Depression

All posts tagged Depression

Quiet as A Mouse

Published June 18, 2017 by dividinguplife

From a young age, I was conditioned to be very quiet. My mother always had one ailment or another that required very little noise in order for her to get through the day. I had to keep my little brother occupied and out of her hair so she could nap for hours at a time. As a result, my brother and I grew very close and to this day he has nothing to say to our mother. 

Into my adult life, I have learned that my problems are my own, and nobody wants to be burdened with them. Usually that isn’t true, but it did prove to be true when I was with The Abuser. One time I had abscess cellulitis in my left breast that became infected. My breast was as hard as a baseball and very painful. I drove myself to the hospital, was injected with medication, had the area cut open, and they had to dig the infection out. When I got home, The Abuser was fast asleep. He never asked how it went, he never cared that I was in pain. 

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I went into preterm labor. My ex-husband was sleeping when it happened. I woke him up and told him that something didn’t feel right. I don’t remember what he said, but I remember driving myself to the hospital while he continued sleeping. They gave me some meds to stop my labor and I drove myself home a few hours later, once everything settled down. 

This week I pulled something in my upper back. I haven’t felt pain in my back like this in … well, ever. I pushed through work while slamming Aspirin down my throat. When I got home I barely moved, took a Flexeril and went to sleep. The next morning I woke up with pains shooting into my chest and the feeling like my spinal cord was about to rip out of my neck. The shooting pains alarmed me enough that after I got dressed for work, I drove to the hospital (which is across the street from my work) and went to the emergency room. Thankfully, it was only severe inflammation with muscle spasms. I was glad to hear that my EKG was normal. He gave me a script for more Flexeril and Percocet, and told me to go home for the day. 

I probably should have woken my husband up and told him what was going on. Chest pain scares me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt pain like that before. But that voice in my head; the voice that has been there since I was a child, told me to handle it myself, to not burden other people with something that may not be a big deal. So, that’s what I did. 

I wish I had a way to record the verbal words that I say in one day. Not during a work day, because I have to talk and engage with my patients. But on a weekend. I’m a very quiet person. My mind is always racing with thoughts, and I’m always listening to everyone else in the house when they are talking. Last night I was cooking dinner and trying to tell a story to my husband that recapped my day helping my grandpa pack. My grandmother went with me yesterday, so I was trying to tell him about the things she was doing over there. Instead, my grandmother interrupted me in mid-sentence to say something and my husband responded back to her, and they started their own dialogue. I never got to finish my story, but I did remark on the fact that I’m tired of being invisible. I don’t speak a lot, so when I do, I would hope that people would want to listen to me. I guess not, though. 

My husband also loves to watch these stupid ass SJW YouTube videos. He enjoys laughing at the absurdity of the things that come out of their mouth. This second-wave feminism shit just pisses me off. I hate watching those videos because I hate listening to stupidity. I don’t care that you’re pissed off because Marvel makes movies directed towards men specifically. I don’t care that you’re overly excited that Wonder Woman was directed by a female. I think you look ridiculous screaming about how men can’t be raped, and that only men do the raping. I hate all of it. I ended up going upstairs and lying in bed to watch something that didn’t piss me off or get me depressed. Yesterday was just a weird day for me, I guess. 

Add that to the fact that our receptionist is pregnant and is using that as an excuse to come in late, leave early, and basically do fuck all of nothing to help us out. Not that she helped much in the first place. She didn’t even want a baby. Once her husbands visa was approved for him to move from Algeria to the States, all of a sudden she wants a baby. And she’s the biggest fucking baby about being pregnant. I don’t even know how she’s going to do the mothering thing. She can’t even handle shit with the baby inside of her. I guess my tolerance for weakness has never been there. Especially with people that have had it all handed to them on a silver platter, and then whine and complain when they have to do something on their own. 

Here’s to hoping this coming week will be better. 

Lust for Life

Published May 22, 2017 by dividinguplife

Yesterday was another rough day with my head waging war against my emotions. I went to bed early and cried myself to sleep because I felt like useless garbage. I always seem to feel and do better when I’m at work, helping my patients with their life. It gives me a sense of accomplishment. When I’m at home on the weekend and my husband is working and I’m utterly bored and my mind has time to wander to hell and back, that’s when the demons in my head start telling me all of the shit I don’t want to hear. 

