Well, this is a thing

This week has been all over the place emotional. My aunt B tried to kill herself.  It’s six days before my anniversary of the attempt. I got a new job that I will be started soon, once my back ground check is done. I’m growing up and out. But there are some things I want to talk about.

Everyone says that suicide is a selfish act. The fact is, I don’t believe it is. I think that ignoring the signs are the selfish act itself. It is easy for us to say things like that when love ones attempt or to think it when we hear about it. But here is the fact of the matter, suicide is so much deeper than what is on the surface. We aren’t talking about people with healthy brains. We aren’t talking about health people when these things happen. My aunt B is a lot like me. She has been fighting depression all her life. And as I have said before, depression isn’t like what people think it is. It isn’t just being sad. It is something almost unexplainable, but will try.

Imagine that you are on a battlefield, not a modern one, but an ancient one, sword in hand, fighting a never ending battle between enemies. They just keep coming, and they are relentless in their attacks, breaking you down.  Now think about their faces, they are one that you know well. You know every ridge of their face, it is all burned into your mind. It’s your own face. You are fighting yourself. And you just keep coming. And you know your weakness, how to strike yourself down as perfectly as you can. And you can’t stop it. It just keeps coming. So you fall, because there is only so much a person can take. It just keeps coming.

I’m still depressed. I fight it everyday. And it has been almost three years. Three years of fighting. Last year, as I was nearing my second year, I couldn’t see the worth in fighting it any more. And since I build this blog on honestly, I spend most days looking for a reason to still fight. The truth it, I don’t know if it is worth it. I know we humans like to think we have a wonderful and privileged place in the universe, but the truth is we are like every other animal on this planet. We all have the same three drives, food, water, and breeding. That is what we do. Is there really a purpose too it all? I don’t know. I would like to think there is, but the truth is that I don’t know. I feel we spend our lives filling it up with things, and are really just passing time around.

Those are the thoughts I have. A lot. And with that kind of thinking, it becomes a why get better.

As some of you know, I post these on my facebook, for those I know to read. I have gotten messages I haven’t put here that sometimes burn into my mind. I don’t want to go into what has been said to me, but I know there are a lot of people out there that have these feelings, and I wonder who on my friendlist haven’t  spoken up.  There are also things that have been things said, not on facebook, but over the course of my life that makes me wonder if people truly understand what goes on in the mind of depressed people. It isn’t that I don’t want to be happy.  I would love to be happy. I was once told I was middle class and white, so what problems do I really have. Maybe I don’t have problems like some people do, maybe it can be seen that I’m just doing this for attention, but the fact of the matter is this is my life. This is something I have to live with. My life is a war and sometimes I don’t see if it is work living, and sometimes not even the love from the people around me seems worth it.  I also get driven nuts by the people who don’t, and have never experiences depression try to give advice. Really, these people need to shut the fuck up. You aren’t helping by belittling my disorder. I understand that you aren’t trying to do this, but by saying things like, oh, you know when I get really sad, I just eat a bowl of ice cream and feel better. Really, if you think that it would work for me, that I wouldn’t have to deal with that. Seriously, this is a huge slap in the face. Oh you got sad when your dog died? Well, I haven’t  showered in six days because I have a big, why the fuck bother, since I didn’t do it the day before. I’m sorry if this comes off a bit angry, but you need to understand that your sadness has a reason, my fucking doesn’t often.  So they are nowhere near the same.

I know this is a rant, and I can’t really end it, but I’m done at the moment, and feel this is a good spot to end.

-Skadi

Well, it's been a while

Well, let’s start from the top I guess. I’m 26, and sometimes I wonder if I have really come that far in my recovery. I don’t know that I have come far or at all. There is some times were there is nothing in my head, or things I can’t control that drive me mad with worry. There is not much that I can do. It is just playing with meds and playing with meds. Going to therapy. My life has fallen into a pattern and I just can’t that I can’t control what they are doing.  I’m not sure if I’m getting better or not because I really have no way to measure if I am or not. But it is what it is I guess.

It is in my head the closer I get to my anniversary date as well. I would like to say those thoughts have completely left me, but I don't want to lie to you all. I can't lie. Some days I wish that I had been successful, and I wish that those days were becoming few and farer between, but the truth is that it is about the same. Hopefully it will get better.

I had an interview this morning and I’m starting a new job come Monday. I really don’t know how my life is going to go now, but I suppose it is a start.

I just feel tired all the time tell the truth. But I will try to be more interesting.

Some things are just what they are.

-Skadi

OMG, One more to go.

I only have one more final to go, and then the job hunt begins. There is no rest for the wicked.

I spent my morning at the DMV, to replaced a lost ID....And sure as shit the one I lost was in my mail box when I go home.

