Silly me, giving up journaling a long time ago. Or actually, giving up on writing in general. Not sure why. Guess everything started feeling pointless quite awhile ago. I feel deflated by what feels like everyone having lower than low expectations for me. It’s almost as if they are waiting for me to fail so they can feel superior and satisfied with their predictions. That I’m weak, emotional, without self control, lazy. I recognize those qualities, but I also know I’m more than that. I don’t really have anyone cheering me on, is how it feels-it feels more like I’m the one cheering everyone else on. I so desperately want those around me, the people I love, to feel good, happy, fulfilled, supported. But when it’s me its as if I’m standing in a cold room made of wet cement. It’s empty and chilling.
Why do I feel like when I have something to say, no one is listening? Why do I feel like all of my interests, my intentions, my inspirations and goals are mocked by those around me? Not directly, but through their words and manner. I look at myself, and I can surely see negative qualities, but I also see someone with deep conviction and desire. Someone paving their own way, standing up for what they believe in. And yet it does not feel like anyone I know finds this to be a positive quality. Instead I feel judged, I feel looked down upon, laughed at. Maybe what I feel is just a lack of respect for anything I do. It’s like its all flipped. Instead of being satisfied with an accomplishment, it seems like the only dialog is when I didn’t do something or did it wrong. It’s an isolating feeling.
And then the questions come. What should I do? The first thing that comes to mind is therapy of some kind, but the red tape involved literally deflates me. I stopped trusting doctors, psychologists and psychiatrists. I no longer feel they can help me, and tend to lean towards the likelihood of them trying to hurt me in some way. No, I don’t want more medication, invasive procedures, checking off some numbers on a chart that translate to a depression score that dictates how many milligrams of antidepressant medication I need. It’s a joke to me. I know I’m in a transition right now. I’ve been working blindly towards wrapping up loose ends this November. I have had to put everything to the side. All my energy has gone to getting the job done. Now that’s over, and I feel like a shell of a person.
Every time I get ahead, I feel like I sink right back down to where I was. I need to stop eating all the junk food, lord only knows how much weight I’ve gained this year. It’s not going in a good direction. But instead of being inspired to change I only feel listlessness. It’s just all a big pile of I don’t cares. Given up on the makeup, the salon visits, the nice clothes, even jewelry and hairdos seem pointless. I want to come back to myself, where I could spend time walking in the forest and feeling better about the world, but it’s as if I just broke something inside myself and I don’t know how to fix it.
And I don’t know if I’m delusional, but I feel that it is something that no doctor is going to be able to help me with or tell me anything I don’t know. The reality is that no one cares. The reality is that you are responsible for yourself, and talking to someone about problems that have no solution isn’t really helping anybody. Oh, if I say I’m going to kill myself, then suddenly people spring to action and are willing to do anything to help. Otherwise, you’re on your own and need to figure it out. Because that is where you end up at the end of the day. You’re going to have to walk this road alone. No one can do any of it for you. Medication and therapy aren’t going to fix your depression and apathy alone, nor get you to stop stuffing your face with junk food. Somehow you have to find the strength to make these changes yourself. And after one too many times trying to heal yourself, coming so close and then losing everything again and again, you get worn down. You start struggling to see the point. How long have you been feeling this way, the doctor might ask. I don’t know, years?
Now we’re going into a week of even darker days, pummeling down into a few hours of sunlight a day until it peaks at the end of December. It’s supposed to rain all week, which is always a real energy boost (it’s not.)
So, here I am trying to write a journal again. It seems like a start, to something. Maybe it might help? I have no idea. Maybe it feels like something, and then that is something I can do. Instead of what I can do. Feeling like every moment of the day is focused on what I can’t, and what I failed to do. Maybe this is how everyone feels, and I’m a big baby. I don’t know how to figure that out. I struggle to find a way to enjoy much of anything. And if I do enjoy it, it is in all likelihood something very bad for me: playing hours of video games, laying on the couch watching movies, eating junk food.
It feels like there is no middle ground-either you go on a diet and watch your weight and work out and you’re just dandy, or you don’t do those things, and then start doing the video games-watching movies-junk food scenario. And there is something in me after 20 odd years of weight issues that feels exhausted, that I don’t have what it takes anymore, and even worse, that I struggle to even care. I see people heavier than me and think instinctively, that is where I’m headed. But nevertheless I can’t really stop myself from my path. So that brings us to life. Just an endless fight, every day. Not enough money, self hatred, lack of discipline, manic hormones in pre-menopause and a homebound lifestyle with no real purpose, motivation or drive. And despite that, what I truly feel called towards, volunteering, is so mentally and physically taxing for me with my sensory issues that I don’t know how to solve it. Maybe that’s the start. Maybe I should try it again, and not give up. There might be a way to give something. It’s just tough when I feel like I have to take care of myself first before I have anything to give to anyone else. That’s what everyone says, I guess?
For example, one of the big things I’ve wanted to do is donate my time on Christmas to people who need food and company. I’ve wanted to do this for many years, because I really don’t care about Christmas myself (although I don’t share that with anyone, because I want everyone else to enjoy themselves, and I do love seeing everyone together and happy.) But with younger kids in the extended family it has never been possible, logistically. Another thing I want to involve myself in is helping those in prison, in general but also during Christmas, if there was something specific I could do. I recently got a reply to a letter I wrote to an inmate on death row, who wrote telling me about the fact he had been pardoned and was now serving a life sentence. That was incredible news. I’m looking forward to writing him back, and hopefully make him feel like he has a friend. I would definitely like to do more but committing to a pen pal is a big deal and not one I take lightly. I do feel that I need to take it slow and use my energy wisely.
Okay, so as I wrap this up, I am surprised to make the following observations:
1. I feel better
2. I got a few ideas about the whole volunteering thing
See, journaling is much better and cheaper than therapy and drugs!
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