October 24th, 2014 (The Really Bad Night)

Anyone who regularly reads my little posts on this godforsaken teen blog might remember that really horrible on-the-verge-of-death post I made back in late October. The night of the culmination of a month’s worth of heavy depressive episodes. I posted about it (Do Not Read This Post) and that night will probably stick with me for many years.

That was the first night in 5 years that I wanted to kill myself. I wanted more than anything to be dead. I’m okay now, so why am I bringing it back up? Why revisit such a horrible experience?

Because I went to someone for help on that night, someone who did, in the end, did help. There is something that everyone needs to know, though, that the human who helped me did rather wrong: Do not divert your attention from a person seeking help or comfort.

I know you want to make them feel better and that maybe this thing will make them feel better, but turning your attention away makes them think that they are not worth it. Those depressive thoughts will hit harder you are not worth their time. You will never earn their love. This other thing is more important than you. Because that is exactly how I felt and how several others with depression have told me about feeling in the presence of someone they went to help for. If a person comes to you and they request your love, there is a reason they picked you and came to you and not someone else.

Do not get distracted. If you cannot deal with them or their situation, tell them straight up. Tell them you can’t do it, that you don’t know how, that you aren’t comfortable. They will find someone to help them. I could have gone to another friend. I could have found someone else. But I chose someone in particular and they spent most of the time I was there goofing around with their music.

Know what that felt like? Like my problem was no big deal. Like they didn’t care. Like I was just being stupid.

A big part of me wanted to get off the couch, put on my shoes, and slam the door closed behind me. I wanted to drive my stepmom’s van off the road. Then maybe somebody would care. But I didn’t. I sat there and smiled and faked like I was feeling better because that’s the kind of person I am.

They didn’t want me there in the first place, I should have gone somewhere else for comfort. But I want anyone who cares to know: if you can handle a person having a major depressive breakdown or episode and they come to you seeking affection or care or comfort or whatever: give it with all of your attention. Do not lose focus. Do not allow them to believe that they are unimportant in any way. You are the people who will save lives and impact that person forever.

Somewhere in London

Do you see this? Do you see him, hands in his pockets, coat and jeans, looking like any normal college student on their campus? Do you see how he belongs there? I’m not going to lie, I saw this picture and smiled…while simultaneously panicking.

There is a fact I’ve been facing for a long time: Daniel is probably not going to be mine forever.

We can say it as many times as we want, and we can promise to try long-distance, but Daniel is too free of a spirit. Sure, there are many things that we want to do together that we are completely compatible for, but once they are finished…where would we stand? Let’s say we make it through a year of college and travel a little piece of Europe and see some art and eat some food? Then what? What if our futures don’t line up?

This picture just punched me hard in the gut with the closeness of our potential impending goodbyes. It’s been nearly 10 months with him and I don’t know what I’m going to do without seeing him every day. There are nights when he is the thing I cling to the most. He is the most understanding human I have ever known and the only one I have loved this fiercely and this purely. Daniel is so amazing.

He has seen me at my literal wanting-to-die depressive worst and my this-is-fucking-awesome beautiful best. And he has made me feel important and special no matter what the circumstances. I try so hard to do for him the wonders that he does for me. Losing him will be so hard, but inevitable. If we manage to make it out of college alive, if we can even keep it together for that long, I will thank whatever deity exists with all my heart and soul.

So for now, as he travels home to me again, and he spends the night safe in his bed down the road, I will be happy that he is close. But also scared that soon, too soon, he might be very far away again.

The Story of How I Almost Died

So that was a dramatic way of putting the fact I’ve now officially shopped at Victoria’s Secret! It was terrifying, though, I’m not going to lie.

I walked in once, thinking that it was one place I might as well try. I ended up walking through every store in the mall and comparing bra and underwear prices and quality before just showing back up at Victoria’s Secret. They were having a sale and all their really cute panties (which are surprisingly high quality, I discovered) were around three dollars each. Their bras were also two for the price of one. How could I shop anywhere else?

I, being the violently awkward person that I am, had no clue what bra size I was. I’ve had the same five or six of them for years. The ladies who worked there were super helpful, even showing me around and helping me pick out the most comfortable styles. It wasn’t close to closing time, either, so they weren’t trying to get me out of there quickly. They legitimately helped me out as I awkwardly inspected underwear I wouldn’t dream of wearing in real life.

But somehow I ended up walking out with quite a lot for not a lot of money. It was wonderful.

Now I’m an adult, with real adult underwear. I’m pretty proud of myself. Helpful people deserve more credit, because an experience I was absolutely dreading actually ended up scoring me a new favorite store.

