It’s Been a Long Time

I was surprised when I logged on that it had been so long since my last post.  Time flies when you’re having fun?  I don’t think that’s it.  I think that I’ve moved into a stage of my life that is a bit aggravating.

I haven’t journalled in a long time.  I haven’t built my faith in God.  I haven’t been doing any self work.  I’ve been medicated, which is a great thing because I’m better for everyone else.  I just don’t feel that I’ve been doing myself any justice.

I do not have panic attacks very often anymore, thanks to 60mg per day of Celexa, but I still keep my Ativan close by.  I need it about once a week.  Life still makes me crazy sometimes.

I moved into a new position at work that keeps my very busy, and sometimes very stressed out.  Luckily, I work very closely with my new boss and he knows my issues and understands when I need to chill out for a minute or two.  He doesn’t give me anything I can’t handle, and I work hard for him.  I feel very accomplished at the end of the day, but I also feel utterly exhausted.

My insomnia seems to be my ever present bane.  It’s only gotten worse and now I don’t ever get a restful night of sleep.  On the occasions when I’m so exhausted that I can fall asleep right away, I’m so behind in my sleep that I wake up just as tired as when I went to bed.  I’ve tried every remedy I can think of, and I just have no luck in the sleep department.

I had to quit seeing my therapist because I could no longer afford to see her.  She is great, but alas, cannot work for free.  Self therapy is so hard to do when you are exhausted all the time.  My brain can’t focus on much outside of work.  I keep getting told that my workload will get better and soon I will not be stretched so far, but we’ll see.

All these things are causing my depression to creep back up again, and I’m trying like hell to keep it at bay.  I can’t afford to not get out of bed in the morning.

Ok, that’s all the whining I will do today.  I won’t be gone long because I know that my blog helps me, even when I can’t tell right at the moment.

I Grieve, Not Because of Death

Obviously, I haven’t posted in awhile.  The last few weeks have been insane to say the least.  My grandmother’s passing has opened up so many emotions that I never realized were there.  I have so much to write about today, but I’m not sure where to start.

It has been emotionally exhausting just to be in the presence of the rest of my family members during this time.  Even though she was 83 years old, her death was unexpected.  She had gone into the hospital and had surgery to remove an infection, but she was recovering very well.  So well, in fact, that they moved her from ICU to a rehabilitation center.  She was there for 3 days before a massive heart attack took her peacefully in her sleep.  My aunts were lost and confused.  I helped with the funeral arrangements, and it seems I was the one who had my shit together the most.  I didn’t shed a tear, although I did feel icky.

Being in my grandmother’s house the day of funeral was surreal.  It was packed with family members, but it felt wrong.  The one person who was ALWAYS sitting in the same chair every time you went there, was gone.  It also felt very wrong to be going through her things.  It felt very wrong that family members were dividing up her things amongst each other.  I understand that is what has to happen when someone dies, but I wasn’t ready for it.

This is the woman who emotional abused and neglected me for a long time, yet I miss her.  She was a constant in my life.  She was always there.  I came to the realization last week that I never thought I would see her die.  I’ve always expected to die young, always.  It might be because my mother died young, but I never thought about the future at all because I was sure that I wouldn’t have a long life.  I was ok with it, but it left me not ever contemplating the situation of my grandmother’s death.  Even when she was in the hospital, I never thought she was going to die.  It was a non-issue.  Now I can think of nothing else than mortality.

My grandmother kept everything.  Letters, medical records, pictures, keepsakes and even every single one of my report cards from 3rd grade (when I went to live with her) until I graduated high school.  It was kind of fun going through those.  I found the only “D” I ever received.  I also found a letter that was written by an old friend of my father’s family to my father about his behavior after my mother died.  I always loved this friend as a second mother.  There was one sentence in that letter that rocked my world.  It said, “On her death bed, she made you swear to never send her daughters to live with her mother.”  Imagine my jaw dropping.  My mother apparently knew that my grandmother would not be a good person to raise me if it was one of her last requests.  Of course, we know what happened.  My father didn’t give two shits what my mother wanted, and he did exactly what she didn’t want him to.

