June 2, 2015

Today was another mostly useless day for me. I couldn't bring myself to function in any way until almost 5:30, and even after that, I wasn't much better. I'm upset because I am tired of feeling this way, but it's made worse by the fact that I've known this medication hasn't been working for months, and my psychiatrist decided it made sense to only see me once every four months when I expressed concerns to him at our very first meeting. I missed my therapy appointment today as well, but I don't really get anything out of those sessions. Maybe I just haven't been seeing her long enough. I'm not sure what I'm really supposed to take away or when I am supposed to start feeling something--something other than misery or terror.

I'm overwhelmed all the time, and increasingly so. A few years ago, I wouldn't have had a care in the world with the amount of responsibilities I have now, but I can barely function from day to day. I'm upset that this is where I am at nearly 27.

My priorities are changing. I'm taking a step back from drag, with a few shows here and there just to keep some money in my personal account, and I'm trying to move forward with my real life. I've been hiding behind this pretend person for way too long. The immediate satisfaction may be greater, but I know there are things more important to me that I've neglected.

I saw my brother for the first time since he was released in February. I really enjoyed myself this weekend, though there were a few awkward moments. I miss him--and my parents--already. They seem to be functioning just fine, which is great. The problem is that I am starting to feel like I used to. I feel like I just don't fit in, like there's no place for me anymore.

I still feel useless. But I am hopeful. I got two calls today about personal training jobs, but I missed them because I couldn't talk or get out of bed. They both said they would call back tomorrow.

The rest of my thoughts don't seem to want to surface right now.

Missing Happy

It's hard to keep a positive spirit when, on your average day, it feels like you are being incrementally and slowly suffocated by a viscous black ooze--like melted asphalt stuck to the bottom of your shoe on a scorching summer day. On the worst days, you can feel it filling your lungs, hardening in your stomach. Trapping you inside. But you still have to keep going. You never know why. Maybe it's like drowning: We struggle to breathe not by choice but by instinct.

On better days, like today, I sit somewhere between misery and anhedonia. 

I'm going through the motions, but I don't feel like I'm really here. Everything, my whole being included, has lost its purpose. My life in is present state has no meaning, and trying to create meaning has been the biggest challenge of the last several months. I feel more trapped than ever. I feel more hopeless than I ever imagined I would. Failure, missed opportunities, stories about what might have been, wasted potential--these are the words whose images torment me all day and night. My heart never stops racing. I never get a break. And it feels like I never will. 

People keep telling me the same things. They say that I need a better attitude, which is probably true, but I've grown too cynical for that to come comfortably or easily. I'm suspicious of every near-good feeling I have, for an actual good feeling is hard to come by these days. I'm not sure I remember what that's like, though less than a year ago, I certainly knew. People also say that things will get better, that something has to work out eventually, and on and on. But I also know from experience that things don't change unless you make them change, and not every story has a happy ending. If life were fair, and we were compensated adequately for the trials we have endured, my suffering would have ended a long time ago. I'm not naive enough to believe that luck will be on my side. I seem to be the only one who understands that the longer this goes on, the harder it's going to be to get out of the situation(s), 

I've been floundering for years, and each day wasted adds to the misery of the next. I have started to fear that this is the new me. I feel like I have lost the person I used to be entirely. I'm losing the fight. I really am trying. But I am not succeeding. 

I've been to the hospital four times since September for psychiatric issues that progressed beyond my or my fiance's ability to handle them. And I really only left the last time because, upon admission, I was essentially assaulted by several staff members. (That's a story for another time and place. I'm not quite ready to reveal those details yet, as they still make me extremely uncomfortable.) It's hard to trust anyone. But I still keep trying. 

Even though I know that we don't necessarily get what we deserve, I still can't stop asking myself what I did to deserve this. Why can't I just be happy? Why does every inhalation feel like a stab to the stomach? And how in the world does anyone else live like this? And will this be forever?

And it might be. That's what terrifies me the most. I've tried almost everything, aside from ECT, which scares me. (Headaches and memory loss? No thanks.) If nothing works, the best I can hope for in life is damage control. What kind of life would that be? What kind of life is the one I am living now? 

I am almost never okay. Even less often am I happy. I don't know how to keep doing this. And the burden I place on those around me is getting to be too much for them to bear. I can't stand being around me. I can't stand how pathetic and whiny I have become. I can't imagine how my fiance feels, especially since he has his own problems to worry about. Real problems. 

I've shut myself away from most of my closest friends because socialization scares me more and more. I'm afraid to leave the house most of the time. I'm afraid of doing things by myself. I couldn't even walk to the hair salon at the bottom of the hill alone today. Things are starting to get much worse, even though they may appear to be getting better on the outside. I'm an expert at pretending to be okay. Since I can't actually be okay, I suppose it's the next best thing. I try to smile for him and show him that I love him every day. But I wonder if it will be enough. Some days, the other emotions overwhelm that expression. 

I am continuing to lose myself. I am again faced with the prospect of several days without him around, and I have no idea what to do with myself for 20 hours out of the day. And sometimes, I am paralyzed by my emotions. I am restless and apathetic at the same time. It's when I scream on the inside without being able to move all day. It's where I am headed at this very moment. 

I feel so left out. So left behind. This isn't me. This isn't my life. 

Yet, somehow, it ended up that way. I want to escape all of this more than anything. 

The other day, I felt like I had received a sign that I was on the right track as far as my plans were concerned. But those plans are ridiculous to me now. Medical school after all this time? How will I pay for it? How will I even be able to take the test and do well? How will someone like me who has nothing to show for the last four years of his life ever get accepted anywhere worthwhile? It probably isn't even possible. I'm drowning in debt as it is, so no one would give me money. It hurts to even think about this because that's pretty much what's preventing me from moving in any academic direction with my life. Am I going to be stuck getting 400 dollars a month from disability and wasting most of my life being in and out of hospitals? Who wouldn't be miserable in my position? All I want is something that gives my life meaning and purpose. And I know what that is. I know what's missing. I just can't get there. And nothing else is going to make me happy. That's the price I have to be for being as ambitious and stubborn as I have been. 

My life certainly didn't prepare me for this. I want out of this game. 

I can't remember the last time I had a decent day. It feels like all I know is pain. But I keep struggling. I keep going. And I am not proud of myself for that. I can't be. 

I'm losing my grip on everything. And I am terrified of the next time I can't handle something. Things seem to escalate each time. There is nothing more that I want right now than to run away. 

Things can't continue this way. I just don't have the strength for it anymore. My life has broken me. I really am just a shell anymore. A warm body. 

Today, I just really miss being happy. 

Finding the Beginning

It's finally quiet in the house, and I have a good twenty minutes to myself before leg day, the first since the second time a parasite decided to inflict some moderate-to-sever damage on my body and mind. I remember the first time it happened quite vividly. Month after month, I continued to lose weight, sleep more, eat more, and become more depressed until I ended up in a psychiatric ward for the first time in my life. Weeks ago, perhaps even months, more of the same started to happen, but this time the neurological symptoms were the first to appear. I became dizzy and fatigued, with numbness and tingling sensations spreading through my hands and face. I couldn't keep anything down, no matter which way you're thinking. And then came the hospital visit where the doctors were convinced that there was nothing wrong with me at all. Everyone thought I was just being dramatic. A few more weeks went by. I slept for four days straight. A few days later, I found a piece of the little bastard, called my fiance, and made my way to the emergency room at the same hospital that refused to keep looking for an answer when I assured them that something was definitely not right with me. I was out in less than two hours--less than an hour and a half even--because I was the third case the doctor had seen in 35 years. So if you ever need to go to the ER, tell them you have something really bizarre, and they'll pick up the case right away.

