(massive apologies to my followers who have to see this immense block of writing show up on their dashboard AGAIN.  i was trying to tidy up my site a bit, deleted the saved DRAFT of this post and apparently that deleted the published draft as well.  tumblr confuses the crap out of me still.  luckily, i at least had the foresight to copy the text just in case.  i wanted to keep this post.  for myself.  feels important to me still.)

you know how if you say a word over and over eventually it starts sounding really weird and you start to question if it’s actually a real word or if it’s something you made up and then tried to convince yourself it was real all along?

that is how i’m starting to feel about almost every thought or idea that passes through my head these days.

i have a huge amount of experience in doing this in a negative way: taking a self-confident passing thought and questioning it until i’m pointing and laughing at myself in the cruelest way possible. but i am starting to find that i can do the same thing with negative thoughts.

i am starting to be able to hear the voice, the angry me that screams bloody murder 24/7, in an audible someone-is-talking-inside-of-my-head kind of way, and after the first encounter with that i spent about a week wandering around trying to enjoy the little things in my “normal life” before i was inevitably dragged off to the mental hospital. i was constantly on alert for signs that i was losing it, fully expecting to start hallucinating and making imaginary friends or suddenly realize that i am both edward norton AND brad pitt.

(sidenote: movies like vanilla sky and fight club irreparably rocked me to my core - i remember watching vanilla sky at one of my birthday parties in high school and spending the rest of the night hysterically crying on the couch while my friends uncomfortably sat there wondering how long it would take them to walk home from leverett. it changed me. i would not be surprised in the least if i woke up one day and a stranger leaned over me and said, “surprise! your reality is actually a figment of this random dude’s dreamworld, your name isn’t emily and you do not live here and you probably don’t even exist! please come with us.”)

(i am going somewhere with all of this, i swear.)

anyway. that very uncomfortable week involved a whole lot of thought processing and asking people if i’m crazy. so now, after many assurances that while i am admittedly totally whacked i am still actually pretty average and not quite on my way to being institutionalized, i can hear those thoughts and sometimes identify them as nothing more than a thought. and then, if i am lucky, i proceed to over-analyzing to the point of turning the thought into total gibberish nonsense:

the same way apple apple appleappleappleapple turns into “a lap el? what’s a lap a? what are words???”, so then “god i suck for spending yet another night at home alone in bed” can occasionally turn into “OR mayyyyybe i suck for wanting to want to be a person that wants to want to go out tonight i want want should wait what are words???” until i’ve totally lost my train of thought but at least i’ve also derailed the self-pity train for a fleeting second. granted, i still suck in both of these options i present myself with, but at least one of them makes me laugh.

i feel like i’m playing mind tricks on myself all the time, and the past week i have spent an uncomfortable-to-admit amount of time in bed, alone, giggling out loud at myself and the things that cross my mind.

and then, of course, eventually this starts to backfire on me as soon as i start to consider the idea that i am rising out of the deepest and darkest part of my depression.

it’s hard to describe what happens to me the moment it crosses my mind that i’ve been feeling better. the same way that my brain churns out words a million times faster than my hand can write them all down, it also runs through entire scenarios of how things will or “should” play out in certain situations, in a scary super-perfectionist kind of way. in this example, i skip right to the end in an all or nothing kind of way. is this funny mind-fuck thing that i do to myself my salvation? will i wake up tomorrow feeling peaceful and happy, no longer a slave to crippling insecurity and sadness? is this my happy ending??? …no, probably not? well fuck it all, what’s the point then? everything goes right back to utter hopelessness and sadness.

some thoughts are apparently harder to analyze and derail than others.

and so, the tiny rebellion continues.

mostly because i have sat around for the four days since my first post, re-reading and dissecting every word that i wrote and every word of encouragement and support from the people who read it, and going back and forth on a slew of colorful and exciting insecurities. eventually today, on day four, i came to the conclusion that my initial post was clearly just a whiny cry for attention and compliments, and a handful of super-nice people felt bad for me and did what they could to try and accommodate. with that thought i finally gave up on the idea that this writing (because every time i hear the word “blog” i kind of want to throw up) would ever happen again, that i’ve embarrassed myself enough already and i should quit while i’m ahead.

