Two Years Later... (From June 26, 2012)

My depression got worse before it finally got better.
I've lost touch with the D/s world and am okay with that.
Still a rock & roll junkie.
Still a bit trashy, but I've learned there's a time and place for it.
  Like heavy metal music festivals.
Still a broke bitch but my finances are now in much better shape, so instead of broke let's call it "frugal."
I'm not over Buzzard yet, I wasn't when I wrote it two years ago, but I have moved on and will not let myself look back.  I can't ever let him back into my life this time around.  Ever.  
I've lost even more weight.
And there's more gray hair throughout this mane of mine.
I no longer need contacts or glasses to see.
Cultivated more new friendships and let go of ones that faded away without remorse, animosity, or regret.
Still have the same job, going on year seven.
My nephew has taken to calling me Na-Na.
The car is paid off.
I have health insurance.
Nine tattoos instead of eight.
The revolving door my bed used to be is no longer in service.
  Aka - I'm learning to respect and love myself.
Still in tune with my sexuality but I yearn for something with substance.
I've been to Las Vegas for 3-11 Day and had the time of my life.
My mother and I are as close as ever.
Same goes for my brother and I.
I am fatherless now; mine has gone on to Heaven.
Attempting to grasp the fact that life is about the right-here-right-now, not the what-ifs, would-ofs, or should-ofs, or even the what-wills of the future.  It's about right now.

24 Things I Am Now (From June 23, 2010)

I wrote this in an attempt to figure out where my life was and where I wanted it to go.  I know there's a list from 2009 laying around somewhere but as of right now I cannot find it.  The notes in italics are from my point of view at the present time.

Utterly and hopelessly depressed, worse than ever before. 

  Little did I know it would get so much worse.

More dominant than submissive.  

Rock & Roll junkie.

Still trashy.

Still a broke bitch.

Still slutty.

Eight tattoos.

The aunt of a beautiful baby boy.

  Nico was born on October 27th, 2009.

Over Buzzard.

  Haha, I was delusional.  I was in no way, shape, or form over this man.

Over the other one whose name began with a B.

  The love I had for this one turned into a good friendship.

Having an affair with a co-worker.

  Not so much an affair as just simple fun.  He's still a good friend.

Perfectly lonely.

More mindfuck-er than fuck-ee.

  This is up for debate.

A few pounds lighter.

Noticing more gray hair around my temples.

Mourning the death of more than one friendship.

Back to working for the same boss who hired me out of college.

Closer to my Mama.

Not afraid to jump on a plane, train, or into an automobile.

Feeling like I'm back at square one.

Suffering from a creativity block.

Uninsured.

Attempting to clean up the mess I've made of my life.

Feeling Better But Not Quite 100%

I haven't been posting lately because my depression has subsided for the time being.  It's still there, it still rears it's ugly head every once in a while, but for the most part I am doing well.  I've been busy with work which occupies my time and leaves me exhausted at the end of the day.  But now that the summer season is here I will have a lot more free time on my hands, and one of my goals is to continue to write about the progress of my journey.  New realizations have cropped up and I have made major changes as far as eliminating toxic elements from my life in order to keep moving forward.  I have sort of adopted that as my mantra - Just keep moving forward and do not look back.


Stay tuned...

Ode to Buzzard - If You Ever Really Loved Me

I don't think you really love me.
If you truly loved me, you'd show it.
You'd fight for me instead of pushing me away.
If you truly loved me,
You wouldn't always be keeping your eye out for the next conquest.
If you truly loved me,
You'd realize that sleeping with 100 women doesn't make you a man,
that fighting for one while 99 others are chasing you is what makes you a man.
If you truly loved me, you wouldn't hurt me.
You would put aside whatever "bullshit" you're dealing with
in order to be with me.
I can no longer fight, I have become too weak.
I can't force you to make a decision.
And if you truly loved me,
you wouldn't force me to make the decision to walk away.
So I guess you don't really love me.

