So I lied. Once again, I made a quasi-hasty decision that I came to think better of. So, at least for now, I'm back.
There're other reasons, too. Like, I know there are people who read this who never comment and don't e-mail but still like to have at least a vague notion regarding what's currently going on in my life. Among other things. But I digress.
Main reason I'm writing is, I finally opened up about all my issues--a lot of which I didn't even realise were problems until 2 weeks ago (ish)--to my psychiatrist. One would naturally assume that this revelation and newfound honesty is a step in the right direction. However, all of my afore-mentioned issues apparently concerned my doc, because he's sending me to a clinical psychologist for some tests. Multiple tests. Psych tests. Tests they don't administer to someone who's merely suffering from long-term depression. I'm a bit worried, honestly, because I'm not sure what they'll find. I've gone through enough, trying to find a cure or a treatment or whatever you want to call it for depression, and none of it has worked; nothing has done anything more than slow down the mood swings from minutes to an hour or two. If there's something else, something worse, so to speak, I don't know how I'll take the news; with the lack of response to all manner of treatments for depression, lord only knows how poorly I'll respond to treatments for anything else.
For example. The most effective drug I have ever been placed on did not help me. This was a few weeks ago, actually. The med in question was supposed to boost the effectiveness of the other meds I'm already taking. Instead, it made me hear things. Things like people singing in my living room at two a.m. Things like hearing conversations in my bedroom when no one was in there, except me. Things like hearing my ceiling fan read aloud whatever I was currently reading. Not good. FYI, I'm not taking it anymore. It was an interesting experience, though; I'd never hallucinated before. There's a first time for everything, right?
Another example. Back when we thought it was just depression, my doctor was still concerned about my lack of response to any and all treatments. We're kind of running out of options. He suggested an almost-last-resort tactic, that has been around for ten years and, while approved everywhere else, is not approved by the FDA yet. Now, before anybody goes freaking out about this, the FDA approved aspirin, and hasn't approved the most effective menstrual cramp reliever I've ever had. But you probably didn't want to know that, so back to the point. Anyway, the treatment in question has a very high success rate (more than twice that of meds and/or therapy) without side effects of any kind. Too good to be true, right? Well, here's the catch: since it's not FDA approved, our insurance won't cover it. We can't afford it, we don't have the kind of money it would take to do the procedure. If it's approved within the next year or so, we'll do it; but otherwise, it's a no-go. Which sucks, because I'm getting desperate. Other than that, there's only one other option, and that's electroshock therapy. It's messy, it's painful, it's expensive, and the side effects are horrific. But it works. At this point, I'd do just about anything...
I go in for the tests on Wednesday. I don't know what to expect, or what will happen. I just hope, and pray (even though I don't really pray much anymore), that these tests will show what it is that's wrong with me, and maybe even how to fix it.
30.6.06
Halogen, the lights will flicker/Incandescent burning lies
You know what? I'm done. I've royally screwed over the kindest person I've ever known--and I've done it more than once. And if I'm forgiven, it will probably happen again. I don't want it to, but I'm not exactly in control a good percentage of the time. That, and when it comes right down to the point, I'm not capable of the kind of love required for the whole thing. Probably never will be. The deeper positive emotions, I've found, are 100% elusive, no matter how much I strive to reach them; they're always just beyond my grasp. So in consequence, those who are capable of reaching and feeling those emotions--especially deep, enduring love--scare me. Especially when those emotions are directed towards me, both because it makes me feel like a failure and because I can't reciprocate, no matter how much I want to.
My capacity to really love someone died six years ago, and I've never been able to resurrect it. And what is life without love? It's hell. It really is. The Apostle Paul wasn't kidding when he said that the greatest thing of all was love.
This will be my last blog post. I'm sick of sharing my feelings with every person to ever browse the internet. If you want to know what's going on with me, from now on, you'll have to write me.
It's been a mediocre experience,
Winter.
My capacity to really love someone died six years ago, and I've never been able to resurrect it. And what is life without love? It's hell. It really is. The Apostle Paul wasn't kidding when he said that the greatest thing of all was love.
This will be my last blog post. I'm sick of sharing my feelings with every person to ever browse the internet. If you want to know what's going on with me, from now on, you'll have to write me.
It's been a mediocre experience,
Winter.
12.6.06
This is the way the world ends:/Not with a bang, but a whimper.
I've been here less than a week and I already hate it here. I keep forgetting how many awful memories this place holds. At least I haven't gotten sick...yet.