If I had even the slightest bit of love left for my father, it disappeared the moment I read that sentence.

I guess the bright side of my grandmother’s passing is that I was given her old cedar chest which, as it turns out, was my mother’s.  It was her hope chest.  I imagine my grandmother got it when my mother died, and I remember it always being at the foot of my grandmother’s bed.  It’s in rough shape, but I plan to restore it as a treasured memory of my mother.  I also got my mother’s graduation picture, which is just stunning.  I’d never seen it before, and I treasure it.  It’s beautifully framed, and sits in a prominent place in my living room.

I am worried about the aftermath of my grandmother’s passing.  I’m not sure what will happen to my family.  She was the matriarch after all.  I don’t want us to grow apart because she’s not around as a center point.

Mostly, I have a head full of new facts and emotions I’m not quite handling well.  I know it’s a process, like everything in life, but I’m letting myself get overwhelmed.  I’m letting myself hurt for awhile.  If I know my cycle, I’ll become numb after that and then I’ll start analyzing.

I hope the Good Lord gives me peace for awhile because it’s already been a really rough year.

Working On It…

I’m so discouraged today.  I know…what’s new, right?

Through some encouragement from some online friends, I drug myself to Curves last night.  I wanted to get signed up and take a tour.  I really, really want to start exercising, but I’ve never joined a gym before, so I have a lot of questions.  Well, they were closed.  It was so frustrating.  It took so much energy and encouragement just to go there.  I’ve never taken that step before when it comes to my health.  It was my own fault for not checking their hours, but that doesn’t make me feel any less disheartened.

I am determined not to give up though.  I’ve changed my eating habits a lot already.  I’m on a very, very low-fat diet to help regulate my digestive tract.  I have Gastric Dumping Syndrome, which means that most of the food I eat hits my small intestine with little to no digestion.  A low-fat diet is supposed to really help alleviate this problem, and honestly, losing weight on top of it is just a bonus.  This syndrome causes me pain all the time, and frankly, I’d like to be able to eat out from time to time.  It’s really embarrassing and disheartening that I can’t ever eat too far from a restroom.

I’m making good healthy lifestyle changes.  I’m even working on cutting down my caffeine intake, and hopefully I can cut it out completely before too long.  I don’t want to be dependent on anything.  I’m tired of substances having control over my life.

This brings me to alcohol.  I have cut down, but I’m still drinking a couple beers in the evening to help me sleep.  My doctor prescribed Trazodone to help me sleep, but I guess I don’t trust it.  I know beer works to calm my nerves and allow me to sleep…eventually.  The trazodone does as well, but I feel hung over the next day after taking them.  With beer, I don’t.  I know I need to stop drinking altogether, even if it’s not much.  It’s not conducive to weight loss, and I’m relying on them as a sedative.  It would be fantastic if I could fall asleep without an aid, but I just can’t.  I tried and failed for too long, and I don’t want to anymore.  When you’re an insomniac, you finally get to a point where you will do just about anything to get a good nights sleep.  Nothing else matters.  I need to keep taking the trazodone, and let it work.  Maybe once I’m used to it, I won’t feel hung over every morning.

So here I am…still depressed as hell.  I’m not real hopeful about much right now, but I’m not going to stop trying to get healthier.  I don’t have a choice anymore.  If I don’t actively try to make my life better, it’s not going to happen.

The Neverending Story

I’m imploding.

I thought my depression was backing off, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.  I’ve been going through a lot at work and home, and now my emotions are all out of whack.  I have to force myself to not break down in tears almost every minute of the day.  I’ve been having back problems as well, which just adds fuel to the fire.

I just feel hopeless, helpless and lost.  I feel like I’m back at square one, and have been pointing out all my maladaptive patterns to myself for days now.  I feel like a failure.  I feel like I’ll never be the person I want to be.  I feel like enough is enough.  I feel so tired.

