it’s not always what I’m saying that mattters.

 Depression  Comments Off on it’s not always what I’m saying that mattters.
Mar 122017
 

I know I’ve tried to minimize my discussion of my mental health on the blog. Partly because I feel like its whining (and worse, it’s whining about something that I don’t have a good fix for, so whining it pointless). But sometimes I really need to get it off my chest and whine anyway.

I hate being so clumsy that I can fall down and break my bones. Or fall down and whack various body parts. I think some of this is due to the many medications I am on, the majority of them to treat my depression.

To Treat is the key phrase. It doesn’t cure me, and they sure as hell don’t make me feel happy. They make life a few notches above unbearable–go OD or do some cutting now, Felice. Now. Now. Now.

Which is good, I guess. I mean it works well enough to keep me from being so selfish as to kill myself and leave everyone else behind.

Oh but there are days, weeks that sometimes I feel a hairtrigger away from doing just that. Times when it feels so pointless for me schlog on and on through what feels like an endless tunnel of pain, grief, self pity, and hopelessness.

I mean, I could blog about it more often, but who’d want to read about that crap? People really just want to hear about the good stuff going on, and you get colored a bummer and a downer otherwise. I mean, not that it matters. I’ve had this blog for like, what, 3 or 4 years now, and I’ve never gotten any comments at all.

Life in general is overwhelming

 Depression  Comments Off on Life in general is overwhelming
Feb 122016
 

I’m going through another rough patch and it is taking its toll on me. I have got metric tonnes of things to do, that I need to finish, start, research, follow through and frankly, all I want to do is crawl into bed and hide under the blankets. I don’t even want to read, and if you knew how alien a sentence that is for me you would be scared for me. But life goes on, you know? Whether you take part in it or not, life carries on with no regard to your personal problems or issues or grief.

I know life doesn’t suck but right now I am suffering to find the good parts of it. I know they’re out there. Those bits that make you say “ok, I can handle this, it’s all good!” I mean, I have a stable place to live, have a husband who loves and cares about me, have a parcel of wacky cats who love me to lesser and greater degrees. That’s good stuff. I’m learning to be a better illuminator. I’m trying to push myself to go and conquer the damned calligraphy already. I want to sew some garb for Jasper, and for me.

And then I just start crying, all kinds of pressure builds up and I cry. I hate myself for crying. For being that much of a baby that I can’t just stand up and shake it off and move on.  I hate my tears. They make me feel weaker and helpless and genrally like the bits of shit you find floating in the toilet in a public bathroom. I read somewhere, some study that tears are supposed to be cathartic for the body. That when you cry you release toxins in your system. Maybe it’s true. Maybe not. I always feel like a wrung out rag after a crying jag. Meh.

I hate crying and I hate being depressed because it makes me feel like the biggest whiner in the world. Who really needs to hear any of this shit, I ask myself. Nobody. But then I am keeping this blog mostly for myself, so I can keep track of what I get upto in the SCA and stuff. It’s not really being written for entertainment value.

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