I'm trying to work up the courage to tell my mom just how much I resent the way I grew up, how much I hate it, hate thinking about it, hate everything that has anything remotely to do with it. But how do you tell your parents that it was most likely their profession (not just any profession, but serving God) that screwed you up so badly in the first place? That it was their profession that made you pretty much turn away from religion, faith, and God? That you hate and resent just about everything they've worked for?
You can't.
So I suck it up, and bite my tongue, and move on to another topic of conversation every time it comes to mind. I can't help but think, though, that maybe getting it all off my chest--to them, not to a faceless journal or a blog nobody reads--would help, at least somewhat. Somehow, though, I don't think so.
Which is bad, because I've come to realise something very important (and very bad), that was confirmed only a couple of days ago by my mom: this is my life. I will most likely never be able to function properly without massive doses of meds and weekly therapy. The sun, when visible, will burn my skin and sear my eyes; the only silver linings will be from flashlights silhouetting something. My best days will be ones I don't think of suicide, self-harm, or relative worthlessness. Thus far, I haven't had one--not a single effing one--in nine years.
Nine years. Not a long time, by most measurements, but when you're only twenty-one, that's a hell of a long time to be staring into the darkness. Even now, when I'm doing so much better than I was even two weeks ago, it's there, and there's so little holding me back. To be completely honest, I'm not looking forward to the rest of my life. It's hard enough getting up in the morning with just the idea of the coming day; realising that the rest of my life will most likely be the same makes it that much harder and that much worse. They say suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem; that's what I said to my mom when she stopped me and said, point-blank, "It's not temporary, honey. This is your life." I want to get better, so badly. Don't tell me that faith or prayer will fix it. If prayer worked, I would have been healed long ago.
Life is what you make it, or so they say. Unfortunately, despite my (and my family's) best efforts, apparently all I can make of life is crap. Or really foul lemonade. Whichever expression suits you best, I suppose. There's so little motivating me right now; sadly, a big part of it is the possibility that I will be able to totally ruin someone's day, or really offend them, or maybe just piss them off far more than they have ever been, or ever will be. I know it's bad, to live for upsetting other people. But at this point, I guess I just don't give an effing damn anymore. My very personality seems to offend a lot of people, I might as well start doing it deliberately.
I'm trying to work up the courage to tell my mom just how much I resent the way I grew up, how much I hate it, hate thinking about it, hate everything that has anything remotely to do with it. But how do you tell your parents that it was most likely their profession (not just any profession, but serving God) that screwed you up so badly in the first place? That it was their profession that made you pretty much turn away from religion, faith, and God? That you hate and resent just about everything they've worked for?
You can't.
So I suck it up, and bite my tongue, and move on to another topic of conversation every time it comes to mind. I can't help but think, though, that maybe getting it all off my chest--to them, not to a faceless journal or a blog nobody reads--would help, at least somewhat. Somehow, though, I don't think so.
Which is bad, because I've come to realise something very important (and very bad), that was confirmed only a couple of days ago by my mom: this is my life. I will most likely never be able to function properly without massive doses of meds and weekly therapy. The sun, when visible, will burn my skin and sear my eyes; the only silver linings will be from flashlights silhouetting something. My best days will be ones I don't think of suicide, self-harm, or relative worthlessness. Thus far, I haven't had one--not a single effing one--in nine years.
Nine years. Not a long time, by most measurements, but when you're only twenty-one, that's a hell of a long time to be staring into the darkness. Even now, when I'm doing so much better than I was even two weeks ago, it's there, and there's so little holding me back. To be completely honest, I'm not looking forward to the rest of my life. It's hard enough getting up in the morning with just the idea of the coming day; realising that the rest of my life will most likely be the same makes it that much harder and that much worse. They say suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem; that's what I said to my mom when she stopped me and said, point-blank, "It's not temporary, honey. This is your life." I want to get better, so badly. Don't tell me that faith or prayer will fix it. If prayer worked, I would have been healed long ago.
Life is what you make it, or so they say. Unfortunately, despite my (and my family's) best efforts, apparently all I can make of life is crap. Or really foul lemonade. Whichever expression suits you best, I suppose. There's so little motivating me right now; sadly, a big part of it is the possibility that I will be able to totally ruin someone's day, or really offend them, or maybe just piss them off far more than they have ever been, or ever will be. I know it's bad, to live for upsetting other people. But at this point, I guess I just don't give an effing damn anymore. My very personality seems to offend a lot of people, I might as well start doing it deliberately.
31.5.06
All's over, then: does truth sound bitter/As one at first believes?