Anyway, I'm still not entirely okay. I'm weak and miserable. I'm fighting the worst depression and anxiety I've faced in a long time. And giving up is the only thing that makes sense to me anymore. It hurts to even be conscious most of the time. Today isn't a particularly bad day, but it still took until it was almost dark outside for me to get myself moving and out of my bedroom. I do what little on which I can focus my mind, but I know that just isn't enough. At nearly 27, my life is still going nowhere, except maybe spiraling downward, while everyone else seems to be moving on and moving up in the world. I keep thinking that this isn't what was supposed to happen. What happened to the dreams I used to have? What happened to the ambition that couldn't be contained? Have I really been defeated that many times where I can no longer see the purpose in trying to attain that command over myself again? I know I need help with even the simplest parts of getting back to "normal". And it has to be in parts. Small parts. It's hard to make people understand that you really do need things broken down that way. It's hard to explain that someone's advice or instructions don't make sense when it comes to putting them in practice. It's even harder to say admit that sometimes I don't have control, even when it seems like I do or should. It's not logical, not on the outside. It's just the way my head works. The depression is only a part of it. There is no way for me to fight the limitations my autism places on me. I can only work around them. And that's the trouble with this place. No one seems to be able to help me figure out how, and that's not something you just pick up in your day-to-day life. The world isn't built for people like me. I've run out of creative ways to survive.

It feels like I'm drowning inside my own head. Screaming, crying, having a meltdown--all these things would help to alleviate some of the frustration that's been building for months, years even. But I can't get myself to the surface to be able to do that. I sit here, stuck under water, suffocating, while I put on the best face I can for the people around me. I'm tired of seeing them get hurt. I see the looks on their faces. I see the fear that anything they say will set me off, and I see the frustration. They're more over it than I am. They see my obsession with my own misery and less-than-desirable circumstances and cannot comprehend how I can't just shift my attention to something else or force different thoughts into existence.

I had planned on going to the gym tonight. But I haven't felt this able to express myself in months, and right now, that's more important. My body has been a source of extreme discomfort lately, as I have watched it change so rapidly into something I have worked years to overcome. But without my mind, I am nothing. Unfortunately, I still feel like nothing, so what am I to do?

Maybe a little more explanation about myself is in order. I owe it to those closest to me, even though it's difficult for me to discuss.

I've searched and searched for better ways to explain what I am about to attempt. No one else's version seems to work. So I will give you mine. It may not be complete, but it's a start.

I'm one of the most socially awkward people you will ever meet. But I'm a fantastic actor, and I've learned to play my part well. I'm the one that's perfectly content to sit quietly and listen to your conversation, unless it's something I'm really interested in. Then I probably won't shut up. And I own't notice how annoyed you're getting. I won't get the hint, and I'll take everything you say at face value. If you look upset, which to me is looking anything other than happy, I just assume it's because of me. Because that's all that is there in front of me. Your past history is not concrete enough for me to see at first, so it doesn't enter my mind. I can seem cold or disinterested. I may brush you off. Most of the time when I say "I don't know", it means that I REALLY don't know. I don't know what emotions I am feeling at the time I am feeling them. They keep building up inside until something truly unbearable accumulates, and then I am even less likely to understand or know how to behave. Asking me to talk it out often makes it worse because it is an additional struggle/frustration just to try to get the words out. If I don't have it figured out in my head, how can I try to explain it to you out loud? Sometimes, my frustration builds to the point where I can no longer physically and mentally deal with it. I fail to process. It's a computer crash. There's nothing to do but restart the machine, and sometimes that isn't so pretty. As much as it sucks for everyone around me, sometimes I just need to go through it. A meltdown. Shut down. Whining about the same thing over and over again. And I applaud anyone who has the patience to deal with me. I know people want to show their concern with hugs and whatnot, but that just adds to the physical overstimulation. If you've ever felt like you just needed to scream and have everything in the room stop--put on pause like in the movies--you know what I feel like nearly all the time.

And I'm obsessive. I can't let things go. There are things from twenty years ago I can't let go. I still feel all of those emotions just as strongly as I did then. And thinking about the situation only takes me back to that exact time, and I relive the emotions, often repeatedly over days, weeks, months, and years. One little thing that means nothing to you can ruin an entire month for me.

That brings me to my most recent struggles. These are the most problematic for me. I can handle being socially awkward and isolated, as long as I have my fiance by my side. Very few people truly understand me, and I've never met someone who's wanted to try as hard as he does. But even he is wearing thin. He has a new job that's pretty demanding, and he is gone for days at a time. And I am left with myself and no one to help me with my release. I don't even trust my therapist that much yet.

Anyway, executive functioning. I say that I have problems with this, but many people probably don't know what I'm talking about, so they ignore it, like skipping the infamous whale anatomy chapter in Moby Dick. This time, I've found a pretty good summary thanks to the internet.

Executive function refers to a set of mental skills that are coordinated in the brain's frontal lobe. They work together to help a person achieve goals. The skills in question are the abilities to manage time and attention, switch focus, plan and organize, curb inappropriate speech or behavior, and integrate past experience with present action. When executive function breaks down, a person's ability to work or go to school, function independently, and maintain appropriate social relationships can be affected.

So when I tell you I really don't know how to get my shit together and move forward with something, even if it is specifically told to me what I need to do--which often is not specific enough--I really mean it. It's not that I don't try. Half or more of the trying comes in trying to mentally prepare for what needs to be done, sorting out the mess that's in my head. It's like having a bunch of papers and supplies scattered about my desk. I can't hope to do anything until all of that gets organized and put in the right place. But sometimes there just isn't anywhere to put anything, so I am stuck with all the anxiety of needing to do a task and a complete inability to get it done. Then I get stuck on not getting things done. And every time, it feels like something new. I can't use what I have learned from the times before to help me through a crisis situation. That information is just not accessible. So while you feel like you are repeating yourself, my brain acts as if it is the first time hearing any of it at all. Meanwhile, I'm still dealing with all the sensory issues and anxiety and depression. And all the friends that think I don't care at all because I can't figure out how to maintain my relationships and manage my priorities.

Why was I so much better at this before? There were a lot of clear rules for things in my past. School was pretty straightforward. I didn't have to think about coordinating so many different things at once or prioritizing. I did what needed to be done according to the deadlines set for me and stuck to the schedule laid out for me. But as things progressed, I started to lose control. Deadlines became flexible and I got left on my own, and in my entire life, I've never had any preparation for that. Being smart got me through most of my academic life, but I've learned the hard way that there is so much more to being a functioning member of society. And I'm not fully capable of doing everything yet. And people are really surprised when I say that. They think I should just be able to figure it out and get it done. But these are the people that don't see the world the way I do. I know the only way to come to a solution is to achieve mutual understanding.

I'm becoming a little more sure of what I want to do. But I truthfully don't know where to begin. I need it one step at a time. Painfully obvious steps to most people. And that doesn't exist. It's even more problematic that the simplest solutions just won't work for me. And I worry that all of this, in the end, will prevent me from being able to function in the life that I really do want. Once and if I get to where I want to be, how do I sustain that life? I haven't been able to sustain much of anything in my adult working life. How do I change that when embarking on an even more difficult path? I know this information needs to come from someone like me. A neurotypical answer won't be enough.

I want what I want, and I am finally feeling good enough to say that. I'm really over mediocrity and settling for less than what I know I can do. But the path isn't clear to me. It seems I'm not low enough functioning to not understand but I'm not high enough functioning to actually get shit done. Where do I fit? Where do I begin?

Quiet Time

Today I've oscillated between being full of energy and drive and being so completely engulfed in my own anxiety/misery that my brain decided being asleep for 17+ hours was a more appealing option than staying awake and resolving whatever issues it's been having. In the last several months, I've noticed that I have been falling more quickly from a generally positive state to a rather miserable one, and the fall has been getting harder and harder to resist. I'm running out of energy to deal with this, all the while still fighting increasingly debilitating anxiety and the prospect of maybe getting one meal a day for an indefinite period of time.

My brain is all over the place anymore. I can't finish anything I start, and sometimes the anxiety I feel about having to do something completely overwhelms me to the point where I don't even begin whatever it was I had planned to do. Big or small, it seems that any task is enough to roll this snowball downhill, and it starts the instant I open my eyes every morning and doesn't stop until I pass out from exhaustion, long after lying down to attempt sleep.

Mere annoyances have become triggers, and triggers have become automatic switches that send me from zero to meltdown in about as much time as it took you to read this sentence.