If you truly loved me,
you'd step up to the plate and be a fucking man,
you'd be the man I need instead of telling me that you can't be.
Instead you're throwing me away because you're scared.
So I guess you really don't love me.

I can't save you nor do I want to.
You don't need saving.
I hope a part of you dies every time you think about me.

I've told you everything, I've given you everything,
but you don't want it and you've proved that to me.
Because if you wanted it, it wouldn't be this hard.
So I guess you don't really love me.

Through all of this I still believe that love is the strongest force
that propels us as human beings.
You obviously don't feel the same way,
because if you did I wouldn't be lying on the floor
with a broken, bleeding heart
wondering how I am going to survive every fucking minute
of every awful day without you.
So I guess you don't really love me.

I took off the ring and put it away
with all of the other tokens from men who disappointed me.
Just another symbol of failure
to add to my collection.

And That's What the Birth Control Is For...

  A question I've been asking myself lately is whether or not my biological clock is truly ticking.  I'm writing this as my two-year-old nephew is sitting next to me, enthralled by Woody & Buzz in the world of Toy Story playing on the television.  He's been here since about 7:30 this morning, we've watched Finding Nemo, (kind of,) he took a huge and disgusting poop, we've gone for a walk around the block, and lunch isn't for another two hours.  Oh yes, and we've already had a temper tantrum over cookies.

  It's all good though, this little guy is my baby.  He's the love of my life.  Some days the only reason I get out of bed or decide to keep trudging through life is because of him.  He loves his Nah-Nah and I love him.

  But obviously it's a lot different because he's not my baby.  I didn't give birth to him, I can only help out here and there when it comes to raising him; he's mine to spoil because he's my nephew and not my son.  All my life I've dreamed of having kids.  One, two, three, there was a time I even thought I wanted four.  But now I'm starting to think I'm just plain crazy.  How could I dream of even wanting a baby when sometimes it's hard to even look at Nico without wanting to cry?  What is it that makes me want to cry?  The fact that he's growing up without my dad, his PopPop?  The fact that there are days when I'm in such a funk that I hate myself for not being able to fully enjoy the time I get to spend with him?  Maybe the fact that I'm scared of two things - one, that I'll never get the chance to have a baby, or two, that deep down I don't see how I could ever be a good mother?
  While on the phone with one of my girl friends the other night, I remarked at how sometimes I think having a baby would help save my sanity because it would fulfill one of the major problems I'm suffering from - that I feel I have no purpose in life.  It's a reason to be the best person one can be because there's another human being depending on them.  Isn't it?
  It's just hard when last night I was with Buzzard, the man whose baby I'd have without even having to think about it.  Being in the mental state that I am, though, it would not be fair to bring a child into this world.  Right now, that's what the birth control's for.

Fat Tuesday or Therapy Tuesday?

I haven't been to grief counseling or to the therapist in about two weeks.  My next meeting with the counselor is tomorrow night and my next therapy session isn't until the 29th.  Tomorrow night is also Fat Tuesday, a holiday that my friends and I are pretty big on.  But this year, I have to be up for work by probably about 4 am the next morning.  I'm torn between skipping out this year or just saying, fuck it, and calling up Rosie to tell her I can't make it this week.  But would that be smart of me considering the fact that I've been drunk for about 6 days straight at this point?

Journal Excerpt - June 6, 2010

I just feel so empty as of late, like there is absolutely nothing inside of me.  No muse for the purpose of creation, no love to give away, nothing.  So empty.  My smile hides it, of course.  I don't even know if there ever was a twinkle in my eye to begin with.  If there was, it's long gone.  I have no goals; I've destroyed any means I had to achieve them.  No great love, no friends.  It's just...me.  An empty shell.  I know anyone reading this that knows me would be quick to think I am crazy.  I go around saying I'm a photographer but I sure as hell don't feel like one.  I party like a rockstar and fuck like one, but no one witnesses the dark times spent alone in my room.  I wouldn't dare let them.

