  But you can’t feel them any more.  Like a light switch that just gets shut off, every feeling you have, every feeling they give you, dissapears as soon as they do.  As if every essance of there very being is gone until you see them again.  And when its that one person, the one that is the center of your world at that moment, Sometimes the pain of just missing someone is so unbelievable, its like the inner parts of your soul will just come apart until you can just know that they exsist once again. So sometimes you pretend they are there, just so you won’t have to feel what it feels like when they aren’t.  And of course, there is that rational brain telling you that you are nuts… and just deal with it.  But the longing is still there, no matter how many times you try to rationalize your way through it, the longing is still there.  The missing is still there.

It feels like lonelyness… because once you are alone, you are ALONE.  You can’t feel those who love you, you can’t feel their love towards you.  After they are gone, its like they don’t love you anymore.  After all, if they are gone, how can their love remain.  Lonelyness is so central, so inside the core, it feels as though you practically are the only person who exsists in the world, and yet that existance is so fragile, so unreal, that the lonelyness becomes your exsistance, and soon it feels as if the whole world has gone.  And without others, your own exsistance fades, hence herein comes the physical pain, as said before, physical pain can become the only tie you have to actual exsistance.

It feels like dark… dark dark dark.  Like all the light in the world was just somehow sucked out.   All the energy and all the hope, just gone, sucked away to destinations unknown.  Only sometimes then there is light, LIGHT!  So damn bright it almost blinds you.  Your eyes… your body are unaccustomed to so much light and it practiacally blinds you.  Happy is just as stong an emotion as sad, only even more scary.  Because I never quite knew what to do with that light… and before you know it, snap, its gone.

It feels like being compleatly out of control.  Anger, rage, at NOTHING sometimes.  But there is no hope in controlling that anger, none at all.  Let it out, and it is distructive, violent, dangerous.  Keep it in and it makes the darkness even darker, until finally everything just goes black…

or RED

And watch out for red… because when RED comes there is no help.  When there is red, there is no rational, only rage, uncontrollable, uncomprehensible, inexplainable, rage.

It feels like death, like death of your soul, death of your mind.  And you can’t get death OUT of your mind.  Can’t walk by a window without wondering what would happen if you jumped out.  Can’t look at your own wrists without knowing how simple it should be.  Can’t stop obsessing about how or when or if it would work.  Cant look at a bottle of pills without seeing death first.

It feels like black and white, and nothing in between… well except maybe red.  But everything, everyone, every place good or bad.  And every moment the black and white changes.  Good self, bad self, good mother, bad mother.  And somehow the ability to keep the good and the bad compleatly separate.  You can love someone you hate, and hate someone you love.  But never at the same time.  You either love them, or hate them.  But that can change in an instant.  Borderlines can love someone abusive… and be okay with it.

It feels like confusion, like never knowing the answer to a question.  Even one as simple as whats your favorite color?  What IS my favorite color?  Is it black, I’m wearing black today I think I like black.  But Purple is nice too, but wait maybe I like blue… do I like blue?

It feels like insanity, because through it all Borderlines are just intelligent normal people… with some kind of messed up brain sequence.  We know we are messed up, but don’t know how to make it stop.  Don’t know how to just BE NORMAL.  Don’t know how to just be ourselves.  Have no off button… have no on button.  Have no button that turns the black and white into gray.  Have no button that makes it easier when someone walks away.  Have nothing like that.  But do have an intense need to be loved… which proves difficult for others to do.  Which in turn makes our lives more difficult too.  It feels like insanity because you just can’t understand what the hell is wrong with you.  Why you can’t make sense of anything or anyone.  Why people look at you funny and ask you what the hell is wrong with you.  It feels like a complete lack of understanding and place in the world.

Because it feels like being able to function completely normally while no one around you has a clue.

No one around you knows the war you fight within.