I am ashamed. I stopped taking my medication and seeing my therapist in September. Part of me wants to go back. But, I don’t want to face them again. I am ashamed of the disappointments and events that have transpired in these past few months. I feel like hiding from the world. I feel like a disappointment.
Things aren’t going so well in my job. My bosses are out to get me and the climate of my workplace is toxic. I got my hopes up and I received a great job offer with a Fortune 500 company. I went to three interviews, did a test, and they even comped my trip to another city to meet me in person. My hopes were very high and I finally felt like things were turning around for me. I felt hope. I felt like I would finally be a somebody. They informed me that I got the job. Then, out of nowhere, they sent me a generated email and informed me that they were no longer interested in hiring me. There was no explanation and they don’t seem very interested in making contact with me. I was devastated–I am devastated.
It’s been a week since I found out and I feel helpless.
I feel like I am running out of opportunities. I feel worthless and my confidence has been diminished…
I was raised to act with poise and to always keep a smiling face. I try to make my life appear much happier than it was. What I don’t talk about, is the emotional abuse I endured from my family over the years. I am admitting it. My husband always reassures me that I am not a punching bag for the world. But, this is how I feel. It’s been so long since I’ve had a break. I don’t know how I can keep going on sometimes.
The video below kept me going tonight. I almost didn’t watch it after the first bit. But, I’m glad I did. It’s a wordless skit, depicting a person who has turned away from God and let life’s temptations get a hold of her. It doesn’t matter what one’s religious background is. I think many people will be able to relate to this video. We cannot give up hope and I try to keep hoping for better things.
I’m feeling slightly better today. I say “slightly” because I keep having these terrible mood swings. They seem to be more frequent at night when I have a quiet moment to myself. It’s frustrating and I’m thinking of taking one of my Ambien tonight to help me get to sleep…
Moving on…I’m considering turning in an official resignation letter tomorrow. I mean, let’s face it, I’ve been miserable with this new job since day one. I hate to keep bouncing from job to job, but I need to take care of myself.
Did I mention that I expressed to my boss that I was thinking of resigning? Yes, I told her a couple of weeks ago and I got a raise. Nonetheless, I’m still thinking of leaving. It’s nice to have extra cash. However, I wonder if this is the time when I should take a stand and leave a situation that is making me unhappy. Maybe it’s a test??? I don’t know what to do and my husband tells me that I should leave if it’s making me so miserable. *sigh*… Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the problem–not the job.
Obviously, I am part the problem. I can’t begin to explain how frustrating it is to feel like this. People don’t understand that I can’t just stop the mood swings and be happy. I look back a few months, when I first got out of the hospital, and I was so happy. It was the most wonderful feeling and I would love to be back in that place. Hmm…maybe being off of my medication and not going to therapy has caused me to drift back to where I am now? I know it’s part of the reason, but I’m still in denial.
This is what depression does… Once it takes hold, it doesn’t let go easily.
I thought I was getting better; but, all of my emotions feel so fake. I’m pulling away from every one. Yet, I act like everything is okay. I still talk to my friends, go out, and do all of the things a normal person should be doing. Inside, I feel empty. I’ve become a robot and I don’t know what to do. I just want to cry. But, the tears won’t come. I don’t know what’s wrong or why I’m feeling this way. I’m so tired of this.
I’m tired of it all… It all hurts. It hurts so much.
I’ve been very busy this week. It’s been sort of a tough transition for me to go from not working for a full three months to getting up early every morning and having a full day of work. I like my new job; however, I’m hating the reality of it. I’m not sure if that makes any sense. Anyway, I feel like I was sort of cheated and roped into accepting this position. I work a full eight hours and we don’t really have time for breaks. I only get about 10-15 minutes to sit down and quickly eat my lunch. In between that eating, if the phone rings, or someone asks me to do something, I have to do it. I really feel like this is something they should have made more clear to me. It upsets me and I don’t know if I just need to stop complaining and accept it. I feel like I don’t have an understanding of “the real world”… I should get over it and stop complaining…
In other news, I have been so emotional lately. I still haven’t gotten around to taking my medicine or even calling in my prescriptions. So, as I sit and type this, I will call in every single one of my prescriptions. I will have my husband pick them up and then I will force myself to take them. Well, just my luck… The line is busy.
Back to me being emotional… My emotions have been all over the place. At times, suicidal thoughts pop into my head. At other times, like when I’m at work, I am bubbly and I don’t feel like I’m faking it.
I haven’t seen my therapist, psychiatrist, or gotten my thyroid checked out like I’m supposed to. I keep making excuses for myself and I don’t know why. I feel so tired… I’m avoiding phone calls, people, everything… I don’t know what has me so afraid.
I’m starting to feel a lot better these days. My doctor increased the dosage of my medication and I’m starting to see the effects on my mood.
So often when I was depressed, thoughts of suicide would pop into my mind. But, I knew it was my depression that was making me feel that way and not my destiny. My faith in Christ and my past experiences with depression, left me with a sense of hope. I knew that things would get better.
I still haven’t gone back to work. I still have a messy laundry room. I still have few friends that I can open up to. But, I have hope for better things. I am a better person after getting out of the hospital and I have found a new path in life.
This month has brought about many changes in my outlook on life and my lifestyle. It was only a few months ago, that I was working long hours at a job that I hated. I lived a very sinful lifestyle and didn’t think much about God or my future. It seems so trite. Many times people reach out to God in times of trouble. I have been dealing with my mental illness for a little over 11 years now. I never reached out to God during those times. I thought, “How can I be sure that God loves me when I feel this way. Shouldn’t he be pulling me out of this depression and blessing me with great things such as money and happiness?”
