On craving change

Every time I go somewhere new, or anywhere alone, I have the urge to never go home. Whenever I am somewhere new I explore, I drive around, I take the long way, and then I try and find my way back on my own. There is so much to do and so much to see but I’ll never do it all. Time is all going by without me. Everything is happening and I can just watch and wait for my brain to wake up enough to match my desires. I have as many things to do as days in my life but I know it isn’t enough. There are feelings I want to feel and people who I want to meet, but something inside wants me to do it alone, but not alone like I don’t want my relationship or my friendships. Literally just physically alone. I only ever think about doing new things without anybody else. I don’t want anybody else to have any effect on how I experience things.

I have a fixation on The Grand Canyon. I want to take a drive to see it more than almost anything in the world. But my girlfriend doesn’t feel quite that way. She has a real fear of heights and cliffs and looking over edges of things so all those things combined don’t really make for a great Grand Canyon travelling companion.

But she likes to do things with me, she likes to go places with me. She likes to go on trips and experience the things that I want to do.

But for some reason I want to do these things alone and then come home changed and refreshed and tell her all about it.

I should probably stop putting so much pressure on random things to change me. I’m doing the same thing with The Grand Canyon as I did to moving to Vermont and maybe even moving back. I needed to move back, I needed to be home again. I expected it to change everything and of course it changed nothing. I always feel so fucked in my brain because I can’t think the things or talk about the things that will actually change me. I don’t contact my therapist when I should and instead I wait until I feel the most stable so I don’t have to talk about anything real. I love feelings. I love raw emotion and I love feeling my own emotion and my own feelings. I love crying, I love breakdowns. I love the clear exhaustion that I feel after a night of sobbing. But I hate talking about it. I hate explaining myself. If I had to put words to anything I go silent and anxious and uncomfortable. Those things have no place here, they only put burdens on the ones I love. I just have to keep looking for that next thing to change me.

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I make a case for a lonely day

My girlfriend and I have been living together for almost 3 months now. On the whole it’s been going super well. We argue a little and bicker a ton but that isn’t really any different than how we were before I lived here. We’ve recently moved my cat down and now it feels like I’m officially back home. I can snuggle with my favorite boy and my favorite girl at the same time and feel perfectly at home with that.

But sometimes I don’t. I just started a second job and with that go, probably, my precious days off during the week. Those days off often coincide with my girlfriend’s usual days off which means we get to spend those days together. Which is awesome! Most couples are in no way this lucky and I consider myself super fortunate in that I get to live with and also spend this time with the person I love.  It gives us time to do errands or go do fun things or just hang around and watch Law and Order.

But sometimes I need something different. Sometimes I need an entire day of not talking to anybody and not working and not interacting and not doing anything at all. Sometimes I need a whole day to just sit here at my laptop with a coffee and my back up straight and my headphones on. Sometimes I need a recharge day, a quiet day all for myself.

So that was supposed to be today. Today is Wednesday, my only day off where I can something like this until Sunday. Even Sunday I have a bridal shower to go to, which will no doubt prove to be exhausting and draining in and of itself.

So today is all for me. Unfortunately it’s also my girlfriend’s day off, which means I’m giving up quite a bit of a day spent with her in order to get my “recharge day”. I’m still trying to figure out how that makes me feel, or how that’s going to affect my relationship if it’s something that I need to continue to do. I don’t want to give up time with her. But if I continue having days where all I do is work and worry and stress and deal with people then the time I do spend with her will be worthless. I’ll be flat, I’ll be a shell of myself, and she’ll think I don’t want to spend time with her. This is already causing arguments; it’s already becoming a problem. I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t let myself feel so bad and so sad that it all comes out in a meltdown at 2 in the morning (ahem, a true story that happened last night). But I still feel terrible. I’m sitting in a café right now writing this and wracked with guilt because I’m not with her. Instead I’m basking in this alone time and saving every second of this solitude. I feel genuinely in love with this feeling of peace and quiet.