about 4 hours after i came to that conclusion, i started writing this. there is a seemingly new part of me that is feeling so very defiant of my usual approach to life, and it seems to be as subconscious as the parts that paralyze me with self-doubt, but it also seems to be producing results. i mean, i am writing. words are currently jumping from my brain onto my computer screen. i’m not even really sure what’s going on or how it’s happening. but i’m going to go ahead and call it a small victory.

yes, the first few days after i wrote my first post, i walked around feeling painfully vulnerable and exposed and had a mini anxiety attack every time someone asked me how i was. did they read all about how depressed i am? what do they mean by how are you? do i now have to get into a long, deep, philosophical discussion about depression?

the funny thing is, i have so often lamented the falseness in the standard greeting “hi! how are you!” that the average person encounters at least a few times a day. i’ve been trained to say “i’m good!” or at least, “i’m okay!”, because it is a casual standard greeting and most people asking it don’t actually care or even if they do, probably do not want to stand there for the next 20 minutes while i go on about how terrible life is these days. so this is i guess the flip side of that lament. ha!

the point i’m trying to make here is, this writing and sharing, it is exposing and uncomfortable and embarrassing. but i’m getting to a point where i have been so sad and disconnected that most words coming out of my mouth embarrass the crap out of me. so, i might as well embarrass myself with honesty.

or something like that?

don’t say i didn’t warn you.

today is not my day.

what happened?  oh god today is not my day and all i want to do is scream and scream and then cease to exist for a bit.  

the day started out okay.  the day has been fine.  nothing bad happened.  my BRAIN happened.

i had to drive a friend into town at noon, so i decided to spend the day internetting.  since i have been living without internet at home, i have allowed myself to see going online as an activity.  as a thing that i can plan into my day.  and a thing that i can spend all damn day doing if i wish, cuz god knows i don’t have anything else going on.

i thought to myself, today is a day that i will spend writing.  i will answer emails, i will put lots of time and thought and love into them, and i will find a fascinating thing about my brain to write about and write the day away.  today will not suck.  as much as i am fighting tooth and nail against the part of me that is so THOROUGHLY bummed out that  there is nothing i can think of that i’d rather do than sit in a cafe for maybe 10 straight hours and hope that the employees at said cafe don’t start judging me for obviously not having a life and try to find a seat where my computer screen is facing the wall so that none of the cafe patrons can judge me for doing nothing but facebook and craigslist and play tetris while they cram for finals or whatever the hell the cool, important people do in this town…today will not suck.

and today didn’t suck.  it’s been fine.  and yet the past couple of hours, it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore the fact that i am feeling increasingly anxious.  i have reached that all-too-familiar feeling of wanting to be able to unzip and step out of my skin, set it on fire and run screaming out of the building.  and yet here i am, still trapped in my own skin and it is so small and constricting and i am shutting down in a slightly hyperventilating kind of way and i have about an hour until i can leave town.

granted, pms is definitely a factor here and i spent most of the day yesterday feeling like an emotional ticking timebomb so i guess this is just a continuation of that.  yet yesterday, somehow as my brain went a million miles an hour thinking about every tiny awful way that i totally suck, i was able to see that it was happening and the seeing was enough to be able to discuss and then diffuse it.  maybe it’s the being alone most of the day, then?  there is no one to discuss and distract?  but i’m ALWAYS alone.  i prefer being alone most of the time.  there are people i could call right now.  there are people who know exactly what i’m going through, who have gone so far out of their way to let me know that they understand and they care and they want to talk about it or maybe just sit and listen to me forever while i rant.  except the very idea of that sends me on a weird stress-guilt-hyperventilation downward hate spiral.

i mean, i know it has to stem from my useless human being panic syndrome.  as soon as i “planned” out my day today, i knew that it was gunna be a tough one. killing 10 hours is tough when your entire life seems to start circulating around…killing time.  until fucking WHAT?  what the hell am i waiting for?  my job inverview on wednesday?  what the hell am i going to do if i don’t get this job?  craigslist is full of the same.  damn.  shit.  i check it every day and it’s turning into a wall of shame.  how many businesses in this town have i turned in applications more than once?  a lot.  how many times can i apply for the same job in the same places until i feel like an un-hireable piece of shit?