It's Like Romeo & Juliet, Minus the Warring Families & Double Suicide

I want to write about Buzzard, my greatest love and my greatest enemy, but part of me doesn't want to.  Then again, why should it even matter?  He's a huge part of my life.  Why is he my greatest enemy?  Because I put up with his bullshit - his mind games, his toying with my heart like it's a yo-yo.
  He knows what I'm going through, and I know what he's going through.  Neither of us are in the best places in our lives right now, and that makes it very, very difficult.
  Why is he my greatest love?  When I first met him I was an insecure little girl.  He taught me a lot about life, love, honesty (the good and the bad,) and to love my body.  He makes me feel like a woman.  When I am in his arms, I know nothing can harm me.  Even when I'm not with him, I know that no harm can come to me.  Because he won't let it.  When he smiles, I melt.  When he touches me, I melt.  He fucks me like the Goddamn devil.  He checks in on me to make sure I am okay, and if I'm not, he will listen.  He doesn't judge me for the things I do.

He's annoying, he's hilarious, 

he's the world's biggest asshole,

he ruins my day and saves it at the last minute,

he drives me crazy,

he's out of his mind, I hate his guts,

and he's everything I want.

  And that pretty much sums it up.  But how can he love me the way I need and want to be loved when I don't even love myself?  I told him that the other day and he looked at me like I was crazy.  He says what's holding him back is the fact that one day I'm going to want a baby and he just doesn't know if he can give that to me.  He's already raised his ex-wife's two kids from a previous relationship and his own two children from his marriage.  But he's no where near an "old man."  I can't tell him often enough that if I haven't left at some point over these past four years, I'm obviously not going to.  It boggles my own mind, because several years ago, if a man were to tell me he may not want a child with me, I would have walked away.  But there's something about him that keeps me holding on.  I fucking love him.  I've never loved a man the way I do him.  I thought I loved my ex?  That was juvenile compared to the way I feel about Buzzard.  To the way I feel when I'm with Buzzard.  My heart wants to explode with love when I look at him.  I wish he would just stop fighting it.

Journal Excerpt - May 26, 2010

  Another episode of withdrawal from the fucking Effexor.  WHY can't I just stop taking it?  I can't afford the damn pills anymore.  My stomach's a wreck, although I don't know if it's from lack of chemicals in my brain or the ridiculous amount of  alcohol I consumed last night.  I've been on the road to nowhere for quite some time now and I'm really at a loss.  There's no work, there's no part-time gigs out there and I have to figure out how the fuck I'm going to pay my bills.  And it seems that more and more that people will only love you for what you can give them, and I have nothing to offer.  God, I'm cynical.  Can anyone blame me?  I had a breakdown in the kitchen earlier over NOTHING.  Or was it over everything?
  I cannot believe I have such a shitty outlook on life right now.  What's even harder to believe is how well I put on a front to all of those around me.  My mother, Beth, Andy, Buzzard.  I fake it so hard that everyone believes I am okay.  I fake it so hard.

It Makes For A Good Conversation Piece, I Guess

  I've been discussing this whole depression thing with people more often lately, just trying to get different points of view on various kinds of therapy, bad habits and good ones, etc.  The other night a friend and I talked about it, giving each other general ideas, (because not all details need to be discussed loudly over pitchers of beer in a jazz bar,) of what we've been or are going through.
  We talked mostly about what we do or have done to self-medicate, swapping stories about our experiences with anti-anxiety medications, alcohol and various other mind-altering substances.  Surprisingly, when I told her that I had started seeing a therapist and considering going back on anti-depressants, her reaction seemed less than supportive.  So I have the notion now that she is anti-psycho-pharmaceutical therapy, and so far the only person I've come across in my journeys who is.
  The conversation bummed me out.  I walked away feeling weak because I think that I need chemical therapy to get myself back on track.  But when it comes to depression we all have to keep in mind that what works for one person, doesn't necessarily work for the other.