When I was living apart from here this was all I had. I didn’t have friends whose houses I could go to, everything I knew was here. Everything I knew was a four-hour drive away so I had to make do by myself. I would go whole days off without speaking to anybody except my parents and not doing anything but watch TV. I think those nine months may have messed me up a little? I would go to work and come home and go downstairs and hang out with my cat and that was it. Sometimes I would go downstairs and not see my mom for several days because I was so lonely and so sad that I wouldn’t emerge from “my cave”, as they called it for days at a time. I sat around and sat on my computer and missed my friends, and I missed her.

I tend to not miss people if I know I’m going to see them soon. I know I’ll go home soon and see her; therefore I don’t miss her now. I don’t feel a longing for her or a sadness at not being with her now because I know in a few hours I’ll get bored or hungry and I’ll go home and she’ll be right there waiting for me.

Me needing to take these kinds of days has begun to cause a rift in our relationship, I fear. I need to make it clearer that thee days are only because I care about her. I care about her so much that I want to be my best possible self for her. I can’t be my best self if I am constantly, emotionally drained and tired.

I’m going to fight for this alone time because I know it’ll make us better in the long run.

I know that it’ll be better for my own mental health and my own personal safety if I take these days to myself.

I need her to see that.

I need her to please help me.

I need her to please take these days not as an attack, or as me trying to avoid her, but trying to help myself.

Depression Diaries

CW/TW self harm.  If these topics or imagery make you uncomfortable please proceed with caution or feel free to skip ❤

The first time I cut was out of spite.  I thought if I could just do enough damage in that one moment, then they’ll be sorry.

“They” being my parents, my dad in particular.  I was about 13 and had done something annoying and deceptive and my parents had, apparently, talked amongst themselves about how I should be punished.  They had decided that I wouldn’t be allowed to go to Disney World with my mom that coming June, because I hadn’t earned it.  Because apparently whatever thing I had done was so bad that that was what I had deserved.

My thinking was one of a spoiled brat.  I’m completely aware of that now, 11 years later.  But the truth was the idea of hurting myself in some way had been floating around in my brain for several months at least at this point.

So this was the last straw.  I would then go upstairs and go through my dresser “junk” drawer until I found the roll of packing tape I had used for a birthday present a month or so before.  I would pull the actual tape part off and use the serrated end to scratch at my arm and shoulders until I was satisfied.  I was satisfied that I had done something I couldn’t take back, something that would worry and upset my dad so much that he would go back on every horrible, angry thing he had ever said about me, and love me again.

In reality, my parents wouldn’t find out about my self harm until nearly five very careful years later.  I spent those five years cultivating a very loving and gentle relationship with my self harm.  It would be there for me when no one else was; I would fall deeply and passionately in love with the words carved into my wrist and my thighs.  I would weave bracelets to pile on top of the new, dark scars on my arm and constantly pull my smallest shorts over the tops of my thighs.  I would turn myself away from a boy’s touch on my shoulder at a dance, and wince at another boy grabbing my wrist to hold it above my head in bed.

I would use it to connect with people.  I would use it as a touchstone; something to have in common with a girl I loved for a short time.  It was wrong, it was all wrong.  It would go in and out of habit as I was reminded over and over again that it was something I enjoyed (or thought I did).  It’s mostly fallen out of my mind and back into my periphery where I fear it will stay forever, always as something I could very well do.  If only I enough nerve again.

 

Depression Diaries

TRIGGER WARNING: Food issues, eating disorders etc…

Today I had a relapse of sorts. My girlfriend and I have started a new thing where so that I’m able to communicate my mental health status without actually having to get too deep or talk too much about it. I find that when I’m in a depressive episode it’s very difficult to vocalize why I’m feeling badly or how badly I’m feeling.