at this point, and for the past six months at least, it’s honestly feeling like i’m just waiting around to die.  i’m 26, so i might have a LONG-ass while to wait around, but then again with the way i’m treating my body and the direction this planet is going (the utter stupidity and greed of the human race and the people who govern it is enough to make me want the whole planet to explode), i might not have that much longer.  at what point will i figure out that i actually AM going to die, and will that wake me up?  will i, at that point, have some kind of revelation where i suddenly want to live life to its fullest and summon the energy/willpower/giving-a-shit to go fucking travel to a foreign country, climb a mountain, or maybe just go get my oil changed?  OH WAIT i can’t afford to get my oil changed.  never fucking mind.

i don’t want to talk to people because they want to make me feel better.  they offer help or advice and it makes me want to hurl.  i spend so much time being nice and polite.  i have shaped my entire being around being nice and polite.  i am a social chameleon.  i have no convictions, passions, interests of my own.  what works for you?  you think i should try this cool thing?  yeah, you’re right, i should totally try this cool thing.  cue GUILT as i find one more thing on the planet that i SHOULD do and yet cannot find a shit to give about it.  maybe tomorrow as i lay in bed i will idly think about that thing i should do.  if i uncharacteristically find a moment of great willpower, perhaps i will go as far as to google this thing on my phone and learn a few things about it.  how much of an ingrate i am?  if, on a scale of 1-10 i am an 8 ingrate, then that 8 triggers an 82 guilt-monger.  does any of that make any sense?  i don’t CARE.

i am an able-bodied human with a car and a few dollars in my pocket.  i could do anything with my day.  with my life.  anything.  so says the american dream (though if you believe what you read, the american dream is dying if not already dead and buried.)  what do i want to do?  what is my passion?  what makes me feel like not waiting around to die?  if i could go anywhere in the world today, where would i go?  these are the questions that people ask me when i explain in short what i’m going through on a daily basis.  IF I KNEW I’D DO THEM I SWEAR TO GOD I WOULD.

when i find a thing that i care about, i’ll let you know.  it’s gotta happen eventually, right?  everyone cares about something, right?  anything?  people find ways to pass their time besides sitting and staring?  right?  because they want to do things?  because the world is big and the universe is bigger and we are all spinning in space and there is a black hole out there the size of 21 BILLION suns and we are so hilariously insignificant that we might as well do whatever the hell we want, or something like that?

i have nothing positive to say, which is why i’ve been sitting here for the past 6 hours and started (and dropped) one email and two other tumblr postings.  i feel like, if i am going to share myself with the world then i should have some sort of constructive thing to say.  nevermind the fact that i really get the feeling that tumblr is not the right medium for me writing and writing and writing.  tumblr is about pictures and short little witty quips and stuff, right?  like facebook except prettier and bloggier (MY SPELLCHECK ACCEPTS BLOGGIER AS A WORD??? i hate everything)?  what’s a blog?  i mean, not that i’m surprised that i’m doing it wrong, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling ashamed.

but then again, i posted this whole thing about how i’m looking for a place to rant and vent and freak out and this is the place that i have designated for this bullshit, right?  WHY on earth did i make this a public process again?  this is retarded.  then again, the writing doesn’t make it feel worse.  i might even have slightly less of an urge to jump out of my skin right now.  don’t hold me to that.

the better i feel on my good days, the more stressed out i feel on my bad days.  this is a bad day.  it’s a bad bad day.  and yeah, it’s kind of a bad bad life right now.  i have dug myself into quite the big scary hole.  but sometimes i don’t feel awful and that’s about as much as i can kindly ask of myself right now, so maybe tomorrow i will not feel awful again and then when i am not feeling awful i’ll be able to kindly ask myself to like…leave the house and we can start all over again.

oh fuck.

hello digital world.

this “blog” (oh god does this make me a blogger?) is not really FOR the public.  this is a purely self-serving, kind of private process in which i start an excavation into my own brain.  i don’t think i will ever actually be directing anyone i know here.  but if someone happens to stumble across it…what do i have to hide?  so many of my issues and insecurities revolve around hiding from the world.  i don’t want to do that anymore.

i’ve had numerous people tell me lately that they see me as “mysterious.”  besides the weird, brief ego trip i get from the idea that people see me as some kind of enigmatic, mysterious creature, mostly this idea vexes me.  i’ve always seen myself as an open book, someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, who will gladly tell anyone anything about herself if asked.

i’m starting to realize that the way i see myself has nothing to do with reality.