Into the Wild…and Out Again

There’s a movie my boyfriend really likes called Into the Wild and I don’t understand why. I’ve read the plot summation and it sounds terrible. The ending is so sad…why? Why do humans do that to themselves? Why do we like sad endings? Life is sad enough as it is.

He doesn’t understand why I only love happy endings, or at least I don’t think he understands. I need happy endings. I need someone to look at me and tell me the world is beautiful and love exists and good people are out there. I know it’s true, that these things happen, but we don’t see it very often in our society. There must be some deep psychological meaning for me, personally, but maybe it’s just loving the rush of happiness when two people kiss at the end of a film, or the family is reunited, or the war ends or the hero lives.

I don’t know.

I have major depression. I come from a broken family with two very different households. Sure, I’m a first-world white girl, but that doesn’t instantly make everything in my life perfect. This blog has honestly kept me alive when I didn’t want to keep going. First-world white girl problems can happen and be just as bad as anything else. I only know my own pain, my own experiences. Putting myself on a level with someone else isn’t going to help me get better.

So I need those happy endings. They make the world a bright, beautiful place. I want one of my own someday. So when he asks me if I’ll watch Into the Wild with him, as he has done before, I’m sure I’ll say yes. Not because I want to see another sad situation in life, but because I love him. And guess what love is? A happy ending.

How I beat my depression this morning

Today was not going to be a good day when I first woke up. I felt down, sad, that hopeless nagging feeling of never-ending apathy and hollowness that rests in my chest cavity as it does almost every day at some point. Depression! Yay!

But then I decided that I was not going to have an episode today. Nope. So I did what I haven’t done in a long time. I went into the bottom drawer of my dresser and removed something I haven’t even seen in what feels like months: the cutest bra I own. It’s pink and purple striped with a little bow in the middle and I love it!

So then I put that on along with my softest sweater and the high-waisted pants that generally make Daniel a little more appreciative (wink wink) and my knee-high Victorian style boots.

No way in hell I was gonna feel sad when I felt so good about myself. That’s my way of feeling better on a bad day. Sure, at some point I’ll probably feel down. IT’s bound to happen because my internal chemistry said so, but at least I’ll feel good about myself and know that I am loved. `

The Problems with Personal Space

I ‘adopted’ a guy in my theatre class. He’s had some issues and I’ve been there and I thought I could help him out. I was the one person he clung to when he was at his lowest and there is nothing I love more than loving people and making them feel accepted and special. I want to help, always.

But he has this issue: he’s very touchy. On the verge of, if not definitely, gropey.

I was at the homecoming dance with Daniel (of course) and I was standing there, swaying back and forth, when a mysterious figure came up behind me and started grinding rather suggestively against me. Now, if you’ve ever been sexually assaulted, you know how terrifying it is to be in close quarters with an unknown person touching you in a way you don’t want them to. Or really just an unknown person touching you at all. Flashbacks, sudden shallow breathing, and even full-blown panic attacks can occur. Luckily I shoved the person away and reached for Daniel (who automatically hugged me). “Get off!” I said, turning to see who it was.

Lo and behold, it was the guy I’ve done so much to help out.

The upsetting part is that before this, I told him not to touch me without a warning. I am very jumpy about sudden contact and since he looks sort of like my previous ‘attacker’ it was REALLY important that he warn me because it’s just nerve wracking. At the football game we friend-cuddled under a blanket, and even then he tried to grab my butt (I stopped using the blanket after that and stood by myself). He is very much aware of my situation and of my relationship with Daniel. I don’t know why he won’t respect me! I did everything to help him recover, and he’s returning the favor with disrespect and partial panic-attacks. Luckily Daniel is almost always nearby when stuff with this kid happens.

But he shouldn’t have to be. This guy should know better and it’s REALLY pissing me off because Daniel doesn’t understand what goes on in my head when this kid touches me. To him, I feel like I’m just being melodramatic about the whole thing. It’s scary! It’s terrifying! I am an affectionate person with the right people. It’s just sad and annoying, that’s all.

Dealing with Depression and Anxiety

I live in a teenage world where depression and anxiety are romanticized, mostly by the Tumblr/fanfiction community. But as a teenager who has been diagnosed with depression since age 11 and anxiety since age 9, I really have those things, even if my friends don’t believe me. 

I am out-going. I am extroverted and I love people. I love people within certain boundaries. In theatre I can deal with people because I am not myself. I am playing someone else and I can handle the crowds and the stage and the nerves because I’m not Jane, I’m in character. With my friends who I am close with I can act completely normal and function for long periods of time without having to worry about any sort of attack anxiety-wise.