 

I was not that amused, but at least I have my id for when I go to St. Louis on the 24th.

 

I've been thinking a lot about the difference between a health person and a mental ill person when it comes to context with words. Someone on my facebook the other day made a comment about something that was really mundane and that it was depressing....

This rubbed me the wrong way. I know that it wasn't their fault at all, so I didn't say anything. But this is something we need to think about. That words have power outside of just the small things that we think about.

True depression is hard to describe. It is the feeling that no matter what, you are always going to be shit. That everything you do is shit. That everyone thinks you are shit and don't want to tell you. That they can't stand you, that there is something that you can't see that is attached to you. You just want to hid. To protect people from even having to be in your presence, because of how disgusting you are. It is not, Starbucks getting your latte wrong when you are having a bad day. It is being told that a person regrets ever meeting you.

 

Okay, I'm going to bed now, because I don't have the energy to stand or continue this rant.

I know I should be working on other things but...

I’m down to two papers, a presentation, and one final. Then I’m done. It is so hard to think I’m that close and that I am going to be done so soon.

This weekend was a whirlwind. First, Friday I went over to my friends and we filmed our new youtube show, Pin Trashed. So Yea, I’m still not going to flat out name peeps in my blog, but I do get called by my name in that. Not a big deal I feel. That was after I worked eight hours, and with the med dose raise, I feel that all I could do was sleep. So while that was fun, the med dose raise has not been.

Saturday was derby, were I drank like crazy and won three pots full of money. That was a blast. And got to spend a lot of time with people, and then we watched the fight. So it all and all was a pretty good day.

Then we went to faire, which, for the most part, was a blast. I forgot my id and card at one of the venders along with a gift for my mom, but hopefully they will mail it to me. And I almost had a panic attack but didn’t. And we were able to get C a new doublet. He has had one for over 15 years and it was time to replace it. He looks great in it but I was trying to get him to buy a kilt. Because I think he looked good in it.

So that is what has been going on for the most part. I will try and do a better update later, but I honestly don’t think I will have the time.

-Skadi

Crafts & Work

Work has been, ugh, I don’t know. It has been stressful/odd. I don’t really know what to think, as people are getting in trouble for talking and there are rumors going around that I’m quitting. I mean, I’m planning to, but once I get a big kid job. I giggled when I heard it. But  it’s a whatever. I’m not afraid to walk if I have too.

I haven’t really been crafting as much as I have been. I don’t know if its slowing down or if I just haven’t had the time. I hope that changes soon. It’s been the same with writing too.

It boils down to desire. I really haven’t had a desire to do these things. I feel a slowing down in myself, and I’m not sure what is causing it. It’s an odd feeling, tell the truth. I want to do some more things, I buy supplies, then do nothing with them.

There is this thing called Bi-polar shopping sprees, which happen in manic states, and I kinda fear that is what is going on with me. It’s where there is a lot of spending for no reason, and this can lead to hoarding.

I don’t like having a risk of being a hoarder but there isn’t much I can do about it. C has ADD/ADHD, which is another disorder that brings the risk. I’ve been trying to get rid of some of the extra crap we don’t need, either selling on ebay or giving it away to good will, or sending to some my cousins or sibblings will like. The problem is that I fear I might be bring more home than what I get rid of. I try to keep it in check. It’s all I can do.

-Skadi

 

Don’t Panic!

My hours at work have been cut. By a lot. I’ve been trying not to panic over it and to focus on what I can do, which has been focus on one phrase, Don’t Panic. I have read the whole hitchhiker guide to the galaxy, this is one of those things that have stuck with me. So I have been trying to remind myself every chance I get, don’t panic.

I panic a lot. I have panic attacks, so much so that now I walk around with pills in my purse to counter act them. I’ve hit a point where I can talk myself down from some of them. I can talk myself out of having panics attack. It is a talent I never wanted to have.

By having this time off work, isn’t just about losing out on cash. It gives me time to panic.  To think about my triggers and I have to busy myself in order to keep the bad crap away. Even though I’m on meds, the triggers still affect me, and my brain is still very active. The meds don’t work like magic, taking away all feelings, but it is part of the way things go. It’s hard to turn it off sometimes. It hard to keep things pushed down and locked away. While this may not be healthy at all, it is a way to cope for now.

The truth is that I’m learning to be healthy. It something to work toward, and I honesty am not sure if I will ever be that. Or if I have ever been.

My mom saw I had issues when I was young. I don’t know what started this or why she decided I needed help. The first person that I remember talking  to was Brother B. The first clear memory of him that I have is sitting in a white wall, what I assume was an office, making clay people. I don’t clearly remember what I was talking about, but I’m pretty sure that it was my family, but I’m not sure why I was there, it is too far off. This started my life of living in offices.

