Depression

There is no doubt in my mind that I am suffering through a depressive episode. I'm not sitting around moping, I'm not sad... I'm not really feeling anything, honestly. I think depression differs from sadness in that most of the time when you're depressed, you're just numb. And I feel numb. (Also anxious, because in less than a week I'll be looking for a new place to live in an entirely new city. I don't move completely until the end of June, but I'm already getting anxiety of both kinds over it.)

This numbness is the hardest emotion to deal with, because it makes me just not care. There is a lot I need to be doing today, and here I am writing a blog because I just don't care enough to say, organize my stuff before I pack it up. It's a beautiful day outside (except for the fact that it's almost 90 and muggy) and I am indoors, feeling nothing.

I hope this goes away soon. I'll force myself to do some stuff, but I really hope I'm out of the doldrums soon.

Guilt

So I've been incredibly depressed for the last few days. I'm guessing the cause is grief. I've lost my best friend, essentially. Dogs, unlike a lot of the people I've experienced, love you unconditionally. I got that from him. I loved him unconditionally, too. And now there's a void... there's still love, but there's this empty pit and it's sucking all of my joy into it. And then there's the guilt. I have so much guilt over putting him down. Even though he was really sick, he still enjoyed life. I could have had more time with him. He was so scared when he was sedated, he didn't know what was going on... that's what hurts me the most.  I feel so guilty for how scary this all must have been for him. I mean we were there, we were comforting him, but still... Fuck. I miss him so much.

Tomorrow is my last day of IOP and I'm not gonna lie I'm looking forward to it being over. I'm going to drop acid with a couple of friends tomorrow night - which is probably a terrible idea given the fact that I'm grieving, but I'll try to make the best of it. I've done a lot of drugs while I've been here. So much so that this should probably be an Alice in Wonderland themed blog (lol that's a theme that totally works, too). I know, I know. Complete irresponsibility. But honestly... I feel like I will for sure be able to cut back when I move. Give it up for awhile. Not forever, since I won't lie... I really enjoy recreational drug use. But until I am on steadier footing. For now, though, this is a thing I have to get out of my system. I feel pretty guilty, but that's the honest truth about it. If I only had a brain I probably wouldn't go the route I'm going, but I do things my way and my way is often not the easiest path.

Another day gone.

I don't really know what to write today. Feeling very depressed, attempting to numb it with movies rather than dope, hah. Watching Gangs of New York because I've never seen it.

I haven't eaten anything all day. Part of me wants dinner and the other part of me (my eating disorder, haha) wants to not eat today. I probably will, just... ugh. sorry. There's not much I feel up to discussing right now. Between IOP and my other therapist, I'm therapied out for the day.

And we're back.

Sorry for the hiatus, folks... had to do the hardest thing I've ever had to do and that was to put my childhood dog to sleep over the weekend. I don't really want to go into details (I was there the whole time), but suffice it to say my grief is pretty profound and I miss him so much already. I tend to be closer to animals than I am to people (they love me unconditionally, after all), and I was exceptionally close to this dog, so this is the hardest loss I've ever experienced. I did get his pawprint tattooed on my foot the evening of, so that's helped a bit, but the thought of going back to my parents' home and him not being there causes me a lot of pain and anxiety.

I did not cope well with his passing. The minute I left my parents' house, I drove to see my weed guy and picked up, and that night I smoked a couple of bowls and drank an entire bottle of cheap chardonnay straight from the bottle. I know I am supposed to be implementing coping mechanisms into my life for things like this... but what about when the pain is too great and you just don't want to feel anymore? I couldn't take spending the evening crying as I'd been crying all day. I just don't think I'm emotionally strong enough at this point to handle such loss on my own.

But last night I spent the night at a former professors' (and now friends) house and sitting on the porch with one of them, smoking weed, I sort of found peace in it. He was telling me about his sister, who had, her whole life, been mousy and quiet and didn't really do much for herself. But after she experienced a profound loss - her husband, in this case - it changed her. She felt like she could do anything. And that's where I'm at. I mean, I'm not over his death, not by a long shot, but being there for him, watching him die, made me think about my own mortality, and my desire to do something, to make it places. And there's so many paths I can take from here. I'm most interested in music right now... I've been writing my own song lyrics/melodies (I can't compose music for shit so I will have to find someone to do that), and would really like to do something with them. My ex-prof thinks I could really go far with it. Hey, at this point, I will take any ego boost I can get.

Laundry day

So since this is an honest blog, I'll be honest with you. Didn't go to treatment this morning. Cold mornings are exceptionally difficult for this less than motivated individual. Today I feel less motivated about it... I average 3-4 days a week going to this thing already. I finish it next friday (so I guess I'll try to go all days next week?). But that seems like so much time. I'm not nervous to get out. I look forward to it, actually. I'm learning some coping tools and haven't really put many to use yet, but I am determined to really work towards my recovery once I move. It's so easy to slip into my old ways here - not leaving my place for days except for quick trips, spend exorbitant amounts of time socializing on the internet rather than going out and seeing friends, occasionally doing drugs... Pretty much everything I shouldn't be doing to be healthy. This is not a healthy place for me. These are not my people.

Anyway, in an effort to be moderately productive in my lapse, I am finally doing laundry. I can't tell you how many days I've been freeballin. Well I have no free pants left now except workout pants (and I've got enough class to not go out in public in them) and thus, it was time. I've got a load in now, and I guess it feels good to get something done today, as minor as it is.