But now, I have a line of numbers on our bedroom message board and I can put a little star or a magnet on the number that best correlates with how I’m feeling. It sounds silly and childish but it’s actually been going very well.

It may sound like it doesn’t matter but I’m really happy having this system of wordless communication. Because of this I’ve been able to, I think, more accurately handle my own ups and downs, until recently.

This was absolutely in no way anybody’s fault; my girlfriend has shown nothing but concern and care for me and my various issues and hang-ups. She’s been noticing a change in me, an irritation and aggression that wasn’t there before, a weird kind of mean. I know this, I can’t stop it. I can’t make myself soft for her again and I don’t know what happened. I’m making excuses for my behavior and I don’t mean to do that but I don’t know what else to do. Things are good for me right now, and for us. We’re living together, we’re making things work, we just picked up my cat from my mom’s house and brought him to our place too. Everything is going so well. I’m so in love with this person who sees me exactly as I am and who supports me and helps me and loves me and yet I can’t seem to stop with this biting, hurtful tone when I talk to her.

There’s so much frustration I want to be able to vent. I need a place to hide sometimes, and I know I don’t have the right to ask for that. I don’t have the right to say, on my day off, “Please. I need to go, I need to drive, just please let me go” And yet here I am thinking that. Here I am absolutely loving the time that we get to spend together on our days off but also loving my days alone, in some way loving them more than being with anybody else. I feel like I’m losing control of my behaviors and my emotions and when that happens I turn to food, or rather, away from it.

Herein lies my biggest issue I guess. I’m sitting in my little writing corner of the bedroom, so hungry, and enjoying it. I’m enjoying the feeling of being so very empty and sleepy and perfectly in control.

Obviously this is bad. This isn’t good. I need to eat dinner. But the other night my girlfriend was hugging me and asked if I had lost weight, and asked if I had been eating.

I haven’t really, I for sure haven’t been eating enough. I eat a little thing at the bakery I work at and then I come home and have a smoothie and maybe nothing else for the rest of the night.

I’ll eat if it gets too late and I know she’ll question me if I don’t.

I’ll eat if I know that it’ll put me in such a cranky, grumpy mood if I don’t and that’ll cause another fight.

 

What the hell do I do now

Depression Diaries

This will make the seventh time that I’ve started a sentence and then deleted it. Seven times where I’ve tried to write about how I’ve been feeling lately and cannot seem to find any words. But I’ll try.

The last few weeks have been a whole lot of me thinking about what it would be like if I were gone. I think all the time, what if I evaporated into a cloud of smoke and sarcasm and blew away from it all.

Last night I was at my best friend’s apartment where all my bad habits have settled. There was the pack of cigarettes sitting on the coffee table taunting me uncomfortably, there was the full pipe being passed from my mouth all around the circle, and a couple of people I spent years getting away from and then running back. My heart was racing while my eyes fixed on a spot and I drifted far, far away from myself. I drifted deep into my brain and began to imagine all the ways in which I could die. I came to just a bit enough to desperately text my girlfriend and tell her I was “sad” which seemed so pathetic and useless a phrase to use to explain exactly how I was feeling but it was all I had. I made up an excuse to leave and wandered into the summer late night sunset not quite knowing how I was going to merge my brain back into my body for long enough to get home.

I’ve never really known if I’ve truly dissociated but it seems like the only way to describe the sudden fog that seems to separate me from myself in these moments. It seems like the only thing that describes the loss of memory for sometimes days at a time. I resurface and have to explain myself forgetting plans and everybody always understands but I’m afraid to say what the real reason is so I just let myself sound like a flake. I let my girlfriend get upset and think that I’m just not listening to her when I genuinely don’t remember the last two days. I don’t remember when she asked me to do something yesterday because yesterday is a blur.

I’m back in my brain now after a few days of work and some gentleness from my girlfriend but I still have the bizarre fuzzy memories of the cigarettes and the weed floating around in my brain. I’m not sure what to do or where I stand with my mental health but I definitely know it isn’t good.