I've more or less lost whatever it was in college that kept me so focused and able to be so productive and functional. Granted, I wasn't the best at coping then either, but I thought I had gotten past all of this. I only know part of the problem, and I know nothing of the solution. My brain is already several steps ahead, and I really can't trick it into doing anything once it gets going in a certain direction. I don't know how to bring myself back. Most of the time, it seems completely illogical that any of these skills will work for me--since I know how they work or what the ultimate aim is--so I get more upset when someone tells me what to do to calm myself down, refocus, etc. I just don't work that way, and I need to find things that really DO help. Maybe some of the issue is that things that help other people actually make it worse for me, or they make it more likely that I will exhibit some sort of behavior or have an outburst in the future. I've never really had a good chance to analyze myself because once I am removed from the situation, the feelings get locked away.
Every now and then, I am able to access that information and translate into words, often poetically, and I gain a little more insight into the puzzle of how this lump of cells in my head works. Unfortunately, that little bit just isn't enough most of the time.

I was able to get a decent workout tonight, take a nice long walk home, and sit here for a little bit before the noise came back into the picture. I feel close to the words I'm writing, and the silence I've had has been helpful. My head feels a little less like a whirlwind, and I don't feel like I have eight TV sets to watch at once in my head while trying to navigate my way through the day. (Maybe just two right now.)

So it's clear that I'm depressed and that I have been for some time. It's also becoming more clear that it may not be depression alone, which would explain why medication hasn't ever helped that much. Severe anxiety, ADHD, bipolar depression, and the big one, of course. It's not surprising, but I always thought they were all part of the same thing. But now I realize that the reason I have never really been completely okay is that, at any given time, I am dealing with one or more of these things. Sometimes, I'm just fucking anxious. And sometimes, I just can't focus. And I'm talking can't focus long enough to finish brushing my teeth or get something out of the fridge, in addition to the more important tasks of everyday life.

I am unable to do this on my own, and I don't know where to start. And even if you told me, I probably wouldn't get to doing it anyway, which has become quite a problem for me.

The noise is coming back, and my heart is starting to race again. No reason, really. But I guess that means I'm done for now.

the earthquake

Let there be enough stillness around me for me to recognize just how I exactly I am supposed to move because right now it feels like I am

skateboarding in an earthquake

Upside-down and with my hands tied behind my back like harry Houdini in that big glass fish tank with thousands of people just waiting

Hoping

To watch him die

Let me grasp at the straws of juice boxes

To drink from

Not to breathe from.

If you’ve ever set foot inside this room, then you've seen the things that no longer speak to me or about me but just sit there 

like the walls

watching me bleed to the beat of my own drum

and I almost think each downward stroke will shoot this pain from my system shoot this life from system shuddering 

swimming 

shimmering

splendid.

i used to hear the voices of my past just like when she'd sit by my side on the couch

all curled up 

in my world

and whisper in my ear that she'd never leave that this time it would be different that she would be different and that we would be the same

forever. 

now the voices are corpses piling up inside.

and i'm watching them rot.

but somehow i'd sooner throw away

this computer these jeans this phone these games that letter on the wall that green box under the bed with everything in it and that book and this crown and i'd stand naked in a crowd 

if it would all mean that i could hold on

to that voice

and not have to throw it away with every other lifeless piece of shit 

with which i am surrounded.

i'm going into that place now where i see every letter on every label like a disco ball reflecting the sun,

where keystrokes shoot like lightning i can trace 

across the vascular highway that leads to the place

that makes this all possible.

the good and the bad.

the place that makes me a better friend to words than people and the place

that knows that normal people don't feel the different personalities of the words 

"pleasant" and "peppy"

and that maybe they don't see pleasant as green and peppy as red and that maybe the reason i see pleasant as green has to do with how it reminds me of forests or maybe because i've been staring way too long at this stupid green jug on my desk that's supposed to hold money or pens or something but is completely useless because i already have a container for money and two for pens and three times as much shit as is comfortable in this place because well

you never know.

but this place.

this crazy place.

inside my head 

where the earthquake never stops

is where i still have you

and him

and me

through the years.

this crazy place inside my head where the earthquake never stops 

is where it all starts

when i have those days 

where i just feel

that there is something inside

that is made

of 

true

magic.

Car Accident (Not Mine, But Still Mine)

Well, I'm back from my walk a little bit earlier than expected. As I went to turn the corner by my house, I noticed headlights coming at me, which is rather typical for these late-night excursions of mine. But something was different. I stopped. They weren't moving. The car was upside-down. I ran up the street, and as I was running I saw a shirtless man running out of his house across the street, and a young girl (probably my age or slightly younger), sitting on the curb crying. He made the call, and I asked the standard questions. There was not a scratch on her, yet this car had landed on its roof, driver-side first. After the initial questions, I of course responded, "Thank God you are alright." And she said, "No. Fuck me. Thank God I didn't hurt anyone else." And at that point, I realized that if I had left my house twenty or thirty seconds earlier, that car would have hit me. All of this plus the fact that I decided to walk out there tonight for no reason, in the cold, at this exact moment is making my head spin and my heart pound. I came back to my house after speaking briefly with one of the responding officers to tell my mother what had happened. And she said to me, "Maybe it wasn't for no reason then."

As much as I have been lost in my own depression lately, I am so lucky to be here at this very moment, as is this young woman. I am so proud to know that I am the kind of person who will run up the street, ready to pull someone out of a car if the situation called for it (I'm a certified EMT, so I do know when it does and does not, so please don't harass me about that!) I may not always have my shit together, but now I know for sure, when the situation is life-or-death, what kind of person I will be. And I think this is the closest to knowing your true self that you can possibly get.

Worth

Even when I make the attempt to make plans, I can't complete them. And I'm not the kind of friend someone would be willing to drive an hour and a half to pick up. Hell, I'm not the kind of friend that anybody even wants to ask to do something when they live a mile away. I can't blame people for not wanting to be around me when I am like this, but to be honest, most people would never know if they were to interact with me in person. I don't share this part of myself with most people anymore. No one cares about anyone else's troubles, not really. When things are going great, everyone wants to be around me. But when I really need people, I am alone. And the only people who care enough are nowhere near me. I hate the way I sound. I hate what I have to look forward to when I wake up, and it all hits me that very second I open my eyes. And it never leaves. I can't shower without being miserable. I can barely eat. I can't walk ten feet from the door without feeling it. It's always there, and no amount of transient happiness can make it go away. It often physically hurts to be awake. But for me, emotions and physical sensations are hard to tease apart anyway.

I can't just drive to get away. Fuck, I can't even drive to go hang out with people who are going to be close to me tonight. And I would hate to ask my family because it's just too much. So once again, I'm at a point in my life and location in space where I can do absolutely nothing for myself. I've become just another burden to my family. And to myself. I don't like anything about me right now. This isn't who I am. When I was in Annapolis, I found myself again and really started loving who I was and what I could be. I didn't necessarily even need to be doing things radically different from what I am doing now. (But there are drastic differences...) But it's the feeling I had while doing them. The feeling I had just being there and being a part of something, and being able to feel that while being all by myself. Now, I can again be surrounded by people and feel all alone. It doesn't even matter. Sometimes I can't even feel connected to my own family and can barely feel connected to myself. There isn't much that I have that can numb me. Except sleep.

It is agony to be awake. Breathing hurts. Existing like this and not being able to do a fucking thing about it. I can't do this. I really can't handle this. I feel that if I am here for much longer, I will lose myself entirely. I was here for a year the last time, but I don't think I will be able to do that again. I don't know how many times I have to say over and over again that I can't do this. But that doesn't matter. I can't be helped by anyone or anything. I can't even function enough to do what I need to do to get out of this  mess, and there are no jobs around here for anyone like me. There are barely any to begin with, but retail literally made me want to kill myself, and I ended up cutting myself for the first time in my life because I could not process or handle anything that was going on in my life.

