Sunday, dirty version

May 4, 2008

Been feeling bummed for no discernible reason. Ugh! That's so not true. Work, school, PGH, money, computer, and now needing to find a car again. Angry about being told I shouldn't be myself and that it's important to make other people happy. That you shouldn't tell the truth because of how it affects others. The same damn line I've been fighting against all my life. Then I'm told it's because of my mood disorder. "People don't understand it." I don't fucking understand it either. Don't understand why I should have to explain myself when I state an opinion. Or apologize. The Nick Cave song "People Ain't No Good" has been going through my head all weekend.

"What if I said you can't complain and you can't be quiet?" Allen asked me this morning. "I'd go off into the woods," I replied.

Humans are just more trouble than they're worth. Sure, nobody's perfect but way too many people are so far from it it's disturbing and disappointing. Everyone's only looking out for themselves, their best interests, but they won't admit it.

Yet somehow it's necessary to continue interacting with people. One of the things most hateful to me is needing other people. The desire to reject people is overwhelming in me. The desire to tell someone to shut the fuck up without there being repercussions is so strong.

This (going back to previous paragraph) was one of my biggest problems with therapy. Opening up to someone who is seeing you just because they are being paid to. Not because they care.

Yeah, maybe my brain's been hating on me lately. I feel responsible for this whole Pittsburgh thing. Floundering around wondering what the fuck I'm doing here. Yeah, I don't know why we're constantly defeating ourselves. We could've been in and out and moving on with MY life. I feel like I'm being depended on to make something worth while happen. Could've been 2 years max. Now I'm looking at 3 -5, like a prison sentence. Yeah, where are the people like us?

You really think I think these things because I'm depressed?! Jesus, what if I did? What if I was some insipid, fake-ass bitch if I had never been dealt what I have? Oh my god. What if I wasn't good at making fun of people?

But I'm still a coward. From cower. Fighting against myself. I get so angry. Murderously so. Like wanting to beat someone to death angry. And it doesn't have to be someone I know.

I read Darkness Visible by Wm. Styron last night. It's the short memoir he wrote about depression. I found it to be much better than I had been led to believe by the reviews on goodreads. He talks mostly about the inability of people who have never been in the grips of a really good melancholy to understand how absolutely black it is. He mentioned how it would feel like he was drowning or suffocating, which is how it's always been for me and this is reflected in the tattoo I have on my arm. He also talks about how difficult it is to try to explain what it feels like. Unless you've been there you have no idea what it's like. What it's like to physically hurt yourself just to feel something. What it feels like to be absolutely convinced that the only way out is to kill yourself. To feel like you're constantly drowning but not dying. To be without hope. To be so tired, so exhausted, and then not be able to sleep because of the storm raging inside your head. To be in a fog, a stupor, but still find it necessary, no, imperative, to continue your daily life as if nothing were wrong. To lose your memory. To not have any memory of the things people tell you you did. To not care one way or the other if you see another person for days, whether you eat or you don't. To care about what you eat.

*see quote, separate post*

But I'm totally off topic. God damn it! Admitting that he was right again? Isn't that what's happening here? Son of a bitch. Yeah, I'm always depressed. Always. I've accepted it. Have you?