Waking up everyday is a struggle.  Doing what I have to do everyday is an even bigger struggle when all I want to do is stay in bed all day.  I want to sleep, or at the very least, crawl into bed and read.  Nothing else is appealing to me.

Last week, I had great plans.  I got a free month membership to Curves, and I went out and bought everything I needed to start working out at the gym.  I’d also been eating healthier for a bit, and then my depression really kicked in.  My self-defeatist attitude is a real menace.  It’s like I’m expecting to fail, so I’m making sure that I don’t have the energy or the perseverance to even try.  Why do I do this to myself?

I know why I do this, and it really sucks.

It’s been talked about to death, but it’s because it is so true.  My abuse has led to hatred of myself.  I don’t think I’m worthy of anything, and my self-esteem is non-existent.  I don’t deserve to be happy.  Logically, I know this is untrue, but how do you get out of that mindset when you spent your formative years believing that to your core?

I feel guilty whenever I buy something for just myself.  I feel guilty whenever I think about spending time doing something that I want to do.  I don’t understand why I get praise from anyone.  I feel guilty whenever anyone pays attention to me.

Good lord this needs to stop.  I need a therapist.  I’m so tired of feeling this way about myself, but can’t seem to break free from it.  I want to be happy and healthy, at least most of the time.  I want to do things for myself that make me feel good because I believe that I’m worth it.

How the hell do I get there?


Here We Go Again…

As high as I’ve been for the past month is as low as I am today.  I should have prepared myself for the inevitability of my depression spike, but I was happy.  I was happy and blissful until the new year.

Once the new year hit, my state of mind plummeted at an alarming rate.  Now I am fighting back tears, and really hating my existence.

The holiday season is over.  My football team is done for the season.  The 25th anniversary of my mother’s death is tomorrow.  So many bummers all at once.  I was actually angry yesterday as I was taking down the Christmas decorations, and had to stop myself from being snappy with my daughter.  Luckily, I’ve learned to hold onto my mood for her sake.

I am finding myself irritable and angry.  Every little thing that doesn’t go my way has the potential to set me off.  I have been doing well to stay in check, and I hope it continues.  I took some St. John’s Wort to elevate my mood, but I’ve felt no difference yet.  It’s probably one of those things that you have to take consistently for awhile before it helps at all.

I got a Kindle for Christmas (an e-book reader), and have found that all I want to do is read.  This normally is a great thing, but I think I’m reading in excess, to try and forget about the circumstances that lead me to this bout of depression.  I’ve read 4 books in a matter of days.

I’ve been evaluating and focusing on all the things I hate about myself…a normal activity when I’m depressed, but it sure isn’t helping me feel any better.  Focusing on your failures will plummet you even further down the rabbit hole.  There are so many changes I want to make, but my current state of mind won’t let me.  I’ve been telling myself that there is no point.  That’s my self-destructive tendencies sneaking up on me again.

I don’t know how long this will last, but I pray it’s not too long.  I will do my damnedest to turn this around.  Feeling like this is one of the worst things in the world, and I don’t like it.

Little Things

I’ve realized that the little things in life can have a profound effect on your mental health.

I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday, and all went well.  My doctor prescribed me a milder sleeping pill that I shouldn’t become dependent upon, after I expressed my concerns about Ambien.  Hopefully this one will do the trick for my sleep issues.  She gave me some other tips that might help me out too.  She was very helpful and alleviated some of my worries.

I went shopping the other day.  I had been getting quite low on clothes for work.  I only had two shirts and one pair of jeans that looked decent, and my self-esteem was taking a hit because I didn’t think I looked nice at all.  I tend to let something like that fester in my head for awhile.  I also have a really hard time spending money on myself.  I never think I deserve it.  I decided that I couldn’t put it off anymore, and went to Goodwill.  I didn’t really expect to find anything, but I scored.  I got a whole new wardrobe for about $40.  All this week so far, I have looked very nice for work, and have even gotten some compliments.