I almost feel that I am at the opposite end of the spectrum from that period of time. I had no room for anything but the job, and I lost myself because of it. Now, I have no room for anything but my current self, which is comprised mainly of walking misery. I need an escape from myself because I can't fucking stand this person who does not feel like me. I have spent so much of the last year and some months as this person who is not me. Annapolis gave me a chance to be myself again and rediscover what I love in this world. And having had that, and then having had it taken away, makes this so much worse than it was before. I don't want to be doomed to this forever, but I feel like my inability to function/focus is going to prevent me from getting anywhere.

Nobody here cares enough to ask me to do anything, or even respond when I ask them to do things, proving my lack of connection. And as this person, I don't feel like I will be able to connect. There is something about the totality of this experience that makes me incapable of being myself. I feel like I am watching myself die, and all I want to do is pull the plug.

Before I left, I had hope that things could be different. Now I have none because there is no way for me to make them any different. If I had the money, I'd leave today and start making changes. Or maybe I'd stay and get some more to make sure nothing like this ever happens again. I am more stuck than I have ever been. I want to ask for help from the people that I assume care about me, but I am afraid of running in to the same problem I had three weeks ago. How the fuck does that amount of time feel like an eternity? How is possible to fall so far from where you were and where you want to be in 21 days?

I want this part of the story to be over. But I worry so much that it will be the whole story. I expect life to be challenging, even hard sometimes. But if it is this hard, every minute of every day, I don't want any part of it. The only thing that is keeping me alive right now is my mother's love. She is the only person, at this moment, to whom I feel connected. She makes me feel human. And I would hate for her to think it was her fault if I were to do something to myself. I don't want her to blame herself for anything else that her children have done.

I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea. I like who I am. But the problem is that I am not myself right now. And whoever it is that I am right now--that's the person I don't like. And I don't like my life situation. I feel that has brought about this change in me. I know that I absolutely need to be able to function on my own in order to feel like myself. But I am approaching the point where I will stop caring completely, and I will just sit here and waste away, both physically and mentally. How many fucking times do I have to do this to myself, and why do I feel so powerless?

Over and over again, this seems to be the only story I can tell. I just want to be able to breathe again and to see things for what they really are. And I don't want to believe that THIS is the way they really are. I want to experience GOOD again.

But I'll keep saying I'm okay. I'll keep lying and putting on that smile and telling other people that they shouldn't give up. I'm hoping for a fucking miracle that just isn't going to happen. I can't do this. And the fact that I have to keep saying that all the time means that I have never been able to. I started out doing just fine here, and I don't know why. And so I don't know how to get back to that. But I have to get back to that in order to move forward.

This isn't even worth posting to me. But I suppose I will do it anyway. There isn't anything of value in what I have written, similar to how there is nothing of value in what I have been doing. This life is worthless--this one I am forced to live. And I want the one that means something to me.

Obvious Update

In an effort to normalize my sleep schedule, I realized that I definitely overdid it waking up 16 hours later in essentially the same predicament since it was 6:00 PM. I managed to get a few more hours in the middle of the night, so I almost feel like a normal human being...but then I remember everything else that's going on, and sleep seems to be the only escape I have from this constant tightness in my core, a pressure in my stomach and chest that is both maddening and unrelenting. I cannot believe things have spiraled downward so quickly. In just two weeks, I feel like I have fallen further than I ever have before. At least before I left, I had hope. I have some goals for the future, but it is hard to focus on them right now. As afraid as I am of the passage of time, I sometimes wish I could wake up one year from now so that I could move away and start school. I only see my family, and while I love them, I cannot live like this. I feel so isolated. And I fear that will never change, permanently. I thought Annapolis was going to give me the start I needed. I thought it was my chance to move forward. But I was back here before I could figure out what was even happening.

I want to cry and scream, every single minute that I am awake.
I haven't seen the sun in 40 hours or so.
I do not think I can do this for much longer, even if I do manage to find some menial job to pass the hours away.

Solo

I need to write before I start working on the things that I was supposed to have started either some time last night or earlier today. I don't even know how to describe what happened, let alone do it without getting myself upset all over again. Everything has gone wrong from the very beginning. And this doesn't make me feel very good about the upcoming weekend. I love how it's probably the most important weekend of the year for me, and that there are a few people who actually enjoy seeing me this way. Thanks for letting me know that you would rather lie in your bed all day than come pick me up when I really needed your help. I feel so fucking great about myself. If you were the only person that had managed to show how little they cared this weekend, I'd probably be okay with it since you did this all the time when I lived here anyway. I don't know how I feel about coming back now that all this has happened. Sometimes it feels like everything is okay. I love the city itself. But if it's going to be worse than being at home, why would I want to come back?
Is it better to be completely fucking alone or to have friends like this? Should I shut myself away in a town with no hope or let myself get abused just to feel a few minutes of happiness every now and then when someone thinks enough of me to ask me to do something?
I can't even count how many people only talk to me when they need something from me. And that's when they act like they care. And it hurts because I am literally fooled by this EVERY TIME.
I trust people, and this is probably my worst quality.
My willingness to trust has ruined my life more than once. And it continues to hurt me every time I need to rely on someone else. Every time I really think I have people I can count on, I am reminded that I am the only person who cares enough to want to do something for me. I am the only person that I matter to, and that's getting harder and harder for me. The people I thought were my closest friends don't really care, it seems. And then there are people I barely know who would give me the shirts off their backs if I really needed them. And this makes me feel worse as well. Have I just picked shitty friends? Or do people just become this way toward me after they have gotten close to me?
I am not going to be bitter and refuse to help you when you need me. And that just means I am going to get hurt yet again. I don't even want to bring it up because there's nothing that's going to change. And I told my mom that I either have these friends or no friends.
Maybe it doesn't matter where the fuck I go. I'll probably be this lonely and upset wherever I end up. I'll probably just hide away wherever I go.
There is nothing happening in my life to indicate that anything will get any better for me. Time doesn't change things. Doing things changes things. And I am doing nothing. I am going nowhere. And I am alone. And I have felt this way for so long that I don't know how to feel any other way. I don't have that one person that I can count on to come rushing by with a strawberry milkshake when I am feeling down. I don't have that person that I can call at four in the morning when I can't sleep. I haven't known what it's like to have a real friend in years. And I am starting to think that it might have been better to never have known. Didn't have a problem when I was a little kid because I didn't know what having friends really meant. I was fine being by myself and thought that's what everyone did.
Now, I just feel like shit ALL THE TIME.
Nothing is helping. I haven't felt okay in like two years. I have some good days. But most of the time, I'm unhappy. And not just unhappy. I wake up and already want it to be over. Most days, I have to convince myself to stay alive. And I don't know how much longer I can do this. I'm going to end up doing something stupid. Not killing myself. I'm not there yet, but I've been down that road before. But I mean something that might kill me in the end anyway. I could quit my job and run away. That's been on my mind for some time now. Just to leave one day and figure out how to get my stuff after the fact. I don't even care where I end up anymore. If I'm alone in my head, I might as well be alone in person because then I wouldn't have to fight with myself trying to be okay with people.
My head has been spinning all day. I feel sick to my stomach. I'm sweating, and it's hard to breathe. It's fine when this happens in an instant when we feel like something bad is going to happen. Like how you feel like when you almost fall down the stairs. But imagine that feeling for hours or even WEEKS at a time. Then YEARS. Imagine living your fucking life in that state and trying desperately your whole like to get away from that feeling. It's impossible anymore. And I don't know how anyone could want to live like this.
There is a voice inside my head that tells me that I don't have a choice in the matter.
But there is another voice that is much darker and scarier. And it knows that I do.
I have wanted to scream and cry about everything all day. And nothing is happening. I feel like I am going to explode soon. And that is not an exaggeration. If you could envision everything inside of you burning and swelling up, putting pressure on every part of your body. Making you twitch in ways that you can't control. Making you unable to control any reaction you have without causing you even more physical and mental pain. That's what it is like. On a good day.
And it's never going to change.
I used to think I'd outgrow this. But I am terribly depressed by the fact that I will always be this way. And always being this way is what is going to cause me to be alone forever. And it makes me feel like I deserve everything that happens to me and more. Like it's all my fault anyway. And that's exactly what everyone else wants me to feel because no one wants to take responsibility for any pain that they have caused another person. Except the ones who enjoy it.
I feel terrible in every way that you can. And after a few years of this, it's become clear that nothing and no one can help me. I'll either figure it out on my own or I will not. And I don't exactly have the best track record for that. I'm smart enough to know when I have reached the point of no return. It was just too much. All of my life has just been too much for me to handle without getting fucked up beyond salvation. I don't know how. But I lost. And I am still losing this battle. I wish it would take me instead of my having to make that decision. Either way, everyone will say it is my fault.
Everyone will say that I had everything and there was no reason.
But it doesn't matter what you have when you feel like you have absolutely nothing, and the only thing you can think about is how you used to have a good life.
I see that good life being lived by someone else. Multiple people most of the time. I can't say much more.
I'm never going to be okay again.
I feel older than I ever have. And more helpless.
I want to scream about how unfair this is. But that doesn't matter. Fairness doesn't exist. And even if it were considered fair, I probably deserve it or should have at least expected it. I don't know why I continue to be surprised that everything about my life sucks. I don't know why I have to keep holding on to the idea that maybe someday I'm going to be okay. No one can prove to me that anything will get better, and I am sick of people telling me that it just will. It won't. Things don't get better if you don't fucking do anything about them. People don't get better unless they know how. And I don't. There are so many more things wrong with me than there are right these days. And I don't feel like putting on a mask for everyone else. I don't feel like going in to do anything for anyone when I feel like this. I don't care about anyone else right in this moment because all I want to do is survive. And it's even hard to care about me. To fight the voice that wants me to give up. It makes the most sense to give up. It's so much more painful to carry on and I don't even know if it will be worth it.
I just fucking can't do this.