Chris Cornell died from suicide last week. Another amazing person gone from this world because of depression. I sat around and listened to “Sunshower” on repeat while I sat amazed that he took his own life. I’m no stranger to suicide; I tried it when I was a teenager to escape the hell my mother made me live in day after miserable day. I’ve lost friends to suicide and accidental overdoses. I’ve lost friends to murder from spouses. I feel like the people I know are becoming “the people that have died” in faster rates than should be allowed. 

Some dickhead bombed the Ariana Grande Concert in the UK tonight. I can’t even imagine how many children that selfish, senseless, asshat murdered. It has gotten to the point that you can’t even go to a concert and enjoy yourself without having to worry about being murdered by an extremist. This shit isn’t fair. I’m about ready to send an e-mail to God asking Him when he plans on coming back to get us, because this is getting old and very very sad, very quickly. It’s no wonder the birth rate in on a decline. People don’t want to bring children into this shit. Can you blame them? Who wants to risk raising a child in this bullshit? 

A few months ago The Abuser friend requested me on Facebook. I thought “why the hell not?” I have always taken a small pleasure in seeing how his life has turned out since he cheated on me and threw me and my daughter out on our ass. I refrain from commenting very often on things he posts, because his wife is always right behind my comment to make sure her voice is heard. I’d like to say that I don’t know what her damn problem is, but I do know. She knows and she will always have to live with the fact that she was partly responsible for the demise of my relationship with her husband. That nasty, homewrecking skank will always have in the back of her mind that her husband tried multiple times to come back to me, but I wouldn’t let him back in. I mean, I’m not a gluten for punishment, and getting my ass beat again never sounded very appealing. Being verbally abused is not a thing I want ever again. Once I got over the brainwashing of how I would be nothing without him, telling him that we would never be together was a lot easier than I thought it would be. 

But yeah, any time I say anything on his page about something he posts, she’s always there to be loud and proud. She will make sure to call him pet names, or try to sound smarter than me about something that I say. I say nothing in return, I just ignore it and her. 

My daughter’s 13th birthday is right around the corner. I’m really starting to wonder where in the hell time has gone. She was two yesterday. She’s two years away from getting her learners permit. I’ll be 32 in a couple of months. What in the hell is going on here? 

Mrs. Roboto

Published May 17, 2017 by dividinguplife

Do you ever feel like people wouldn’t notice everything that you do, unless you disappeared or were dead and were no longer there to do it? 

That’s how I felt yesterday. I ended up going to bed at 9:20 because I just couldn’t take it anymore. One of my patients acted like I was a newborn and haven’t been in the profession of eyes for eight years. His brother is an Optometrist, so naturally this patient knew everything there was to know about Ophthalmology, except for the fact that he was completely wrong about everything that he said, but wouldn’t take any correcting about it. Very insistent. Once I took my time going over everything his eye surgery would entail, he got out to the parking lot, called and canceled everything that I spent an hour doing. I felt defeated. 

I got home and grabbed our baby guinea pigs and drove thirty minutes out to sell two of them (we are super broke and the baby pigs just happen to be ready to go to a new home, so having a few extra bucks to actually buy dinner was nice.) I ran by the store on the way back home, got food for dinner, got home and then the request for things that I hadn’t picked up started flooding in. Husband wanted fruit cocktail. My Grams wanted “something sweet” because she becomes a lunatic if she isn’t shoving sweets down her face 12 hours out of the day. The men that were at the house fixing the hole in our ceiling from when they were trying to find a leak last month, didn’t let the paint completely dry and so it started to peel off right away. As I’m coming back into the house for the third time, hands full of bags and things, my grams is pointing to the ceiling telling me I need to call them back and let them know they need to fix the ceiling again. *sighs* 

My husband made the comment that I looked like I was about to cry. I threw my phone down and told him that my day isn’t over just because I get off of work and drive home. Every night there is some reason or another that I need to run out after I get home. Everyone else get’s to sit in their chair or lay in the bed or whatever. Me? I’m never done until I throw myself into bed exhausted, and even then my brain won’t shut down long enough for me to get a full eight hours of sleep. Not to mention that sometimes I just crave for my husband to hold me. Just hold me. But he can’t do that because he’s uncomfortable with skin-on-skin touching and close proximity stuff. I work my ass off during the day, work my ass off when I get home, and then I go to bed alone, hugging my pillow because what else is there? I married a man that doesn’t like to touch very much, and I knew that going into it. I wouldn’t trade him for a million men that like to cuddle and touch, but sometimes it still gets lonely, especially when I feel like I want to break down and cry.