In high school/middle school, I grew to kinda hate therapy. I had moved on from brother B, who I was bonded with, as we had moved across country. I was on to a new therapist, who wasn’t bad but not someone I felt that I could trust. Which caused me to start lying to her. I knew what to say to make it seem like I was okay. That I was okay. I started to believe it myself. That I didn’t have to open up,  I was okay.

I wonder how much different my life would have been if I had tried at this point in time. If I had found a therapist that I had clicked with. Someone I would have been honest with and gotten the help that I needed.

But that is in the past now, and I have to move forward.

-Skadi

I thought this fit. Don't ask why.

Pride-“ When you look back at your wasted life, and you don’t see me.”

I have had an Esty shop for a while now, and have been starting to fill it with items. I have always been pretty creative, but this is the first time I am really trying to make something out of it.

It’s weird in the sense that I am taking pride in something. Surprising, possible something that people around me, is that I don’t have much pride in myself. It is something that I felt has always been an issue, since childhood, but there seems to be no way to fix it. After all, there isn’t a magic spell that just gives you pride, or a workshop that the end that just gives you the feeling that you need.

On some level, I have always felt kinda worthless. I think this really stems from the fact for most of my childhood, I bounced from a loving home to an abusive one. This seemed to have colored my whole life. My mom and Step-Dad B, have always been there for me, being the best parents to me as they could, and really worked on giving me a happy life. Then there is the other side of my life. My stepmother, the woman my mom and I would end up calling the witch with a b, was awful to me.  I don’t know what I did to make it start. When she was dating my father, things were great. My step-sister A and I were friends before they dated, and we enjoyed the idea of being sisters. It started out as something great and wonderful. But after they got married, something changed. I was an outsider. I was a spot of dirt on her clean floor. It felt that the very air I was breathing was somehow offensive to her. It was hard walking into that war zone every week. And most of the anger I have over this is too my father. The fact that he never protected me, isn’t that what a parent is supposed to do? Protect their child from thing that are trying to hurt them? Was I not worth protecting? My father never protected me from the abuse. There was a moment that he watched her shove food in my mouth and threaten to beat the shit out of me if I tried to spit it out. She held my mouth close, and let’s get one thing straight. I could have choked. She could have caused me to choke in front of my father. She told me my mother didn’t love me. One mother’s day I had gotten her and my mom the same card. I wrote mom on the one to my mom and step mom on the one to her because I had wrote them both personal notes in them and the witch with a b got upset. She wanted me to call her mom. But she wasn’t my mom. Remember asking if my mom was okay with me calling her mom, because I didn’t know what to do. She acting like I was a sexual rival for my father’s attention.

 And he let it happen. He never stood up for me. I was worthless to him too. He never stood up for me.

I would come home to my mom’s house so angry. I felt I deserved at least some of my father’s love but I was always in the back seat of his mind. I think he had the motto when it came to me, that someone else would take care of Skadi. That I wasn’t worth his time, and this shows in the fact that by the time I was ten, he had stopped paying his child support. I guess he didn’t see it worth it to make sure I had a roof over my head and food in my mouth, because my mom and my Step-dad, B, were picking up his slack. C, my Fiancé said it best, B is my dad in every damn way that counts. That brings me to my quote in the title, I think it sums up my relationship with my father completely.

And that is one of the things on my mind right now. How can I have pride in myself, when my own father doesn’t think that I’m worth it.

-Skadi

Reality- Stewing in my own shit.

I’ve been gone a while. And there is a reason for that I will get to in a second.

I’ve been trying to get out more, and get more, into life I guess. And truthfully, it’s fucking hard. Like everything, some days are better than others, but sometimes I feel like in a fog.

Recovery is hard. I feel peeled already, and having to dig into the wounds that have shaped me today to gain a beter understanding of myself and my disorder is fucking hard.

While I’ve been gone, things have been looking up.

·         I got a job. It took a while, and I felt a lot of rejection, but I’m in  job now.

·         I’m half way through my last semester. Two degrees at the end of May, which is a scary thought.

·         I’m trying to live more, which involves getting out more and not living in my room or on the couch more.

·         Been crafting a lot and clearing out my room. That has been one of the most freeing stuff going on in my life. I love it.

My therapist is the one who gave the quote for the title today. I do a lot of stewing in my own shit. She says it’s an AA phrase and my god is it a good one.

I want to come clean. I stopped writing on this blog for two reason:

·         The Alphabet thing was annoying me (Have no fucking clue what I was thinking.

·         And the most important. I felt it was fake.

I do no one any good acting fake, even when I wasn’t setting out to do that. I’m gonna be real from now on.

I don’t know when updates will come, what they will be about, but I want to give a view into my life.

So it will be here, the good, the bad, the ugly.

-Depressive Gal