Journal Excerpt - May 23, 2010

I started flipping through my last journal, written between May 2010 and July 2011, the other night.  So here's a peek inside my head during that time frame.  Not all of this volume is depressive, but most of it seems to be.  I've only picked a few entries to publish.


So lonely.  So terribly lonely, but not the kind that can be cured by surrounding myself with people.  It's more like emptiness.  A hole in my soul but absolutely nothing to fill it with.  I sure as hell don't even know what I want, nor what I want to do with my life.  It's a dreary Sunday afternoon as usual, and I just want to spend it in bed with someone, at this point anyone, sleeping, waking only to make love, listening to music, touching, kissing, blah blah blah.  Sometimes I cannot stand being such a...girl.
...My desk reflects my life - pictures of my grandparents and my nephew, pens, a candle burning, a book, my camera, a pack of Camels with one lit in the ashtray, bills, a half-empty bottle of water, my iPod.  It's kind of sad when there's not much to it and I'm not even sure why I exist.  So fucking pathetic, with nothing to make me feel whole.  I substitute sex for love, drinking for happiness, and can only focus when I'm working.  I think my mind is warped beyond repair.  I'm no one's to adore, I'm not even anyone's whore.  I'm an ugly fucking mess is what I am....
...I have come to realize that there's nothing fucking special about me.  I'm extraordinary at nothing.  Any praise I receive, for my work, my looks, is superficial.  It means nothing.  I've made no difference in anyone else's life.  I put up a blinding front just like everyone else.  How could I ever dream of bringing a child into this world?
  My head is so fucked up right now that I feel like I'm going to throw up.  I can't just pop my last Effexor because I don't have the money to get my prescription refilled.  I just want to be off of it.  Everything is in a constant state of falling apart.  Never is there stability.  Always feeling like everything is in limbo.  Sleep is not even an option right now even though there's nothing else to do...I had to give in and take the last pill.  My brain is rattling around in my skull and my teeth feel like they are going to fall out....

Notes To Him

I always miss you when you're not near me.
I need you.
I want to sleep.
I want a drink.
I think I'll have another cigarette.
Sometimes I want to die.
I need to feel your presence next to me.
Because when I do, the pain goes away.

A New Perspective To Think About

The last thing my new therapist said to me as we were wrapping up our first meeting has stuck in my brain, and given me the confirmation I needed to believe she can help me.
  "You were at the hospital the day your nephew was born, correct?"  I nodded.  "When you held that precious baby in your arms for the first time, you were overwhelmed with love for that brand-new creature, I'm sure?"  I nodded again, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes.  "And I can only assume as you looked down at him, you knew the world was at his fingertips, and he deserved only and nothing but the best for his life, and you would do anything in your power to help give that to him."  I nodded yet again, the tears spilling over because I knew what she was going to say next.  "You need to think of yourself as that baby, because you are just as special, you are a lovely young woman with the world at your fingertips and you deserve nothing but the best, just like that baby you love so much.  We are going to fix what is wrong so that you come to believe it."
  Talk about food for thought.  The trick is getting myself to believe it.  I guess that's what the therapy is for. 