standing still

i want to burn up from the inside out and bleed fire
i hear nothing when people scream and want to scream in my own silence.
i feel like the scraping noise a dried up pen makes against paper on which it wasn't meant to write and every line i see reminds me
of how far away i am
and every face i see is meaningless
and every face i see is a mirror
that i'll never understand
i love the movie that never changes but hate my life
that never changes
except that i don't and wonder if i should
be doing something else.
i feel like every word is a secret and every day
is a joke that i'll never
understand.
and you make me
stand here
and i say nothing
about how much it hurts
because it hurts
much more
to do nothing.
and so i write.

More of the same

I feel like I am ultimately fighting a losing battle. I keep struggling to regain control, but I'm in no better shape now than before. I honestly can't make myself see the purpose of my life. I can't even invent one. I feel like I had lived in a bubble throughout college, and though I am grateful for the things I have learned in the past two years, I long for that kind of safety and security again. I want to love the way I did before. I feel like I've turned completely cold. This isn't the person I know I can be. Maybe there's no way to ever be that person again. I used to be happy. I used to be excited about life, and though I was anxious, I never remember living in a constant state of terror and misery for such an extended period of time.
I wake up, and I immediately think about the day ahead of me. The only thing I can think about is crawling back into bed At the end of the day so I can stop experiencing reality. And I would rather die than exist like this forever, or until it is too late.
There are good things happening in my life. But I cannot appreciate them. I understand them and know how I should feel. How I would feel. But I don't actually feel any of it. I experience only transient pleasure. And even in these experiences, the pain is still there. I am always hurting. And it's been well over a year. I remember having trouble before that, but it's been about that long since it became inescapable.
I truly don't know if I have enough energy/strength to continue on this course. I keep thinking about ways to die, whether on purpose or by accident. I keep thinking about other ways to just destroy my life. I see myself committing terrible acts of violence and cannot help but visualize every gruesome detail.
I want to fight. I want to just push through and come out clean on the other side. But that attitude has only made me more miserable. I've said it before, mostly about life in general, but it applies to depression just as much: There is no other side.
I have only this existence to work with. And I am fucking it all up. I don't know how to navigate through all of this, which seems frighteningly new and endlessly the same. Everyone else seems to be doing at least okay. What makes me so unable to do it? And by it I mean life. What am I not doing that I could be? And why can't I do the things that I know I should be doing but am not?
My breath is forever stuck right above my sternum. The pressure. I just want to be rid of that feeling. To let my arms fall limp at my sides and melt into the world around me.
I caught myself daydreaming About what it was like to hold him. I saw and felt it all over again. And then the memories kept taking me further back in time, further into my mind than I ever want to be any more.
I feel like a black hole.
I don't know why I do anything anymore. I am only pretending to know what the more stable version of myself would want out of life. I don't want to make decisions in a state like this, but what if not making them is worsening this condition?
I feel like I am becoming so bitter and resentful. I cannot escape thoughts about all the people who used to be a part of this life of mine. And I know I mean nothing anymore. I want to feel like a ripple in the pond sometimes. Instead I feel like a drop of water taken captive in a syringe.
I want to be able to experience the world with other people at the same time. I want to feel like something matters. I don't want to fake it anymore. I want certain people to understand this pain. I want them to see what their actions continue to so to me, but maybe they'd be happy and think I deserve it. And I may. I may deserve all of this and not even know it.
But then my rational brain tries to sve the day, and it only succeeds in making things worse. We never get what we deserve; we only get what we get. And then we must decide what to do with it. I don't know if I'm doing anything with what I have been given.
I'm terrified. But I think the very best thing would be for me to go where I can truly start over. But I don't want to admit that the rest of my life is lost. I can't. Something will not let me leave certain parts of my past behind. I have chosen to follow my instincts. And I hope it works. I just want to be able to survive long enough. And I'm getting more and more convinced that I will not see this through.
I have thrown away or sold almost everything I brought back with me. I feel like I am already dead. I really don't feel like I exist any more than a piece of furniture.
And these thoughts are all I have. I am obsessed with my own misery. I cannot escape myself. It's probably why I've been drinking more. Never alone and never without occasion. But it's more often than I ever did in college.
I want to stop looking.
I want to feel.
I just want to be okay with myself and my life.
I want to stop writing about this. I need real fucking help and know I will not be able to get it. And I wish somebody actually cared to acknowledge that there is something wrong. I'm not sure if my family has given up on me. or maybe the same fantasy as always applies yet again. and maybe that's why I am so fucked up. I don't know how to be anything other than a robot. I don't know how to manage any of my emotions. I want to be able to experience emotions and function in my life at the same time. But that may be too much to ask.
I don't even know why I write anymore if this is all that I ever accomplish. Maybe one day ill be able to see the change in my words. Maybe I will one day see happiness on this screen.
God, I just want to die. Really. I'm just too afraid of living. I'm too afraid of an endless now. I don't want to be broken. I don't want to go through life like this, an maybe that is why I don't have any motivation. Maybe my brain is trying to make the wish a reality by refusing to let me participate in my life.

Hope has failed me.

Nonsense

Sometimes I am scared that what I am doing will not be good enough. But this one isn't meant to be like that. It's more for me than for anyone else, and I'm hoping that people will understand that. At least one of them is flashy and nuts, though.

It feels like it has been way longer than a year. I can't believe that much shit can happen in twelve months. It makes me wonder what the rest of my life is going to be like.

The crying will definitely happen tonight. 12 months or 24 years worth. Not sure.

Roar. I guess I should continue to do things now. Why am I so nervous? It seems silly. Maybe it is because this is how people will remember me. Or maybe they won't, and that's a little scary.

I don't have time for this depression nonsense.

Quickly

I've discovered what might be a large part of the problem, but maybe it's also a solution. My refusal to be ordinary--to accept that I'm just another average person destined to live a life of mediocrity--is killing me. If I were okay with living like this, being in this place forever, maybe I'd be happier. If I simply realized that I'm never going to be anything great, I could let go of my emotional baggage and get on with that being ordinary business. But I still believe, for some reason, that if I let go of this desire to do something somewhat important or meaningful, it'll never happen anyway. Or maybe it'll be like getting a free dessert when you're not even hungry. I don't know.
I may have come entirely full circle. Or not.
This indecisiveness is a trap.
I hate this because now I don't even care enough to continue writing about everything that's happening in my head.
I cannot see good things. Every time I think of anything in the future, I am immediately hit with dozens of negatives, and even if I try, I can't see the good in any situation.
But I guess you don't get over depression just by trying harder. It doesn't just get better on its own.
I need to stop all of this nonsense, but I can't.
I'm trying not to let this invade the one thing that makes me happy, but I feel like it's already starting to.

