Maybe-Someday.com

Posted on October 14th, 2009 at 1:05am

There has been a lot going on lately, and as much as I want to talk all about it and pour my little guts out right here, I don’t think the time is right.

I’ve spent too many nights lately on the verge of tears, and curled up in bed. Wanting to put an end to the night, so I crawl into bed at 10, or earlier. It hasn’t pretty. I put down a bottle and a half of wine Saturday night, all by my lonesome, and it was probably the best night of the weekend. Up until 2am watching House and making grilled cheese sandwiches.

This time around I’ve been mostly pretty transparent with my depression. I usually try my best to keep it under wraps, save for a stray emo tweet or two that manages to escape. But this time, I’ve been pretty up front about it. People’s reactions have been varied, but I tend to be getting a lot of “You’re so wonderful.”

And this may be one of the most fucked up things I’ve ever said, but I’m sick to death of being told I’m wonderful. The root of all of this depression is coming from a place that screams at me “you are not good enough,” and when I come face to face with people telling me I’m wonderful… not only do I just not believe it, but it’s starting to feel cheap. I’m tired of just being told, that I’m a good person, that things will turn around for me, that I deserve better… After so long, they just become words. If I’m really so wonderful, things would be better for me. If I deserved better, things would be better. It’s so easy to say a few pretty words and move on.

I’ve been giving a lot of thought about therapy. But, really… I’ve lost my faith in that. I grew up in that age when everyone was being prescribed some kind of anti-depressant, or other behavioral drug, so maybe I’ve just been tricked into believing it. But I think my answer may actually be drugs. That this depression, while sparked from legitimate events in my life, is hitting me far more extremely than it ought to because of deficiencies in my brain. And I don’t believe any amount of “so how does that make you feel?” will fix anything.

But then my next problem is that I’m just so fucking god dammed lazy, that I’ll never make the effort to make an appointment anywhere, regardless of if I think it’s the right move or not. I also think there’s a bit of a pride element here, too. I wonder if I’m just too fucking proud to get help. I’m fully aware it makes no sense to say that in the middle of a public journal entry where I whine and bitch about crying in bed.

Something needs to change. I don’t know what. So change something. But I can’t. And I don’t know why. I’m lazy, and I’m scared. And I hate change, even when it’s for the better. Even when I know it’s for the better. I can’t… make myself do it. I can barely make myself do things I want to do. A productive night for me anymore is watching a Netflix movie. I get a sense of accomplishment from that?

And then words like failure and pathetic swarm in my brain. And this goes on and on. And on. And then I run to bed because it’s the only way I can shut off my brain.

Something’s gotta give.

Goodnight Moon.