I found an amazing new moisturizer/cleanser for my face.  I have struggled for years to find something that works on my face because I have very sensitive, dry skin.  I got a coupon to try a new one, and just fell in love with it.  It is perfect and my skin feels incredible.

I have also been wearing my hair down lately.  I usually always keep it up in a ponytail or bun because I am so self-conscious about it.  I have very fine, thin long hair.  I’ve made a firm decision to wear it down lately, and it feels really nice.  I feel more confident with it down now than I ever have.

All these little things put together have put me in a great mood this week.  I feel more alive and happier.  I know they are mostly superficial, but for a depressive like myself, every little thing helps.

The Daunting Climb

I am going to make the necessary calls to find a therapist this afternoon.  I have the afternoon off work for a dreaded medical appointment, so I will have time to make some phone calls.  It’s hard in my little town to find a therapist who will work with my schedule, but I have to try.

I can no longer continue on this recovery process on my own.  I will obviously continue to do my self-work, but I need some outside guidance.  There’s so much here, and it’s crushing.  I am proud of myself that I was able to finally get to the core of my issues.  After all, that’s what this process has been about so far.  Rewiring my brain and overcoming these maladaptive personality traits has been my overall focus.  I have a name for what is wrong with me, and it seems to make it that much more daunting.

Thanks to my friend Faith over at Blooming Lotus (Thanks Faith!), I have been working on a bible study by Beth Moore called Breaking Free.  I have been working on it a few weeks now, and it’s really eye-opening just how hindered I am by my past traumas.  I really am a slave to them, and have been for so long.  All of these issues that I have stemming from my abuse hold me captive from having a fulfilling life.  Sure, I am able to function well enough, and I’m happy most times, but I’m in turmoil all the time.

My journey is still young.  I have to keep telling myself that instead of being disheartened or depressed, I should be ecstatic that I’m breaking through the barriers that I’ve had for so long.  I know that I am becoming a healthier person everyday.  I break little terrible patterns all the time.  I think what is most daunting is the scope of what I still need to work on.  There’s just so much there.  It’s like looking up at Mt. Everest from the base and getting dizzy at the thought of the climb.

My freedom is waiting for me at the top.  I just have to have the strength to get there.

Bad Things Happen in Threes

I feel the steam coming out of my ears.  Yes, I have hit a recovery roadblock.  I have three huge problems that I need to fix, and instead of figuring out where to start, I’m just staring at all of them blankly.

Lack of Self-Confidence

Fear of Intimacy


Not having any self-confidence is like having this little beast on your shoulder at all times.  It whispers in your ear every time you think you might be able to do something, and tells you that you can’t.  You immediately believe the little beast because you knew you wouldn’t be able to do it anyway, and frankly, how dare you even try.

This is the reason why I can’t ever make decisions beyond what I have been doing on a daily basis anyway.  This is the reason why I can’t pick up the damn phone to find a therapist.  This is the reason why I can’t follow through on any diet or exercise plan.  This is the reason that I can’t ever stand up for myself.  This is the reason why I’m not recovering.

I can’t do it.

That is what has been ingrained in me since I was young.  I was “a worthless little pea-brain” to my father, and even at that tender age, I knew what it meant.  Logically, I know that it’s not true, but I still feel that way most times.  It feels safer to stay stagnant because I know that I can do what I’ve already done.

Continuing to live my life the way I have been is not an option anymore.  I am increasingly unhappy with myself.  Every second of every day, I berate myself for not making the changes that I want to make.  I set myself up for failure before I even make the right decision.

If I decide that today I am going to eat healthy, I will sabotage myself by eating something unhealthy for lunch after eating a good breakfast.  If I decide that I am going to call the gym today to set up an appointment for a tour and program assignment, I’ll tell myself that I don’t have time, and don’t follow through.

If I am put on the spot to make a decision, I will actually freeze.  It’s too much for me.  Even something simple like what to make for dinner is an agonizing decision for me.  What if my family doesn’t want that for dinner?  Then it’s the wrong decision, and that’s a paralyzing thought.  I am so terrified that I will make the wrong decision, and someone will think that I really am that “worthless little pea-brain” that I’ve been called before.

