Undone

I hate dreaming. especially on the medication I’m on. it’s like being awake and asleep blur together, and I’m not sure what has happened. Last night I dreamed I decided to up and leave and go to boston, and my entire family (meaning my parents and brothers and sisters in law) were in favor of this. I remember that I thought it was too cold in Utah, and I apparently thought that Boston was going to be some sort of tropical island. It was bizzare. There were some under currents to the dream that made it increasingly more disturbing, but I choose not to revisit those.

Mom has suggested that I apply for a blogging job. I’m not sure If I’m coherent enough for that, but I figure I should try for it anyway. It’s for a “getting out of debt” blog. I’m not as deep into debt as the average american, but I think I may have an angle that works. Also I’m younger than they’d like, so i’m already fighting on that. Anyway. It’s something I’d like to do. Write for a living. Or I guess, write for money you know? They say writing is like being a prostitute… first you do it for fun, then you do it for those you love, and then you end up doing it for money. HAHA, clever.

As I mentioned I was reading through my writings from college. I find myself just staring at them a little. I want to write more. I find myself struggling with expressing the images in my head. They are beautiful, and breath taking. Vivid and enthralling. Sometimes, they are just scary. Mostly… mostly just beautiful. Sometimes i read what I write and I try to remember what I was feeling, but can’t. 🙁 It’s sad for me. I want to recapture things like that… I was very depressed in high school, but I had passion. I felt like the sun was on the horizon, that the darkest hour was right before dawn.

Now I feel like I’ve shut myself in the closet and shut out the light. On many, very real levels, I hate myself. I do not think I deserve things. I don’t deserve to be happy. I am a thing to make people happy. I literally do not consider myself to be human. I dont’ know why… I don’t know why I’m like this. But it’s damaging. It’s a horrible way to live, it’s a horrible way to think. I feel like by not saying it for so long I’ve allowed myself to really believe it. Why i’ve deprived myself of so much. I have been thinking myself a healthy person when I’m not. No worries my friends and family. I am currently on medication, that clearly (unfortunately) is not working well, but monday I”ll discuss it with the doctor, and we’ll try again. I do not believe that depression is something to be ashamed of. I am always saddened when I find out someone has been silently struggling. I want to help people, I want people to see me and know I’ve been there too. Feeling like there is NO reason to be sad, but still hopelessly sinking into a dark hole. Wishing you were dead, just so you wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore. I have been (and I am) Suffering from a Major Depressive Episode. It is HARD for me to be out there, but the fact is, i don’t have anyone to pull me out like I did in High School. As much as my husband loves me (and he does) he cannot spend every minute of the day plotting on how to cheer me up. I know my mom worked really hard when I was in high school, trying to keep me on an even kilter. It was rough on her. I’m sure of it. I had good friends that helped her too. I feel sad that I’ve regressed so much to that girl.  In some ways, I am worse. Luckily for me, I haven’t thrown up from the stress, which I did in High school a couple of times. I miss the luxury of being a teenager. When you could just shut the world out. Go home and stay in your room and cry if you wanted to. Funny thing, you can’t do that when you’re an adult. You cant’ just say “Sorry I’m not coming to work today, or for the next week. I’m going to sit in my bed and eat food until I feel better, or until my skin becomes part of my sheets. Don’t dare me, I’ll do it.” Or for that matter, stay in bed because you feel so catatonic that the idea of talking to anyone at all seems impossible.

New to this bout of depression is Paranoia. (Funny Enough, Flag Pole Sitta is playing in the background right now) I’ve been… attentive before to protecting myself. But I have paranoid delusions. That people are talking about me. That people want to kill me, even people I should trust. Scott would say I’m being over dramatic. I am not. I fear it. It consumes my thoughts. i think about it a lot more than I would consider natural.

Anyway, going to go to bed. I have a nice weekend laid out for me… whoo!

Derringer Meryl [nice relaxing weekend] Out