It isn’t good and all I’m doing is hurting people I love and I can’t do anything about it. I can’t make it better all I can do is beg her not to let it affect us. I can keep begging her not to leave, even though she’s never given me any indication that she would.

It’s all a mess you see, a big hot mess.

My Relationship With Food

TW/CW ednos, food problems, food negativity, eating disorders, disordered eating habits etc…

I don’t remember a time in my life where eating brought me any true joy. I love cooking and baking more than almost anything, there are foods I love, I am a self-described “popcorn whore”, I’ve never met a salty snack I haven’t scarfed down without a care. But there is a voice in my head. There’s a voice in my head that with every bite whispers, “calories, calories, calories”. There’s this tiny persistent voice that causes my heart to race and race as I get to the end of the meal. When I’m done and full I am also full of hate and pain and stress.

It’s been this way for as long as I can remember. I can’t explain it with any kind of fluffy or pretty or romantic language. Right now as I write this it’s about 8:30 pm and I ate dinner four hours ago. I sat and stared at it for about 20 minutes before I could bring myself to eat a single bite. The first bite was delicious, it was so good, and I didn’t enjoy it at all.

My girlfriend is the exact opposite. Her life basically revolves around food and she takes more joy in it than she does in me (kidding, maybe..maybe not). Whenever we eat together or go out anywhere there’s this moment of sheer elation on her face with that first bite and it fills me with no end of envy and guilt. I want more than anything to be right there with her in her moment and really just feeling the love and satisfaction from eating a favorite meal. But I can’t. I can’t get there.

I eat because I know I have to. I have on and off restricted and binged (never purged) and I have never gotten to a place where I am fully comfortable with eating anything.

I admit I’m stuck here. My heart rate is finally slowing from forcing down my dinner and I’m getting hungry again. But I’m going to ignore it. I’m going to ignore it and go to sleep fairly soon after my girlfriend gets home and ignore it all. I’m going to finish a bottle of water and hopefully another one and then go to sleep. I’ll wake up hungry but satisfied because I’m hungry.

I’m stuck here and I don’t know how to get out of this. I have a therapist who I talk to about all my things but the food things have taken a backburner because I am so used to this feeling. It doesn’t even occur to me to talk about these things.

I know I need help: I know this is no way to live. But at the same time I constantly trivialize my struggles because I have never been at a dangerous weight, on the contrary in fact. I have steadily gained weight every year.

Where do I go from here, what am I supposed to do now?

Depression Diaries

It’s April, it’s a lovely day. We woke up early, we did so much, and I struggled through every second of it as I clung to my coffee for dear life. It’s now two days later as I’m writing this and I couldn’t even begin to tell you what we did. My day disappeared. The whole morning gone from my foggy brain.

Then she goes to work. I nap. I sleep and sleep and sleep and wake up with a pounding head and a terrible taste in my mouth. I have no idea what day it is, or what I’m supposed to be doing. So I stay in bed. I sprawl out and run my hands over the indents on her side of the bed and wait for her to come home, still four hours and counting away.

I tried to make sense of that day so that I could write about it here. I tried desperately to remember what it was like to lay in bed for hours and hours on end but not remember any of it. I’ve been wracking my brains to try and remember flashes of dreams I had in those sad nap hours or how I felt right before falling asleep. But I can’t.

I guess that’s just what my depression looked like that day. There was nothing manic about it, there was no light, nor break in the fog. The whole day was covered in white gauze making it impossible to see anything clearly.

Sometimes my depression is sharp and angry. It pushes my whole personality aside and replaces me with a snapping mess who hates everything and everybody she interacts with. I was lucky on this lonely day I could simply sleep all the problems away. I eventually got out of bed to change out of the clothes I had been wearing all day into pajamas before crawling back between the sheets. It was an alright day, quiet and calm.

It’s better this way, adds a little variety. It must be so boring to be happy all the time.