I just get tired of feeling like a computer part, you know? Like, I’m one of those parts that runs in the background and makes the computer work. People don’t think about that part until the damn thing breaks and the entire computer doesn’t work properly anymore. 

I just wish me and my husband could get away from it all for a day or so. But hey, can’t do things like that with no money. 

Tiring Minds

Published May 4, 2017 by dividinguplife

Yesterday was a weird day for me. This empath thing was in full-blast at work. By 11:00 I felt like I had 12 ton weights pulling my legs down. I have never felt so tired before. After we finished morning clinic and our patients cleared out of the office for our lunch break, the feelings went away and it was as if nothing happened. 

There are days that I wonder what is wrong with me health-wise. I figure that something must be going on internally with me and I’m probably dying. Then I go to the doctor and have blood work done, and everything looks okay. I try to stay away from frequent trips to the doctor because they can’t explain why I feel the way that I do, and I don’t want to look like a crazy person that “thinks” they are ill all of the time. I can’t exactly sit there with a person of science and say “Oh I’m fine, I can just feel what other people are feeling.” I can only imagine what kind of things would be written in my chart, followed with a suggestion that I seek psychiatric help. 

I saw a video put up on Facebook last night by The Abuser. His wife was in it. The one he cheated on me with. Eight years later and she looks like she’s strung out on crack. They live in some dilapidated ghetto. It’s not that I see this and reflect back on our relationship. I guess it’s just that I still can’t believe he chose her over me, and tossed me out on my ass. The man made me feel like I was nothing for three years, and then proved it to me by so easily dismissing me from his life, after cheating on me multiple times. 

Ewwww

I just … I don’t get it?? I was too fat, but this isn’t too skinny? Not to mention that she loves prescription pills, alcohol, and weed. Not that I have a problem with weed, even though I haven’t smoked it in a while. But still …. that shit still hurts you know? There are still days that I hate who I am because of the things he said to me. Oh well. I bet he can pick her up and fuck her against a wall, just like he always wanted. 

Is my life better? Absolutely. That’s not the point. The point is that I spent years crying over someone that now lives a life of miserable means and with someone that hasn’t improved it in any way. All of that hell and torment and he lives on the wrong side of the track. It just makes me bitter. 

But make no mistake; I fucking love my husband so much that it hurts. But this shit pisses me off.

Empty Room

Published April 28, 2017 by dividinguplife

This week has been total and utter hell. I finally broke down into weeping tears last night when I went to bed. 

I get up at 5:15 every morning. Work by 7:30. Then, work coupled with jerk patients has been asinine to say the least. Totally overbooked and over-busy, being pulled in six different directions at once. Staying late, and then getting home to have your grandmother ask you to go to the store, and go to drop off and then pickup her prescription meds, and then having to run to a third store to pick up fruit cocktail for my husband, because he only likes a specific brand sold at one store. Get home, the guinea pig cage needs to be cleaned out. The dog needs a bath because she ran into the mud and she’s an all white dog. Dinner is half-way cooked but needs to be finished because my Grams “just can’t” as she disappears upstairs to sleep. I finally sit down for the first time at 9:30 at night and then I’m in bed by 10:00. I’m not sleeping, though. My brain decides at that particular time to start trying to figure out how I’m going to pay the bills on time. That’s always a fantastic time to start figuring out how to produce more money from the sky than what you will actually have. 

Last night, after I had done another nightly store run to pick up sugar (Grams can’t live without sweet tea), my husband and I were sitting in the sunroom and I was looking through old pictures of myself and of my daughter. I scrolled past one of me when I was a lot thinner, shortly after The Abuser and I split up. My husband joked “You used to be pretty” (we always make fun of each other in the worst ways) and I was like “Yeah, I know.” Then, in a serious voice he was like “Honey, you could look like that again if you wanted to.” 

That destroyed me. It messed me up so much that when I went to reach for my drink, it went shattering to the ground. I was like “What did you say??” He was like, “You know that’s not how I meant it.” In my head, there was no other way to mean it. I told him goodnight and went to the bedroom and cried myself to sleep. He sent me a text just before I fell asleep that said “I don’t care what you say, you know I think you’re gorgeous.” I didn’t have it in me to reply. The voices in my head were loud, and they were harsh. The Abusers word ran through my mind over and over again. 

“The first time I saw you, my first thought was that I should have kept driving.”