Apparently Whitney Cerak isn't dead after all. In a case of mistaken identity gone way too far (and way too absurd, really), Laura Van Ryn turns out to not be Laura Van Ryn. Somebody somewhere screwed up big time, and confused the bodies, so to speak. Nobody had any idea that Laura was actually Whitney until yesterday. Keep in mind, Whitney 'died' five weeks ago, and 'Laura' has been out of the coma and able to speak for a couple weeks now. The observation skills of people are clearly not up to snuff. But then, considering the sheer bizarreness of the situation, who can blame them? I told you things weren't over yet.
On a completely different, and less ridiculous (at least to me), note, I was just released this afternoon from an acute psych unit. I checked myself in (mostly) on Saturday afternoon and spent the next five days trying not to be scared of the crazy people surrounding me. Among the disorders present: Post-traumatic stress disorder, antisocial personality disorder, alcoholism, drug addiction, borderline personality disorder, ADHD, bipolar disorder, dementia, and everybody's favorite, schizophrenia! Not to mention anger and stress management people and your run-of-the-mill depressives and self-mutilators. But I survived, and I like to think I'm the better for it. At least I'm not teetering on the edge anymore.
But because of this whole thing, my parents are having me fly down to CR for the rest of the summer, I leave sometime early next week. I'm hoping to be back in time for Christine's wedding; if I can't make that, I'll for sure be back for Mu Kappa Orientation...not that I have any real say in the matter, considering that I'm one of the orientation leaders.
Oh, and apparently whatever charisma or charm that I possess works on nutjobs, too--all the crazy people liked me. I suppose that, if nothing else, should be a comfort.
On a completely different, and less ridiculous (at least to me), note, I was just released this afternoon from an acute psych unit. I checked myself in (mostly) on Saturday afternoon and spent the next five days trying not to be scared of the crazy people surrounding me. Among the disorders present: Post-traumatic stress disorder, antisocial personality disorder, alcoholism, drug addiction, borderline personality disorder, ADHD, bipolar disorder, dementia, and everybody's favorite, schizophrenia! Not to mention anger and stress management people and your run-of-the-mill depressives and self-mutilators. But I survived, and I like to think I'm the better for it. At least I'm not teetering on the edge anymore.
But because of this whole thing, my parents are having me fly down to CR for the rest of the summer, I leave sometime early next week. I'm hoping to be back in time for Christine's wedding; if I can't make that, I'll for sure be back for Mu Kappa Orientation...not that I have any real say in the matter, considering that I'm one of the orientation leaders.
Oh, and apparently whatever charisma or charm that I possess works on nutjobs, too--all the crazy people liked me. I suppose that, if nothing else, should be a comfort.
20.5.06
Each Life Converges to some Centre--/Expressed, or still--
Friends are graduating today. Friends are leaving today, which, in my mind, at least, is far more significant and saddening. While I'm very happy for them, I will miss them--even the ones I barely saw this semester, or even this year.
Matt Hock, Mike Assis, Erik Kielisch, John Murphey, Allison Riddle, and (my dear and loving husband) Timothy Deal--I will miss you all so much; I don't think you (or I, for that matter) understand how much.
Seeing Allison's family come today made me sad, as well; also for graduation, but not for the same reasons. See, college graduation is a big deal--it will be an especially big deal for me, since I never really graduated from high school. Don't get me wrong, I finished high school, I just didn't graduate. And as much as I claim to have been relieved by that, it's partly (at least) a lie, because looking back, it would have meant a lot to me. At least, it would in retrospect.
But I digress. Everyone's family is here, celebrating the end of their college (well, undergraduate, at least) careers. But when I graduate, I'll be lucky if I can have both parents present, never mind siblings. We just don't have the money, and even thinking about it now, a year in advance, makes me want to cry.
On a happy note, I hit level 60 in World of Warcraft a couple days ago. Yay!
Matt Hock, Mike Assis, Erik Kielisch, John Murphey, Allison Riddle, and (my dear and loving husband) Timothy Deal--I will miss you all so much; I don't think you (or I, for that matter) understand how much.
Seeing Allison's family come today made me sad, as well; also for graduation, but not for the same reasons. See, college graduation is a big deal--it will be an especially big deal for me, since I never really graduated from high school. Don't get me wrong, I finished high school, I just didn't graduate. And as much as I claim to have been relieved by that, it's partly (at least) a lie, because looking back, it would have meant a lot to me. At least, it would in retrospect.
But I digress. Everyone's family is here, celebrating the end of their college (well, undergraduate, at least) careers. But when I graduate, I'll be lucky if I can have both parents present, never mind siblings. We just don't have the money, and even thinking about it now, a year in advance, makes me want to cry.
On a happy note, I hit level 60 in World of Warcraft a couple days ago. Yay!
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