I think it is really strange.
Therapy. I think therapy is so strange.
I made it to my first therapy session. It was so hard to make it that past three weeks, but I did it.
I feel like accomplishing that goal might make me a little less suicidal.
Last week I thought seriously about ending it. My roommate was giving me an extremely rough time. Telling me I can’t act however I want and then blame it on depression. Saying I need to not be so angry all the time.
Thanks. If that was possible. I would definitely change just like that.
But it’s really fucking hard.
That is like telling the kid with a broken leg she has to keep playing basketball and can’t use her injury as an excuse to sit on her ass.
I had to leave the house because I was losing it so hard I wanted to kill myself. I was so angry and I couldn’t stop shaking or sobbing. My breathing was irregular. My heart was pounding faster than I have ever felt it before. I have never wanted to kill myself as aggressively as I did that day. The thought usually floats in and out of my mind, but that day I thought it was over.
I made it though. I’m still alive.
The past month has been the hardest. It’s been a downward spiral my whole life and I have finally made it to the tight twists and spins. I feel out of control.
I’m getting really fat. Well, heavier than I have ever been, so I guess it’s not like I’m extremely obese. I used to have anorexia so I was very thin. I got better from that but felt fat, of course. Like we all do who go through that. Now I don’t care. I’ve been eating so much so often. Like I said in past entries, I just want to consume. I’m out of control.
I’m out of control with most things in my life. You can tell by the scattered, non structured blog posts, that I am just not very put together at all.
But let’s talk about therapy now.
I just think it is really funny that people need someone they can talk to with the promise we won’t have to listen to their problems either.
I always try to ask people questions in return, so when the therapist asked, “How was your childhood?” I answered and almost said, “How was yours?”
I mean, usually that’s how you have a conversation with someone. But I am just supposed to talk to this guy. Tell him all my secrets. And I know absolutely nothing about him. I don’t like it. It’s weird.
And he makes me feel stupid. Like I let out all these words at him and he just nods his head ans scribbles on his legal pad. It’s like he isn’t even listening because he doesn’t respond with words when I talk. Or it’s like, “Yeah, uh huh. I’ve heard it before. You’re not the only person in the world who has depression. I don’t really care.”
I don’t like it at all.
But it was just the first session.
He asked if I wanted to see a psychiatrist about getting medication and I told him yes.
I want to be medicated. I think I need to be.
That appointment isn’t until the end of November, then who knows how long it will take before the medicine starts working.
I just want to be normal.
I just want to feel again.
The other night I was leaving work and it was a literal mist.
Rain wasn’t falling. Mist was just floating in the air and it was beautiful and is smelled like fall and the mist touched my face and I actually genuinely smiled. I took a deep breath and there was that fleeting, match like moment where I felt alive. Of course it faded almost instantly, but it was something.
I just want to feel that again.