8/9/2012

I'm scared of leaving, and I'm scared of not leaving. I'm terrified that I'll leave and not know how to handle it. I won't know where to go, and I'm worried that I'll be too overwhelmed to even try to go anywhere, meet anyone, do anything, etc. I'm worried about moving in with people I've never met before. I'm worried that I'll be even more lonely than I already am. As far as staying here is concerned, I'm worried that I'll never leave. I'm worried that something terrible will happen in January. I'm worried that I'll snap before then. I don't know if I can do this, and I don't want to be dealing with it at all. I wish I had words to describe the combined physical and emotional feelings I'm fighting right now. I just don't want to do any of this anymore. I very rarely feel any sort of positive emotion. I keep asking for help. But it doesn't matter. I can't even keep my thoughts straight enough to finish a sentence here without pausing and having them wander all over the place.

I don't want to be here in January because I don't want to have to be afraid of two people I'm living with. I can barely handle the one. I ended up breaking the bathroom mirror yesterday, and the only reason I can come up with is that I was going to end up doing something much worse. I don't want to be in a place where I have this little control of my circumstances, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to get to a new place and have it either. Control needs to be gained in every situation. It's not something that's just there. And if I'm not in the position to gain control, I'm screwed.

I just keep getting the feeling that this isn't going to end well. I'm not even sure what I mean by the word "this". It could be a number of things, but I don't have very many good feelings about anything. I keep coming back to the realization that there is something wrong with me that cannot be fixed and that I'm never going to be okay. And I wonder if I will be able to live the rest of my life knowing that about myself.

Every time I even try to pursue a line of thinking to get me out of this mess, I end up stopping myself because I feel that it just doesn't matter. There are so few things I care about right now. But I want to care. I know that some part of me does, but there is a part of me that's making me not care or that feels like it useless to care. There's the part of me that keeps saying I'll get over it and tomorrow will be better, but it never really is. Maybe I'm fine for an hour or two or when I can find a way to completely forget about my life, but I cannot honestly think about my life in any way without feeling terrible. And I go through my day feeling terrible and questioning every good thing that happens to me.

I'm trying to remember if I really did feel better on medication. But I don't know. Maybe I was feeling better because I was in a better place or because I had something to consume me, but I don't know. I was still on medication the first two months or so I was here, and I really felt like I was making progress. And then I stopped. And then I just started to feel worse. I don't know if those two are related since a few more shitty things happened to me around the same time I stopped.

And now I am worried because I don't have a doctor for my T, and I don't have one for my fucked up head, and I can't find either or afford either.

I don't want to be this. This isn't right. It isn't fair that the only thing I seem to be able to think about is my misery. And it pushes everything else out of the way.
I feel like I'm always struggling to breathe, like there is always a tremendous weight pressing down on my chest.

I get the feeling that I won't be able to leave here until I have this under control. But I don't know if that's possible.

No matter how much I want certain things, I can't have them. I can't even try to have them. I've given up on so many things because it's better than just wishing and hoping. I've trusted too many people to help me that promised they would, and I just don't believe it anymore. I don't want to care about these things because I just keep feeling disappointed. And I end up feeling more trapped.

Trapped. Anxious. Terrified. Restless. Angry. Frustrated. Miserable. Lonely. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

I want to stop pretending to be okay and actually be okay. But if I stop pretending to be okay, even more people will hate me, and I've already found this out through experience and am still fucking dealing with the consequences of allowing myself the one fucking time to completely break down and try to put my life back together.

I really just can't do this myself, and no one here seems to be able to care about that. No one seems to want to see what's really happening to me.

Like the time my brother told me, drunk and sitting down in the bathroom, that he was going to do something and he wasn't going to be able to stop himself. I told my mother. She refused to make anything of it. And now here we are.

I looked her in the eye the other night and told her I was serious over and over again. I know I was begging for her to just get me some help already. But it's never going to happen. I guess I understand not wanting to believe your son is fucked up, crazy, and will never amount to anything because of it.

I wonder whatever happened to all of that potential.
What the fuck is happening and why?
I keep thinking that this isn't normal, but maybe it is for me, in which case there is really nothing anyone can do.

I really wish I could focus on something else. I want to write about something else and really feel it. I don't want to be teased by one or two good days just to be taken down even further than before.

I want to throw up all of my insides.
I want all of this to fucking end already.

No matter how much I know that people care, I don't feel a god damned thing. I can't feel anything but pain. I'm just fucking numb to happiness and love. I keep doing the things that make me happy and trying to be around the people that care, hoping I'll be able to fake it till I make it or something like that, but I end up feeling so much worse because NOTHING IS WORKING.

And I am writing this because I need to show somebody. And there is only one person I can think to show this to, other than the people already reading it, and I know she's going to feel like shit reading it and blame herself. I want more than anything in the world to be okay for her and for everyone that cares about me, more than I want to be okay for myself. I'm not sure I care about myself at all. I don't hate myself. I just hate my life. And I don't know if that makes sense. Or maybe I do hate myself and don't know it. I used to be able to name things about myself that I liked and be able to smile and understand why they were true. But I name the same things and only become miserable because all of these things have gotten me absolutely nowhere. I might as well never have tried. I might as well never have been any sort of special.

I came back here to try to start over but I ended up back in the past and more miserable than ever, and things looked so promising a few months ago. Now I'm questioning whether I want to even mention this to anyone else at all. I don't want to worry someone over something that probably won't improve anyway. You kind of have to be in an environment that's conducive to improvement. And while there are a few wonderful things about being here, there are a few terrible things too, and I can't fix any of them. And I feel worse and worse every time and more desperate every time.

I keep writing, hoping I'll feel better, but it never works.

How much more of me is there really left to destroy?

Up and down

One minute, I'm flipping through Apartment listings, getting excited about all the amazing possibilities And the chance to really start over...And the next, the fear takes over and leaves a crippling knot in my stomach and I can barely breathe. My head keeps yelling me that I can not do this. I'm terrified. And I miss people already. I'm tired of never seeing people again. I'm tired of losing people. And I fear that I am no longer able to open myself up enough to form friendships like I once was. I don't know if I am capable of starting from scratch. And in the back of my head, there's the voice that says I am going to be pathetic and dependent on others for the rest of my life. And that I am never going to be happy. Right now it seems that I can't be happy for more than a few minutes without being scared or anxious. But at my best, I guess I only went a day or two. The feeling seems more intense now. How do I know if I am any better now than I was a few months ago? And if I am not able to determine that, does that mean I am not?
I feel like I have cried enough over this, but I doubt it will stop. Why is this so difficult if I am indeed making the right decision?
I just want to relax enough to be able to fall asleep instead of waiting to pass out from exhaustion. I remember I had a few months of being able to do that. And a few weeks were absolutely perfect. I had never slept like that in my life. I felt normal for a little bit.
I'm about to walk two miles just to buy something to help me fall asleep, but that would involve going upstairs, which is dangerous right now. I think the worst of it is that I'm hungry. But I guess it makes sense for me to feel trapped then, if I am not just imagining it.
Is it worth being miserable 95 percent of the time in order to experience the other 5 percent as something else? Maybe it isn't even all happiness. That's a question I struggle with a lot right now. Is anything worth anything, to be more inclusive.
I was so happy about realizing what I need to do, for a little. And now that happiness is gone. I can't even figure out why it made sense to be happy because I am so worried right now. Scared, anxious, hopeless, etc. I'm a number of things, but not one of them is happy.
My body has to keep itself in crisis mode all the time, and I can feel the damage it is doing. And there is nothing I can do about it with the fucking safe auto of health insurance that I have. I can't get them to look at this fucking massive bump above my ankle bone that is severely limiting my ability to move the way I need to, and even if I wanted help to fix my fucked up head, I couldn't get it. Oh and I hope I have enough money to pay for my t next week and then find a way to get to philly for an appointment that I don't even have yet, since that is the closest trans doctor.
I really want to stop thinking about everything all the time. What is the damn point if I am always going to feel like this? Really?
I was hoping this would help me sleep, but I think I have made it worse. I need fucking help, and there's nothing I can do to get it, and once again, I am made aware of how little I can help myself. I can't take this.