There are so many circular conditions that are traced back to my abuse, and it all makes my head hurt.  I know I need a therapist to help me sort through it all, and put me on the right path to healing.

God, please grant me the strength to pick up that phone.

Facing My Mortality

He’s been gone more than a week now, and I am feeling a bit better.  Thursday was the day of his funeral, which was very hard.  Friday was a hard day for me as well.

Now it’s starting to sink at that he is really gone.  I will never see him again.  I look at the picture I have of him giving me away at my wedding with a smile instead getting choked up.  I will always miss him, but it’s not surreal anymore.  I’m grounded in reality at least.

This time in my life has really made me open my eyes to the mortality that we all face.  Most of us think that we always have more time to make the changes we need to, or reach the goals that we have planned for ourselves.

I remember a radio host once say, “Every person in that cemetary thought they had one more day”.  I think it’s true, and it’s a sobering thought.  I am human, and therefore, will perish someday.  Hopefully it is from old age, but that is something that is not guaranteed.  Anything can happen.

I wonder if my uncle thought this way.  I imagine him thinking that he still had a lot of time to stop drinking, but then I wonder if he just didn’t care if the booze took him.  Either way, it’s a moot point.

It’s not too late to change my life though.  I can and will quit drinking.  I will get myself healthy so I will hopefully live a long life with my family.  This is all I really want.  It’s rather simple.  It just seems so hard to execute.

I wish I understood myself better, and why I can’t seem to let this addiction go.  I know I need outside help, and will be seeking out local AA meetings.  I need to feel like I’m not alone in this and have some support from others like me.

It’s a hard thing to admit that you are an alcoholic and can’t quit on your own, but I know I have to.  Lord, give me strength.

Loving Me…

Self-destructive – Tending to do harm to one-self.

It’s a very simple definition, yet it is so damaging.  I am the queen of self-destructive behaviors.  It’s an impulsion to mask what I am feeling at the time.

I drink even though I know it is unhealthy because it helps me sleep and deal with stress.  Bullshit.

I don’t eat healthy because it’s too hard.  Bullshit.

I don’t exercise for the same reason.  Bullshit.

The reason I continue to do these things is because I have so little self-worth, and zero willpower.  Why should I try to become healthier?  I have never been deserving of a good long life, so why not just keep screwing it up?  When I get the slightest inclination to actively make a good change, I shoot it down at the first hurdle, and never even start.  It’s too hard to make changes.  I’ve gotten too comfortable the way I am.

But have I really?

No, I have not.  I hate myself.  Every second of the day, I think about how fat I am and how other people must look at me.  I think about how worthless I am for not changing for the better.  I think about every wrinkle and grey hair I have.  I think about how exhausted I am.  I think about how things would be so much better if I buckle down and make the changes I need to.  I think all of these things EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY.

Yes, I am self-destructive.  It’s getting worse before it’s getting better.  I can’t keep living like this.  I can’t live in this cycle of self-hatred and negative choices.

I feel like such a failure.

There is one thing that I do not understand.  I have an incredible phobia about people being disappointed in me.  It makes me feel things that I don’t like.  I will bring myself almost to tears if someone is disappointed in me, and I will do whatever I have to do to fix it.

I am my harshest critic, so why can’t I do anything to fix my personal disappointment in myself?  Why do I, instead, keep perpetuating the disappointment until I want to just give up?  I think it’s rather simple.  The people I disappoint are worthy of their emotion.  I don’t want them to think poorly of me.  I want them to like me, or love me, depending on who it is.

I can’t think that way about myself.  It’s too alien a thought.  I am disappointed in myself every second of the day, yet I think I deserve to feel that emotion every second of the day.  That’s how little my self-worth is.

I guess I need to start researching how to deal with this mess.  I know the concept of loving yourself, but I have no idea how to actually go about it.  The simple phrase, “you have to accept who you are, and that you are special” doesn’t mean anything to me.  It’s too foreign a concept.

God help me.

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