But working retail for 20 plus hours a week? Talking to customers, asking if they need help, need a dressing room, need a bin, need me to hold anything, need a specific item, if they’re finding everything alright, if they need a manager…that is stressful. I get upset, nauseous, angry, and sometimes even panicky or nervous. I come home from work feeling as tight as piano strings and cranky. I get on the phone with Daniel and I feel horrible. Sometimes I cry. It happens. 

Sometimes I get depressed. I have days where I want to wear jeans and one of Dan’s sweatshirts and just curl up and not exist as a human. How do I explain to my friends and boyfriend that I am just having a down day when I’m usually so bubbly and bright and silly? Depression doesn’t mean anything anymore because of the internet. I feel this crushing, worrying feeling (which is why I’m up at one in the morning blogging about it instead of sleeping) and feel even worse.

I feel bad because I am depressed. I feel like a bad girlfriend when I want to borrow Daniel’s sweatshirt because his scent calms me down and makes me feel safe. I feel like a bad girlfriend when I want him to hold me and kiss me because I know he has other things to do and might not have time for me. I rationalize my own depression symptoms with I’m being selfish. Or I’m just a bitchy girlfriend. 

It’s why I apologize to him constantly. My friends I feel less bad about because we all have bad days and sometimes they don’t want to talk either and that’s cool. But the person I kiss and hug? I need extra kisses and hugs sometimes. I need to borrow clothes. I need to be held and told that I’m going to be okay. Daniel is really good at picking up on most of my nonverbal depressive cues and I’m super grateful for him and to him for that, but I hope that he understands: I am depressed. It happens. It’s not all the time but it does happen. 

And I’m sorry…but should I have to be?

How much longer until I collapse?

My mom is really, really sick. But it’s been so long, a year, and I’m losing pity. I feel compassion and I hurt for my mom, and her pain. All I want is for her to get better so she can enjoy life again. But at the same time, she’s not making it easy to feel bad for her.

Because it’s hard for her she makes it hard on EVERYBODY. She’s on a special self-diagnosed diet, so she constantly complains about all the food she can’t eat. It’s really hard to eat when the person sitting across from you is moaning about how badly she wishes she could have the same dinner. It makes you sad, guilty, unable to swallow the suddenly-cement piece of chicken in your sorry throat. 

It stresses you out and your back hurts and your shoulders slump from carrying the weight of your world and all she can snap is, “Shoulders up! You walk like a hunchback!” And you sigh and carry on, shoulders back, because if you don’t she’ll only give you more hell. 

And on top if it all, taking a college class that’s tough and stressful but working so hard for the good grades you’re receiving. And the online class, which you have to keep track of yourself and make sure that you don’t get behind on so you can succeed and pass with good marks. Come home from school, do all your chores and your homework in record time, and collapse into bed. Only to get asked to get up again and make dinner for your ungrateful, whiny little brother because your mother is too sick to get out of bed and apparently, though he is a young adult, he cannot do so himself.

I know other people in the world have it much harder than I do, but you have to understand, I’m not them! I only know the stress that I feel in my own situation. It’s killing me, slowly, and I don’t want to sink under the weight of it all. God, help me, I’m not sure how much more I can take until I collapse.

“Sometimes I think we just need to be held.”

My boyfriend and I had a mutual revelation last night when we talked on the phone. We decided that the reason depression is such a huge deal in the world, along with stress, anxiety, and anger…is because people aren’t held enough. How often do you simply want someone to wrap their arms around you, hold you close, and tell you that it’s going to be alright? That is the most basic human form of reassurance. All we need sometimes, in the busy rush of the modern world, is to be held and reassured and loved.

Last summer Christian got bronchitis. It was absolutely horrible. I was terrified that it would turn into pneumonia because he was working a summer camp in the kitchen and didn’t have the time to heal or stay out of the hot kitchen/outdoors. So on one of his Saturdays off, he spent the morning on my couch. No one else was around or awake yet, just him and I. I sat down and he laid across my lap and I just wrapped my arms around him. I sang, “You Are My Sunshine” and rocked him back and forth.

To this day, a whole year later, he says that the morning he was sick, in pain, and just being held is one of his all-time favorite memories. What does that say about us as humans? He just needed to know that someone was there, caring for him, and it was alright. 

According to science, the pressure on your muscles from being in a friendly embrace will relax the mind and body, allowing time for you to regenerate. Why do you think couples or good friends hug so much? Because it physically makes you happy. Heck, I love to cuddle because it makes me feel safe! Chemicals released from your brain when you are held closely and in a loving manner tell your body that you are safe and can fully relax, let down your guard, and enjoy your relaxing time. 

Sometimes I think we just need to be held.