Now

I've come to the conclusion that I've lost my home and most of my friends. Every few days, something happens to make me feel that I shouldn't go back to Pittsburgh. I feel like people are forcing me out--being cruel to me on purpose just to make sure I don't come back. If that's not what I'm supposed to do, then I'm completely lost again. I have nothing, not even something to work towards. It seems so ironic since I just had an amazing conversation with a group of old friends that really made me feel like going back was the right choice. Now I feel as if I've taken a giant leap backwards. I wasn't going to mention it, but if I don't end up going back, it won't matter very much. A friend of mine told me that more people than I assume/know think that I am manipulative and self-serving, and that because she believes where there is smoke, there is fire, this is true. I could list a hundred things that could disprove that, but I know that all it takes is one or two for anyone to believe otherwise. I'm trying to convince myself that the people who matter the most know the real me and actually care to be around me. That's not very many people these days, apparently. If my former friends are trying to make me hate myself as much as possible and send me back to the hospital, they're certainly doing a good job. I'm going to lose Pittsburgh to this--to people who only call when they want something from me or to yell at me. To people who just want to see me fail miserably. To people who are going to push me to my limit until I break down completely (again), and then belittle me for being weak or selfish for not just sucking it up. I don't want to end up going back to Pittsburgh to be just as lonely or even more lonely than I am now. I'd love to know where I went wrong and why apologizing for the things I have done wrong is not good enough for some people. And if it's not good enough, just tell me that, and leave me alone. I don't like being strung along. I don't care for people pretending to care about me. I'd rather just know you don't. But then maybe you wouldn't be able to get what you wanted out of me. How am I supposed to believe anything else if your actions don't say anything else, and you refuse to talk to me? I'm really struggling to figure people out here.

Do people think I am manipulative because of the way I think? I'm not trying to guilt anyone into feeling a particular way about something simply because I mention that I don't give a fuck what happened yesterday and that I'm always willing to start anew with someone. My life circumstances have brought me to the conclusion that everyone is deserving of another chance if that is what they truly desire. God gives you infinite chances, or so I was taught in grade school...as long as you are sorry. So as long as someone's willing to try, I don't care what you've done to me. I won't forget it, and it make take time to rebuild things, but I'll never hold it against you. Maybe it's that I try to talk to my friends for advice about the matter and they end up telling the whole world somehow. Not that this makes it right, but I know the "other side" or whatever does the same thing. For me, I just need to know the right thing to do. I'm never very sure about how to deal with relationship/social problems that arise. I keep fucking them up somehow, and I do wish I knew how to fix it.

Maybe some of it has to do with money? I don't know. I can't tell you how many times I've given all I had to other people, just in this year alone. It may not have been much in the eyes of others, but it's happened, and I've had to start all over again with trying to save. Maybe the fact that I can't drive? I just don't know. How am I manipulating people? About what is it that I am being so selfish?

I'll admit that I was being a bit selfish at the end of last year. I couldn't afford not to be. I chose to do what was best for me, even though it was going to hurt other people. But I couldn't survive any longer by pleasing other people, and I mean that literally. I was on the verge of heading right back into the psych ward, and you know what, I still am thanks to all that's transpired since the last time. But I did what I needed to do, and I don't regret it. If I have anything going for me at all, it's that I have the balls to say that. I have the balls to put this out there for everyone to see, half crying over here hoping that at least one person who used to care about me understands that I am a real human being. And what's happening to me is real.

It's hard to know whether or not I'm doing the right thing these days. So many people are so upset with me. So many people want me to believe that I am wrong. The trouble is that I'm sure this happens to people who actually are doing the wrong thing, but they react in the same way as someone who knows he is doing the right thing. So I want to know which it is. And if I am not, what am I doing wrong? I certainly can't fix it if I don't know what it is. (My friend didn't mention what about me was so bad either, so maybe she didn't know why the others were saying this anyway. Or maybe she didn't have the heart to tell me when I was already so upset, and failing at hiding it.)

I told my mother earlier tonight that it's hard to keep caring about anything when things like this keep happening. She mentioned that maybe I needed to come back here because she needed a friend. I agreed with her that it was the right decision to leave Pittsburgh when I did, but I also believed that it would be the right decision to return as soon as I could. Not knowing if that's the case is killing me. Thinking that it may not be is killing me. It felt so good to walk around Oakland that day. It felt right. I hadn't felt like a place belonged to me in a long time. But without the people that matter the most to me, it's just a place. And I'd be alone. In that case, I might as well just stick with the memories. What's a home without a future? A graveyard.

She said it was lonely at the top. Well, it's also lonely at the bottom. I don't know where I am anymore. I don't know where I am supposed to be. Some people will give me the obvious answer that I am exactly where I am supposed to be right now, but it all feels so wrong. I feel so out of place. I feel like a drifter in my own life--like I have no control. And it makes it that much harder to keep doing the things I enjoy when I have this overwhelming feeling that absolutely nothing I do matters or will make any difference for me or anyone else in the long run.

I've cried more in the last year or so than I had in all of college. How am I supposed to know if I am getting any better? I don't want to be miserable and lonely for the rest of my life. And I don't want to believe that it's my fault, which is what so many people seem to be telling me--or rather, everyone except me, and I'm finding out about it later.

I can't please anyone it seems. I can't even make myself happy. And now I know that I'm going to have a horrible day at work tomorrow and be intensely awkward, and there's nothing I can do about it. Why? Partly because this will be on my mind and partly because I will be up all night thinking about it. I seem to be worse at functioning in the real world when I am tired.

My mom ended up asking me if I had thought of any other places I'd like to go. She said that I might figure something out when I visit Boston. And DC. I guess I could go anywhere, but I'm terrified, and she knows all too well how a change like that would affect me.

I've been trying to fight being where I am, looking up new apartment listings in Pittsburgh every single night since I've been home. I was putting everything into Pittsburgh. Every ounce of energy I had. And now, my motivation may be gone. It may not have been real. I don't even know what I meant by that, which leads me to believe that I'm getting into one of those states again, where continuing to type is better than facing the alternative of sitting here in silence and letting my thoughts wander into even worse places. Getting the words out seems to take away some of their potency. They can't hurt me when they are this far away, perhaps.

I know just living shouldn't be this painful. I know it.

If I am supposed to be here, I want to know why. And I want to know what I'm supposed to be doing.

If I stop looking towards moving back and start focusing on my life as it is here and now, in this shithole town with no one around, will things get better? Or will they get worse?

I really do wonder what it's like not to worry about everything.

I'm fighting the urge to go for a walk at this hour since I know I have to be up for work, but I need something to distract me.

Why can't I just move forward from all of this? Man, I really hope all of this bitchy writing pays off someday.

Mourning

I can't seem to stress enough how little I expected to be where I am now. I've known that much for a while now. The word hit me the other day, not so subtly. Grief. I'm grieving over the loss of those dreams I used to have--over the loss of the future I was "supposed to" have. I remember saying once or twice before that I had this feeling that I would never make it to the destination I had in mind. That's proven itself true. Not only that, but I also have no idea where I'm going.

I cry when I think about the fact that something as basic as mouthwash has become a luxury item. That's just one easily visualized example.

It's extremely difficult to focus on your future when you can barely keep your head above water in the present.

I keep wondering where I went wrong. I cringe at the thought of this becoming my forever. I love my life and so much of what it has become, but I desperately want to believe that there is more out there for me. There's just some part of me that feels unfulfilled, and I don't know how I'm supposed to resolve that conflict.

I've reached the bottom of the barrel out here. I have to leave my current residence in a few weeks, and with no money and nowhere else to go, I have no other choice but to go back to my parents' house. I swore that I'd never go back. I keep saying that it's only temporary and that I won't be there longer than a month, but I'm terrified that that won't be true. I'm afraid of losing what little I have left. And I know this much: I'm going to be terribly alone the entire time I'm out there. I haven't even left yet, and it already hurts.

