The sky’s the limit, and I’m afraid of heights

I’m not really afraid of heights, it’s my untapped potential that scares the ever-loving fuck out of me. I’m used to having a crutch; when you have depression no one ever really expects you to reach your full potential. Just getting out of bed in the morning is gold star sticker worthy. So now that I’m getting better, I’m feeling more pressure to actually get things done and not to just sleep all day on my days off (even though that’s still all I want to do).

I look at all of the potential I have and it scares the shit out of me. I have the means to better myself, I could go back to college, or move, or both. All these endless possibilities and I just stand rooted to the spot, more terrified of succeeding and being happy than I am of slipping back into full blown depression.

Scratch that.

Slipping back into full blown depression scares me more. I never want to be that low again. I think I’m afraid of trying and failing again. It nearly killed me last time, and I don’t know if I’ll survive something like that again. I probably will. Humans are resilient as fuck.

I feel like I’m battling with myself more now than before, I keep wanting to slip back into old habits. I keep slipping back into old habits. It’s tiring, dragging the depressed part of me around while simultaneously trying to change myself for the better. I understand that it’s process, but I keep self-sabotaging it. I don’t know how to stop, how to get out of my own way.

I’m comfortably uncomfortable in depression cocoon. I keep beating my wings against it while secretly praying that it never breaks because, holy fuck, then I’ll have to fly.


Shedding Skin

I’m laying in the bath with a candle burning and the fairy lights on. It’s calm peaceful, and this fucked up part of my brain is whispering to me that this would be a good time to go.
Just slip under the water.
I ignore it.
I know what it is; it’s not me, it’s the PMDD setting in for the week. But I still start to cry. I’m afraid that that part of myself is never going to go away. I’m almost certain that there will always be this dark shadow following me around, telling me to kill myself every time I slip up. Every time I let my guard down. I feel like there’s a stain on my soul, and I don’t know how to get it out. Maybe it comes with time. I’m still healing. I’ll always be healing. I don’t think that that ever stops either.

I’m better now, better than I was 9 months ago. It still feels like a constant struggle, though. I’m trying to shed that old, negative, never not depressed part of myself, but it’s hard because that’s been me for 8 years. I don’t know who I am without it. It’s still more familiar to me than the self loving, grateful, positive person I’m trying to become. She feels so fake, she feels like a lie. Her skin doesn’t fit me, it keeps slipping off and pooling around my feet. She doesn’t keep me as warm as the depression did. I knew who I was then. I was Kristi and I had depression. Now I’m just Kristi, and I don’t know if she’s enough. I desperately want her to be enough. I need her to be enough.

I didn’t actually know who I was when I was eyeball deep in depression. I just had a label to add to my name. so sodt of fucked up validation. I’m better without it. I’m so much better without it. I’m just feeling lost. I have to forge a new path though the woods now. My feet keep slipping back down to the well worn path I used to walk, and I usually let them because I’m so fucking tired of hacking through everything. Slipping back into depression is like some weird, fucked up vacation to me almost. I can numb out on the couch, no holding up the too big skin of the person I’m struggling to become. The old skin is becoming too tight, though. I can no longer breathe in it. I allow myself to stay in it less and less. I drag myself back up to the high path. I hack on. I have to. I can’t go back. Everything back there is dead or dying. I don’t want to live there anymore.

“I do this to myself”

I’ve been fairly depressed these last few weeks.

Partly because of my period, I have PMDD so the week before my cycle starts I become depressed, like full-blown depressed. I’ve probably always had PMDD but it just blended in with the 24/7 depression so I never noticed it. Now I fucking notice it, and it’s awful.

Annnnd partly because I still haven’t let go of past events from nearly a fucking year ago.
The broken record skips on.
I’ve fallen back into hating myself. Suicidal thoughts have started circling around again. Like sharks when there’s blood in the water; they bump into me, attracted by the struggle. They’re testing my resolve.

I don’t know.

I’m still just feeling out of place in life.
Which is totally fucking normal for being in my mid 20’s, but still…it sucks. I feel useless. I want to disappear. But I’m still here. Dragging myself through the day. I get so tired of myself. I’m my own biggest problem, I’m aware, I’m honestly just too lazy to fucking deal with myself most of the time. I just take the “easy” way out, which is always the wrong way. It just makes me feel worse to roll over and not even try to help myself.

So, that’s life right now. I want to do better for myself, but I just keep falling short.

Fake it ’til you make it

I woke up early yesterday morning and my first thought, after seeing the time, was “Waking up in hate.” I was looking to make myself bitter about getting up 7am for work. I immediately stopped myself, thinking, “No. Waking up in gratitude. I’m grateful for this job and for waking up at all.”

It was a bit forced, but gratitude is always better than the alternative.

My brain has yet to carve out a gratitude/self-love path for me to stroll down everyday, so I tend to still drag myself down the well worn complain/self-hatred path.
I’m beyond tired of that path though, I take it merely for the familiarity of it. It seems less fake and forced than the brightly lit path.

I, honestly, still find myself occasionally scoffing whenever I see someone post about being grateful for their life and what they have.

/ Of course, it’s easy for you, look at your life! You’re living your dreams! You’ve got it all together! /

But that’s the problem with the Internet, we very rarely see anything that’s going on underneath the surface. We only see what other people want us to. Sometimes their positivity and gratitude seems forced to me, and maybe it is. Maybe they need to post that brightly lit selfie with that caption overflowing with gratitude because everything is falling apart but they don’t want to be dragged down by it.

I can understand that. We do what we need to in order to get through the day.
I don’t know.

It’s just hard for me right now, and millions of over people too, I’m sure. It’s all a choice, gratitude vs. complaining, I’m just not used to choosing the right one. I’m practicing choosing gratitude more, usually by cutting off a negative thought with it.