Me

I will rub your back when you get down to the weight you’re supposed to.”

Don’t smile, it isn’t attractive.” 

“You will never be anything without me.” 

Me3

“I want to be with someone that I can pick up and put them against the wall and fuck. What kind of boring sex will we always have if I can’t even pick you up?”

Me2

You should be able to see the knuckles on a woman’s hands without her making a fist. You can’t see your knuckles because of the fat on your skin.”

Me4

“If you can’t see your collarbones, you’re too fat.”

Me5

My mind has replayed all of this shit plus more, all day today. When I looked in the mirror last night, I hated myself for the first time in a long time. On the way to work this morning I thought about getting Gastric Bypass surgery, then realized that requires recovery time out of work, and I don’t have the kind of job that I can afford to miss work. 

The other day my daughter told me that her step-mom said something about the age in which my daughter can start dating. When my daughter told her step-mom that both I and her dad said a different age, her step-mom remarked “Well, your mom started dating at 14 and look how that turned out.” 

Man, that shit really hurt, you know? I mean, step-mom grew up in a very VERY well-to-do family. Her parents paid for her private school, paid her way through college, and still pay for them to go no expensive trips. My dad abandoned me at birth, my mom was a drug addict, I had to raise my brother when I was eight years old because my mom was too drugged out to get up and take care of him. I left home permanently at 16/17 years old. I had my daughter just before I turned 19. I’ve worked since I was 15, I graduated high school despite all of that. My mom had drug addicts live with her that stole all of our shit, down to our clothes. I mean, I think considering the fact that I didn’t have the same life that she had, or the same opportunities, I’m doing pretty damn good. And it makes me sad to think that she see’s me that way, because I always thought we got along pretty well. 

It has been a very bad week. I feel ugly, unwanted, stupid, and an all-around failure. I just want to sleep. I want this to just go away. I want to wake up and be flawless so nobody can tell me what it is that i need to improve about myself. I want to make the voices of my past go away. I want to undo the damage that has been done. 

Almost Not Quite Perfect

Published April 19, 2017 by dividinguplife

I’ve been feeling kind of … wayward the past week or so. I don’t know if it’s the changing of the seasons (even though I love Spring and Summer), or if I’m just having one of those weeks, you know?

Two weekends ago my husband decided he was going to sit at home and do absolutely nothing but sleep all weekend. Which is cool, I guess. But I needed him to go to the Tractor Supply store to find these cedar shavings that I couldn’t locate. He poked around on Sunday and then told me he’d go after he got up from a nap. I told him to go take his nap and I would just go back and see if I could find them myself. I did, but I still miss having him go places with me. Even grocery shopping – he used to go with me and we had a lot of fun. I’m just missing him, I guess. We are so …. boring. I mean, we are broke as hell and I guess that has a lot to do with it. But even when we got our taxes in, we had all of these plans of places that we wanted to go, just to get away. And then we didn’t. We sat at home. Sometimes I feel like he just doesn’t want to do anything if he doesn’t have his children with him. He just wants to waste away in that damn chair in the living room. I don’t know if it’s the Percocet causing this or what. He’s still him, but at the same time … he isn’t.

On top of that, I stopped taking my blood pressure pills and my Adderall because something was causing heart palpitations and my entire left arm to tingle and feel numb. I need to get back into the doctors office, but that kind of shit costs money and I just don’t have it.

I came home last week from work, already exhausted because it was a super busy, shit day. My grams was up in her room sleeping, my husband was sitting in his chair listening to music. No dinner cooked. I sighed heavily and sat my purse down and changed real quick, and then came downstairs and cooked a full meal. By 9:30 I was so dizzy I felt nauseous, and I went to bed. Husbands remark? “You really need to get back to the doctor, you’ve been more tired than usual.” yeah buddy … I know. And I’m also busting my ass at work, doing all of the grocery shopping, and then coming home to cook. I’m tired. I think I deserve to be. It’s not always because I need a medication adjustment. I wish there were a magic pill for this shit. Though I do feel that at 31, I really shouldn’t feel this tired. 