Maybe what hurts is that I have no sense of home. I have no routine. Every day is completely unpredictable. I don't want to live day-to-day. I want to live for something bigger. I want more, but I don't know where it's coming from or how to get it.

I want to cry right now because there is this air of hopelessness that surrounds the whole situation. I don't see a light at the end of this tunnel. And I'm charging forward into the darkness at times, while at others I'm just standing there, terrified to move forward because I don't want that to be all there is. I'd rather just imagine a light on the other side than go on forever searching for something that isn't there.

I feel like I've been getting better. But I get hit with things like this from time to time. It feels so rational, and that's what scares me. I can't dismiss this because of my depression because of how logical it all seems.

I just want something familiar. All of this shit I'm going through right now is so foreign to me. I want my old friends, my old conversations, my old sense of purpose. I feel that fire sometimes, but it comes and goes.

And there's another part of me that's afraid that I'm going to be this screwed up forever--that this is what my normal is. I keep feeling like something's not fair, but again, I don't know what it is.

I am learning to take one day at a time, and I can manage that pretty well. But I just want to have the luxury of not having to do that. I want to be able to plan ahead. I want to be able to have goals again. I want and need a direction.

These things seem so simple in my head, and I wonder why it all hurts so much.

yeah.

Home Improvement

I'm prepared for this to be excruciating. My heart is heavy. My brain and body are equally troubled, tortured, and are becoming useless. No one ever wants this, of course, but I still feel the need to say that this is the last place I ever wanted to be, though I may have suspected it at various times in my life. Still, it's one of those things you never actually think will happen to you, like a heart attack or cancer.

I will interject with this random thought before continuing: I will never be normal. I just want to be capable. Regardless of success or failure, the latter is necessary for me to be (happy).

I don't know where to start, or how. I don't know why I am hurting so badly or why it happened at this particular time in my life. I am tortured by the fact that I need to know everything, all the time. That fact alone is not something a lot of people can quite comprehend. It's hard to understand pain you've never felt before. I suppose it's even harder to understand pain you've never let yourself feel before, for whatever reason. Maybe it was intentional or maybe it was self defense. I've been thinking a lot about last summer and how I could not see what was happening, and I have no idea how I am supposed to feel yet. There's a letter I never answered, and I am not sure I ever will, but the fact that I went back to refresh my memory should tell you something about the way your words have affected me and probably always will, whether I like it or not. Don't take that for any more than what it is.

For the record, "I told you so" is not an appropriate response.

I've slipped into something I haven't been able to control. I deleted the word "can't" from that sentence, so maybe even this is a start.

Transition does not automatically solve all of your problems, for those of you that seem to think unwavering happiness is the natural end to the course of events in the physical process. What I have come to find is that I am just now beginning to deal with problems I could not confront before. Your body tries to respond to the most pressing threat, and so does your mind. Transition was something that needed to happen in order to move forward with my life, and that means enjoying life as well as dealing with its unpleasantness.

It's become clear that I don't know how to do the latter very well. I ended up where I did because every coping skill that I have ever learned has recently failed me. Because I believed (and am still fighting against the belief) that my life--my job, my ability to deal with stress, my ability to be happy, my financial situation, etc--will never any better and that I will be stuck in this place of depression, anxiety, and limited capacity to function...forever.

I struggled to get myself out of bed every morning for weeks upon weeks, maybe even months. And that was until I just couldn't do it anymore. So I didn't. And I quit my job. But I had already checked out of doing things that make me happy because everything I love has now become everything I fear. I am stressed by everything, saddened all the time. Sometimes there is no reason, and this is something that I can't stand.

I spent three full days in the crisis center because I really didn't know if I could trust myself to be alone with me, and I really couldn't take another day of being home. I didn't move from my bed for almost two days, and I barely ate anything at all while I was there. I kept turning over the thought that this is how my brother might feel every day of his life, surrounded by people he cannot connect with and unable to do anything on his own. This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and it's only going to get harder. But it might get better. I'm hanging everything on that one little word, and everything in the logical part of my brain is telling me that it's a really stupid way to go about living. But clearly that part of my head has been sucking lately. Or maybe logic just doesn't have anything to do with it.

It's obvious that I can't hold a job right now, no matter how much I want to and no matter how much I need to have money. Sometimes I still don't really believe that this is who I am and that this is what is happening to me. The fact that I can't have a job right now is just one more thing that makes me terrified that I will never get out.

But when you are isolated for three full days, you start thinking even more. And that really sucks if you already think in overdrive all the time. But it's not something I was able to avoid. So I barely slept and I didn't sleep at all during the night. But I thought, and something in my realized that I needed to stop waiting for the people there to make me better. I needed to make the first move or I wasn't going to get anything out of being there. And I wasn't going to get out of there period. I could barely speak when people tried to talk to me, and I couldn't breathe or look at them, but I did what I had to do during those last 36 hours or so. I did it all because I just wanted to go home. And maybe that sounds stupid because you would think that I would want to get better. But going home was part of that. The fact that I WANTED something...That meant everything. That I was doing something in order to achieve something I wanted, and that must have meant that I thought enough of myself. That I thought I was worth the effort. And no matter how miserable or useless I feel, I need to keep thinking about that. There's a part of me that does want to be here, and it's the same part of me that wanted to get out of that place so badly. It's that part of me that wants to want to do things that used to make me happy. It wants things. I want things. I don't always know what they are, but that's everybody, I suppose.

I am terrified about the decision I might be making. It's something I had in the back of my mind, and when someone else made the suggestion when I hadn't even mentioned it at all, I knew I had to think about it again. PA school. And I'm still thinking. But another thing that's really tough for me, which I learned or rather re-learned over this past week, is believing and trusting that I don't need to know everything or do everything or have everything today or even soon.

I am allowed to be unsure. I am allowed to be unfinished.

I am 23 years old, with two college degrees, a beautiful transgendered body, a boyfriend who loves me for who and what I am, a clean and well-organized bedroom (thanks to the boyfriend who loves me), who is going to nationals for drag in a few months, who is going to go back to school, who is going to make big things happen in this city I've learned to call home, who is not going to let depression, anxiety, fear, pain, or a different way of thinking stand in his way anymore.

Now all I have to do is believe this. I will make this real.
I am allowed to be unsure. I am allowed to be terrified. But I will not allow myself to lose this fight. If I can bring myself to think that my body deserves to live, then my soul should have that same chance. Obviously, it's going to be hard. Here it comes again, and I think it's fucking ridiculous how it appears again and again throughout my life. It's like it should be a tattoo or something.

Nothing worth having is ever easy.

Bleh

I have to be up in three hours or so, but I don't think I can sleep yet. Something's burning inside me, and I just want to be able to figure it out. I also just got my finger stuck to one of these keys because of an open wound. Lovely.
Argh. I hate this making decisions about my life thing because no matter what I choose, I'm going to be miserable. I just have to choose which kind of misery at this point. But maybe I'll be giving myself enough time to work it all out. I guess I can't be more specific right now, which isn't good either because I'm sure it'll be misconstrued by someone.
I'm getting frustrated with a lot of people. I can't tolerate it. I'm reaching my limits. Argh.

Bleh.
And some other words.

At Least We Have Cute Puppies

I'm coming closer to figuring out the problem. Here's one more piece of it: I feel like everyone else I knew from college is starting that whole real life thing. I'm not moving forward at all, and when it comes down to it, I'm nothing more than a cashier. I don't want this to be my life story.

I want to go back to school because I am not happy.

I'm worried that I'll be wrong again. And I'm worried that I'll never be right.

If my body would allow me, I'd probably be crying every day.

At least some things can be constant, like the way it feels when I'm fighting against the weight. And I am in control. Maybe that's what's happening right now. I'm pushing and pulling and causing myself all this pain--deliberately breaking myself down so I can come back stronger the next time.

But I worry about there even being a next time. Fatigue is starting to overcome me. And it hasn't even been a year.

I can't imagine living the rest of my life like this. I'd rather die.
Something is wrong.

Now I'm going to go watch a cute puppy or two.