/ That person didn’t text me back.
Yeah, because you’re shit.
I’m not, they’re just busy. I love myself. /

I tell myself that I’m shit a lot. Which I’m working on changing. My mind just automatically goes there instead of towards self-love and accepting myself.
It’s really fucking tiring.

I also need to practice being happy with myself no matter where I am. I have a habit of tying happiness to a person or a place.

/ I’ll be happy when I’m with that person.
I’ll be happy when I move to that place. /

But it never works out how I think it should.
People have their own lives and shit going on.
Places sometimes aren’t that great once you get there.

I’m just obsessed with the thought of it all.
“I’ll be happy when…” is a very addicting and deceiving drug.
It tricks you into believing that you’re striving for something, when you’re really just keeping yourself stuck. It’s hard to move forward while waiting for something that will probably never come.

I still want to be with that person, and live in that place, but I need to move past it, because it may not happen.

I owe it to myself to get out of my own way and to be happy with myself in this moment.

Pretty much the same shit I always write about

I’ve been feeling shitty and trapped again lately.
I just want out.
I’m trying to steer my thinking towards more positive shores, but it’s fucking exhausting and just feels like bullshit most of the time.

I’m thinking about looking into moving down to South Carolina where my cousins live. I’d have family support and a change of scenery. I’m afraid that it’ll be like NYC all over again though. That the support that I was counting on won’t be there and I’ll drown in depression again. I have no idea what is do for a job, or where I’d live. I don’t even have enough money to move anyway, and I probably won’t since I’m finally going to ask work to cut my hours down some because that place is fucking killing me, and I need more “free time” to try to get myself more mentally stable.

I just keep myself stuck in this shitty cycle of wanting out but never doing anything about. I’d rather just stay here choking on life instead of trying and risk failing again.

So, I’m back to wanting to disappear, I don’t think that desire ever really went away. Not actively seeking my own death as much as just wanting to no longer exist. Like, if I died in some random accident I wouldn’t mind. That line of thought makes me anxious that if/when I ever do become satisfied with my life I’ll end up dying. The universe would have finally gotten the memo but I wouldn’t want it anymore. I should probably go back to seeing a therapist to talk about that, because it’s pretty fucking irrational, like most of my thoughts. I’m aware that they’re all mostly bullshit, but I’m just so used to letting them walk all over me, and it’s exhausting trying to keep them in check all day. It’s easier for me to just agree with them, like “you’re right Self, I’m shit.” Which I’m not. I’ve just always had a hard time listing anything good about myself.

I don’t know.
Most of this is just raging back to the surface because my fucking PMDD. “Oh you’re depressed? Here, have an extra helping of that while you’re also bleeding into your underwear for a week.”
I could also probably blame it on Mercury Retrograde like every other New Age star gazer, but I know it’s really all just me. I choke things down in order to get through the day and then I never go back to deal with them. Hence why therapy never really worked for me. I always just choked things down in between sessions, then when a session came up I had nothing to talk about because it was all repressed and I didn’t want to rip that wound back open when it hadn’t started bothering me again yet, ya know?

I don’t fucking know. I’ll try to work on some repressed shit on my next day off (two days from now). I make plans like that, but then I usually just sleep all day. That’s basically my life right: Sleep, work, feeling shitty about myself.

Fuck, I just want out.

In which I’m crying in the bathroom before work again

That feeling when sad, sulky, empty feelings are cycling round again and they’re familiar and you’re used to giving in to them so you have to fight twice as hard to stay above it but all you want to do is sleep and be done with everything…

Yeah, that. That’s what’s coming round today.

I don’t know. I never fucking know.
It could be the full moon, or the anxiety that keeps me from eating regularly like I should be which in turn makes the anxiety worse because they both feel feel similar in my gut.

My job is crushing me, as always. I’m grateful to have a job…I just wish that it was something that I enjoyed doing. My friend said to use my days off to be creative, to work on projects, but I usually just sleep. I think about all the things I could be doing and beat myself up for not doing them. Then, I sleep. I sleep it off, until I wake up and realize that I wasted my day off. Which causes me to beat myself up more.

I don’t know.

I just keep holding on, hoping that the okay moments will last longer and come back quicker. Then the okay moments will turn into good moments which will last longer and longer, and come around quicker and quicker, and I’ll be fine.

Heart Palpitations

I’ve beem stressed and anxious a lot lately, which are prime conditions for my heart palpitations to flare back up.
My grandpa died because his heart got out of rhythm and couldn’t get back in. So, ya know, there’s something for me to look forward to.

My mind automatically starts wandering down the suicide route whenever too many options appear. “Look at all these opportunities! Better kill yourself to keep from having to choose or fucking it up.”
It also goes that way when there seems to be no options.
“Welp, you’re gonna be stuck here forever, I might as well get it over with.”

It hurts to move, and it hurts to stay still.

I don’t know. I don’t know why I always make it so fucking hard on myself. I’ve been stuck in the mud for so long that I’ve forgotten how to move. Too content in my misery to risk trying something new. I’d take the certainty of agony over the unknown; having anxiety attacks before work, and crying every night over the fact that I keep standing in my own way. ‘Cause, ya know, that’s logically the best path in life.

I’m really fucking tired of myself.

I wanna go back in time. Back to New York and not fuck it up. I would’ve had I job I liked. I didn’t have to have a “skill,” I just had to show up and work for people I like. Didn’t really have to try for anything. Average mediocrity until death. So comforting.

I wanna stop thinking about New York. I’m sick of chocking on it. It’s never going to go away though. It’s always going to be there, underneath everything.