My grams and I went to see my dad on Saturday. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to his house. His fireplace had pictures of my half-sister. There aren’t any of me. I guess I didn’t expect there to be, but it just kind of solidifies the way that I feel in that we are related by blood, but we share no bond. I did learn than my greasy hair comes from him. I was complaining about having to wash my hair every day of my life (Yes, I’ve tried all of the dry shampoo’s and home remedies) and he said that he does as well. We both use Tea Tree Oil Shampoo. I thanked him for the genetic pass-along. He told me I was welcome. His arms are twigs. You can tell the cancer is getting him. It’s eating away at his body. He has to have a catheter permanently now, or the tumors will cause another blockage on his bladder. 

So, it has been a rough couple of weeks. Just emotionally I’m having a hard time. I go back and forth between loving and hating myself – all physical appearance and stuff. It will just hit out of nowhere. And then I tell myself that if I made more money I’d be happier no matter what I looked like.  I mean, who can be sad when you have a couple of jet ski’s?

My husband is on this new kick that he wants a sailboat for the ocean in the next ten years. He has big dreams and low reality for what it would cost to maintain one of those things. I mean hey, if I hit the lottery I’d have no problem sailing around the world and living on the ocean. Works for me. But, both of us combined in our income make less than a 100k a year and between us we have four children. In the words of Aerosmith, Dream On. 

I’ve adjusted fairly well to how physically unaffectionate my husband is, but man there are still days that are so difficult. I just want to spoon and cuddle so badly and I end up going to bed alone and sad about it. I knew this about him years and years before we got married, and I can’t and won’t expect him to change. I just wish that he’d suck it up and do it for me sometimes, but it makes me really uncomfortable, and I can’t expect someone to do things that make them feel physically ill. Kind of like my aversion to clowns, spiders, and those giant wind fans you see out in the Midwest. They make me feel physically ill. That’s how he feels about being touched. That man is so close to perfect, it’s just a coincidence and a stroke of unluck that the one thing I love to do more than anything in the world, he can’t do. But it is what it is, and it’s something I will have to figure out. 

Crap Ass Mood

Published February 18, 2017 by dividinguplife

My mood has been shit this weekend. For some reason, my brain has taken to feeling like I’m just taken for granted all of the time. Like I’m just some person that sits in the shadows and things magically get done, but nobody knows how. Plus we’re extremely broke until Wednesday, and that always puts me in crap mood. 

I asked my grams, while she was out today, to pick up some ketchup since I like to eat fries on a whim. She went to the store, came back with no ketchup, claimed she had run out of money …. but was able to buy the fucking dog a pound of hamburger and the cats their 4th bag of cat treats this week. Yes, she cooks a hamburger for the dog every night. She feeds the cats those cat treats almost as if they are food. Despite the repeated arguments that myself and my husband have given her, she ignores us and then tells us to mind out own fucking business, and continues to do just as she wants. I’ve told her she’s killing out animals. She defies me at any turn she can. 

But it was aggravating to see that the animals and their unnecessary needs come before a simple request from myself. No money for ketchup, but let’s make sure the FUCKING DOG has HAMBURGER. 

While I was cooking dinner, I set my phone up and the bluetooth speaker and turned on Dawson’s Creek. My husband came downstairs from his shower, acknowledged that I was watching my show, and then proceeded to turn the TV on and turn the volume up so I couldn’t hear anything. Did he do it to be a dick? No. He just wasn’t thinking. 

And that’s my thing. I’m always thinking of other people, and putting their needs before my own. I’ve resolved myself to having a marriage and a full life of no cuddling because my husband doesn’t like the skin-on-skin shit. That’s fine. I understood that going in. Do I get lonely sometimes? Hell yeah I do. But it is what it is, and I can’t punish him for something that I was aware of going into it. My husband is a wonderful man. He is everything to me. Sometimes my emotions jump front and center and I have a bad night (like tonight), and I just kind of shut down. 

Like, how can I even complain to my grandmother that she neglected to buy ketchup because she had to get the dog her hamburger? What kind of idiot shit is that? I would sound like a lunatic. She came downstairs earlier and asked me what my problem was. I told her nothing. It’s not worth that fight. She would end up going off on me anyway. I can’t have myself screaming at a 72 year old woman about ketchup. 

If it were legal in this state to smoke weed, I’d probably be blazed right now. I didn’t give a shit about anything for those six months that I smoked weed. But I’m too damn paranoid to do it because it’s illegal here. I find it ironic that Opioids kill so many people in the US every year, and that’s completely legal, but weed is illegal in most states. Drunk drivers kill so many people every year, but that’s legal. Weed makes me eat a lot of spaghetti and sleep good at night … but it’s illegal. 

Makes a lot of fucking sense.