I feel like if people took a cursory look at my life for the past couple of years they would probably think I'm a loser. Some days I think I'm a loser - but that's negative self talk and I have to stop that. The truth is, of course, that this half-life of mine is safe. It's safe to hang out inside all day. It's safe to socialize on the internet. There's safety in a good high. It's not that I'm not a risk taker... I just take all the bad risks. I've put my body in harm's way many a time. But I have a really hard time doing that with my inner person. Not socializing means no ridicule, no rejection. I don't necessarily fear these things nowadays but this is easy and safe and damn, some days I don't care enough to want to change.

It's just one of those IDGAFF days.  I don't give a fucking fuck.

But I guess I care enough to get to my therapist, so... until tomorrow, munchkins.

Day 1

Or 2 if you want to get technical. This is where I talk about how I've been since my last post, blah blah blah, you know the drill.

I'm happy to say that I made it to treatment this morning. It's always a struggle for me to get going before 10 or later, so I guess every morning I manage to drag my ass off of my air mattress in my third floor living space is a small victory for me. That's what it's about at this point - small victories, small accomplishments. It's about all I can do. Unfortunately that's the only small goal I have accomplished yet today - it was supposed to be laundry day (more on that tomorrow, lol) but I got sidetracked, as I am wont to do. Called a psychiatrist in the town I am moving to to see if I could get with her practice  when I move there, but alas, no dice. Oh well. I tried?

This morning in treatment we discussed goal setting. I have lofty, lofty goals for myself. I chuckled (in my head) as the 'instructor' said they should be attainable. I picked a more reasonable goal for myself.

I want, no - NEED to get a dog. I honestly think that having the companionship of a dog would really spring me forward in my recovery. Not only would it provide me with unconditional love (always a good thing) but also an exercise buddy, some structure to my day, and a reason to drag my ass out of the bed in the morning. I'm thinking about a schnauzer or schnauzer mix. Will I name it Toto? No.

Anyway I've just been starving for animal attention lately, which is hard to get through when you get as much emotional solace from animals as I do. Hell when I was growing up, animals were pretty much my only friends. I related better to them than I did to other people. Yeah, I was a weird kid. Anyway I am hoping to have a canine companion within the next couple of months, really once I get settled in at my new place. Hopefully I can find a room in an apartment that would be cool with me adopting one!

Tonight I am anticipating a fun evening. Seeing friends... it's a good thing. I should do more of it...

PS. Wanted to thank you all for your kind words on my last post. I love and miss all of you.

Call me Dorothy.

I know, it's not my real name. I'm not going to post that here because I have relatives that occasionally snoop around the internet and honestly I'm not too keen on them reading this at this point in my life.

Anyway, hi. For all intents and purposes, my name is Dorothy. I hail from a town in the midwest and I am in my early-mid twenties. I love small, scruffy dogs and  I consider myself an artist, mostly in acting and singing, though I also love writing, drawing... anything that involves creating, really. It is my dream to pursue a career as an artist. I have a lot of talent to offer. However...

I am nowhere near a place in my life where I can be successful. I am lost in the strange, frightening world of mental illness.


The past year and a half of my life - really 2 years, since I graduated college - have been one hellish shitstorm. A giant tornado, if you will. It swept me off of my feet and caught me up in a vicious, violent downward spiral until I finally snapped and was planted face first into a strange world full of supportive individuals whom I quickly befriended. Yeah. I went to rehab. I healed a lot there. I was so broken when I went in, from a whole lifetime of verbal and emotional abuse, childhood trauma (nothing comparatively serious, but enough to really affect me), isolation and extreme self hatred. While I was at rehab, I experienced the feeling of self love, like, really felt it, for the very first time in my entire life. I felt safe, secure. I had friends who I connected to on an incredibly deep level. I was spiritually refreshed, confident, and keen on moving forward with my life.

Then I left. I came back to the gray, chilly rain of the midwest where I grew up and it's all gone to shit. I feel like I've lost my only healthy support system. I isolate again, I dwell on the negatives, I feel so hopeless here. I'm in limbo - just here to go to treatment M-F which provides a shell of the experience that rehab did - and then I'm moving (but more on that later). I'm learning coping mechanisms and new ways of thinking but I skipped it this morning because I just felt so fucking lousy. Which made me feel even lousier. So I said to myself, "Dorothy. You gotta hold yourself accountable for once." So, like I have my entire life, I turned to the internet. That's a viable support system, right? You gotta get it where you can...

So from here, I have to just follow the yellow brick road, I guess. More like the HELL-ow brick road. It's not going to be a cakewalk. My 'shadow' is one powerful motherfucker. And I am not really into the 12 step thing. It's just one step at a time down this banana-colored bitch. I'll need to pick up some friends, of course. Some smarts, some love, some courage and determination. Also a little scruffy dog. With all that in tow maybe I can make it to the emerald city of health and sunshine and puppies and success. Yeah. That would be swell. I guess we'll see.

PS. I know this was super hokey... trust me it will be much more normal in the future. I intend to use this blog to honestly document my dealing with and recovery from bipolar II disorder - and to also reach out to people also struggling with their mental illnesses but maybe don't know where to go from rock bottom. I guarantee you I will have lapses so you may experience disappointment, disgust, and disenfranchisement. But maybe it'll be an entertaining read, at the very least!