That kind of thinking acts as a toxin. It did in my case, at least. I’ve learned that there will be many dark times. It’s not God’s way of punishing me or abandoning me, but we all have a path that he has ordained for each and every one of us and there will be times when we don’t understand.
I quit my job, went to the psychiatric hospital, and changed my lifestyle all in one month. At first, I felt a new zest for life. I adopted positive thinking and even with all of that positive thinking, I fell into a deep depression. The sun would shine brightly yet, I felt encompassed in darkness.
Things are starting to look up. I feel happier and motivated. My husband, who is in the military, is thinking about training for a new career field. I feel like good things are about to start happening in our lives. We may not become richer, but we will be happier.
For once, I have the desire to start a family. I grew up in a very critical environment and my parents were not the most nurturing. I always had the fear in the back of my mind that I would treat my children the same way that I was treated. I rejected the idea of starting a family. I rejected the idea of nurturing someone else and shaping them with my beliefs and world view.
I am loving life right now. I am loving my life. Even though I am still jobless and tight for money, I am loving my life.
I walked into therapy today, nervous and shaken. I had gotten into a rather trivial argument with my husband before I left. Nevertheless, arguments–even trivial ones–always seem to put me a little on edge.
I brought my homework, which consisted of my journal entries here.
Every time I walk into that room, it makes me think of Alice and Wonderland. There is a checkered couch–blue and white. It has a throw on it that someone’s grandmother probably made, and these dark blue pillows in some faux denim material. To the right of the couch is an old, white built-in bookcase. It has books, of course, as well as playing cards, old dolls, and board games.
My therapist is very slim. She has shoulder-length blonde hair and a smile. She looks like Glenda–the good witch.
Anyway, I sat down in my usual spot. I always sit on the right side of the couch and rest on my pillow. I told my therapist, hoping and praying that she wouldn’t ask more about it, that I did my homework. Of course, doing what a therapist does, she asked and I got up the courage to read her my first entry Letter to My Parents.
I was nervous. I hemmed and hahed for a few moments before I read. At first, I kept my composure pretty well. Then, my voice started choking, I felt wetness in my eyes, and then I cried. I cried as I read the letter. I hadn’t reread the letter since I wrote it. All of those old, little girl feelings, that I thought I had gotten rid of, came flowing out in the form of tears.
I’ve been thinking about that moment all day. I don’t think I cried when I wrote that entry. When people ask me about my past, why I quit school, I relate the story to them without emotion.
I want to get that moment back. I felt so comfortable. It was a very selfish moment. For once, my feelings in regard to the way I was raised, were out there. I read the letter as if I were reading it to my parents. I felt a release inside of me. The hurt is still there; however, only slightly.
It was empowering. I am an adult. I do not have to live up to their standards and wishy washy ways anymore. I love them. But, at the same time, I also love myself.
This road has been so bumpy. At times, I feel as if I don’t know where I’m heading to next. I’m learning to love myself, however. I learning to love me. I am not perfect and I never will be. Logically, I’ve known that for so long. But, now I can really admit it to myself. I can admit it to the part of me that withdraws and is afraid to cry or have negative feelings.
I am not perfect. Flaws, quirks, this cackling laugh–it’s all me.
I can love myself. I can and I will. I’m already starting.
When I first moved back to the states, my family settled in a sleepy suburban neighborhood. My house was the epitome of Southern charm and hand a beautiful wrap around porch. I felt comfortable and safe. We rarely used both of the locks on our doors and I would sleep with my window open on those hot, summer nights.
I don’t remember much from that night. I think I dissociated.
Anyway, I woke up and heard someone calling my name. It was him. We’d been dating for a few weeks and I remember feeling sort of an excitement swell up in me. It was like Romeo and Juliet. My Romeo had come to my open window. Finally, someone who loved me.
That’s where my memory turns into dust. There is a gap and my next memory is of me sitting up on my bed. He locked eyes with me as he pulled up his pants. Then, he disappeared. My Romeo left the same way he came in. He didn’t say goodbye.
I cried.
I didn’t want it. I didn’t want it to happen. Was it all a dream? I felt like I was in a haze. I wasn’t sure what had happened. I didn’t want to believe. I didn’t want to know. I wanted it all to go away. I wanted it to be a dream. I couldn’t admit it. Was there really anything to admit?
At school, I would see him sometimes and he would just smile this sickening smile. We didn’t talk anymore. It was as if we had both fallen off of the face of the earth and came back–like some weird sci-fi movie. You write the plot.
In my heart, I knew that I had been raped. But, logically, I couldn’t stop playing devil’s advocate. You didn’t scream? Your parents were down the hall. You let him think it was okay. You kissed him. You invited him in your room. What did you think was going to happen? You can’t even remember. How do you know it’s not what you wanted? Can you be sure?
So now, when people ask me if I’ve ever experienced any type of sexual abuse I deny it. How can I condemn someone when I don’t even remember what happened? How can I not blame myself?
I was a stupid, stupid girl. I was so stupid. I was so stupid!
I am so ashamed. Sometimes, I scrub my skin. I scrub my skin until it hurts. I lie underneath the shower and let the water cover my face. I want to disappear. I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t know what happened. I’m not even sure if I want to know.
There are so many gaps. I can’t look at pictures, I can’t watch home videos…it makes me sick to my stomach. I see my face, but I don’t recognize myself. I hear stories from family and friends and pretend to remember.
I’m tired of this. I’m tired of this emotional roller coaster. I’m tired of feeling like I’m hanging from a thread.
Maybe I don’t need my memory back. Maybe there’s a reason I’ve blocked so many things out.
How can I live my life, when I’ve forgotten so much of it? How can I not blame myself?
I feel like I need to move on. I don’t know why I let this bother me so much, when I don’t even remember the details. Why is this still haunting me? Why do I carry this with me? Why can’t I just get over it?