in any case, it’s also occurred to me that my writing might be easier if i was typing instead, since i’m such a slow writer/fast thinker.  these days i tend to get discouraged halfway through a sentence because my brain has already gone beyond and written an entire novel based on the sentence i’m working on and it’s all happening so fast and it all feels so damn IMPORTANT but my hand moves so infuriatingly slowly that by the time i’ve reached the end of the sentence i’ve forgotten everything.  i type oh-so-slightly faster, but at least it’s a whole lot easier to revise and clarify myself along the way.

i’m looking for a way to organize my brain and get some of my thoughts out in front of me so i can read over it and maybe go, “oh, i feel THAT way?” because, who knows, maybe my subconscious will surprise me or i will find a way to trick it into letting me know what’s going on inside.  THAT is how clueless i feel these days.  if you ask me what i want, or how i feel, and i say “that is a great question” or “i have no fucking clue”, that is not me withholding information.  that is me being as honest as possible.

i frequently find myself writing and then immediately deleting posts on facebook and twitter because they are too depressing/dramatic/personal/uncomfortable to force onto people who i, for the most part, barely know.  i am so very terrified of judgement.  of being “that girl” who’s always complaining, talking about how depressed she is, saying things that make people uncomfortable or maybe roll their eyes at my lack of tact or wit or school smarts or whatever i happen to be beating myself up for on that particular day.  but i do find myself looking for a way to vent, and figure out my own head, and i do want to be known to people who want to know me.  

i am not mysterious, i am lost.  i want to share myself.  but i do not want my thoughts to be forced upon the eyes of 300 people who do not care.  but, i like the idea of people who DO care, who are even mildly interested, being able to see me how i see me if they want to go looking for it.  maybe i will link this to my facebook.  who knows.

so in my own fumbling, disjointed, painfully self-conscious way, this is me “outing” myself.  this is where i get to vent and complain, guiltlessly (woah), because i feel comfortable in this contract i have made with my non-readers that if you don’t give a shit, you will not read it.

i am 26, i am heavily depressed and deal with varying levels of social anxiety, depending on the day.  my job has cut my hours to the point of barely being able to afford food every week, and despite constant craigslist searches, sent resumes and even a couple of interviews, i cannot find a second job.  i threw my boyfriend of a year and a half out of my life over and over and OVER again because i seem to think that i live in some fantasy world in which a healthy romantic relationship should = the rest of my life magically being fixed and wonderful.  i spend most of my social time talking about how poor and sad and worried i am, because these facts have eaten my brain and i have become disgustingly self-involved and i cannot do fun things because i cannot afford them, or because i cannot get out of bed because WHAT is the damn point?  honestly.  every time i am offered help or food or money, i am consumed with guilt.  when i accept these offers, because i am running out of options, the guilt overload sends me right back to bed.  if i wasn’t already there.  i probably was.

i am pretty sure that i used to be an extremely empathetic, caring, compassionate person.  i barely see that in myself anymore and i absolutely loathe myself for it.  every second that i spend complaining or worrying out loud, i hate myself for it.  and then i apologize.  i wonder what is worse these days to the people i interact with, my constant stream of insufferable bellyaching, or the ten MILLION times i say the words “i’m sorry” during said stream.  i quite literally hate myself for hating myself.  every now and then, i see the hilarity in that.  it is quite the cycle.

so, this is my “introduction” post.  in my mind, this is the beginning of a long process for me - or i guess rather, a digital continuation of the journalling that i’ve been doing for years.  i am encouraged by how many words i have gotten from my brain and out into the world.  usually my journalling goes more like:

“12.4.11: god i’m sad.  i feel like i should write but i don’t know what to write about.  i’m too overwhelmed.  i just spent 20 minutes staring at the coffee mug on the table next to me.  i think that dude in the corner is staring at me.  maybe i’ll go home and finish writing there.”  and then next post a week later: “god i’m sad.  i feel like i should write….”  

we’ll see how this goes.

i have written a slogan for myself.  it is this:

think less/do more

it is absolutely deafening in here.  sometimes i feel like my ears should be bleeding.  there is a voice in my head, and it hates me, and it is screaming at the top of its lungs ALL THE TIME.  it over-analyzes every tiny thing that i think and say and do and stops me from participating in life.  it tells me that i am not good enough, interesting enough, smart enough, motivated enough and that nobody cares.  it tells me that everyone sees me the way that it sees me.

THIS IS MY TINY REBELLION.  it consists of me hitting the “post” button (DO) even though the voice tells me that this is the dumbest, most pathetic, embarrassing thing i’ve ever done (THINK).  fuck thinking.