When I'm Already Standing On the Edge, Please Don't Push Me Over

I've been doing okay for the past week and a half or so.  Sunday was a little shaky for no apparent reason.  Every time my mother spoke to me I felt like it was a personal attack.
"Are these your sunglasses on the table?"
"You think you could take these pans downstairs for me?"
The icing on the cake was when I reached for a mini Reeces' cup and she says, "If you're not eating dinner with us I don't think you should have any candy," after I had repeatedly told her I was meeting friends for dinner a little later on.
Now, my mother was not being condescending in any way at all.  But sometimes her tone of voice might indicate otherwise; that's just how she is, and having known her for 28 years, I'm used to it.  The problem is that when I'm in a fragile state, I can't fucking handle it, and everything she, or anyone else, says to me, can send me over the edge.  I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but instead I removed myself from the situation.  I went upstairs and calmed myself down until it was time for me to leave.  I smoked a few cigarettes and wrote in my journal.
The other day I made dinner for my mom, my brother and my nephew.  I had already been on edge by the time everyone got to the house; the only thing keeping me from breaking was the thought of seeing my nephew and hearing him ask "Where Na-Na?" in typical fashion as soon as he came through the door.  But try having your mother and brother up your ass while you're in the kitchen trying to prepare a meal when you feel like shit.  When you feel like you're going to snap.  When you're bummed out but don't know why.  Something so trivial like preparing a meal seems equivalent to climbing Mount Everest.
Then I overhear my brother call my nephew by a nickname my dad used to have for him.  My brother probably didn't even think about it after it came out of his mouth but it hit me like a ton of bricks.  Thank God they were leaving to go to the store because I went upstairs and lost it.


I've been trying to help my mother understand depression and what it's all about.  She only sees life in black and white, while I am every shade of gray possible in the color spectrum.  So this whole thing has not been easy for either of us.
All I can say is that I'm thankful that I do have a supportive mother that I can go to in my times of need, even if I have to repeat myself, even if I have to stop her when she goes off on a tangent and say, "Ma, you're not letting me speak, you're not letting me explain what I'm feeling right now."  But she does her best.

"What Is It With You, Girl?"

  I've been going back and reading my posts over and over to make sure my points are clear and I'm saying what I feel I need to say, but I want to clarify a few things.

  I am fully aware that there are people who suffer from depression worse than I do, and my heart goes out to them.  I'm fully aware that there are people who have had way more traumatic experiences throughout their lives, and my heart goes out to them.  I'm fully aware that I've been pretty damn lucky, and sometimes that's the hardest part of my struggle - What the fuck do I have to be depressed about?  So I'm in the process of figuring out why I suffer from it and how to fix it.  I didn't grow up poor, I was never abused in any way, I was never really bullied in school, aside from the minor teasing I endured because I was a late bloomer, a bookworm, and not very athletic.  (See The Ugly Duckling from Dane's Haus.)  Back when I was growing up bullying was no where near the serious and devastating issue it has become today.
  I take a step back and look at loved ones of mine who've been to hell and back - those who have been exposed to sexual abuse, mental and emotional abuse, addictions and various other tragedies, and I'm in awe at how these people have picked themselves up, dusted their shoulders off, and turned their lives around in order to move in a positive and healthier direction.  It's definitely an inspiration to me, and maybe one day I will share their stories, anonymously of course.
  It's looking like for me it's all boiling down to being chemically imbalanced, and as I move through the grieving process I'm learning that my father's problems stemmed from just that.  "The man who had it all..."  Yet his life never stopped spiraling out of control.  I don't want to end up like that.

Gimme The Drugs Or Something Else Is Going To Give - A Brief Timeline

  I started to write out my past experience going down the psycho-pharmaceutical therapy route, then decided a timeline would be more concise and easier to comprehend. So here goes...

2003

• In the spring of this year I had my first actual breakdown. The stress of being in my last semester of college and assembling my final portfolio, the deterioration of my parents' marriage, the man I was in love with telling me his ex-girlfriend was pregnant and thinking the baby might be his, it all just hit me like a ton of bricks.
• My family doctor put me on Paxil* and things started to get better once it kicked in. I graduated college, landed a job within a month after moving home, as well as entered into a relationship with the man I was to spend the next five years with.

2005

• The Paxil stopped doing what it was supposed to so my doctor switched me to Effexor**. Life continued on as normal. The anxiety had yet to rear its ugly head.

2006

• I quit my job as a photographer, went back to school as a chemistry major and started working in a local pharmacy. My first few semesters went by relatively smoothly and weren't too stressful.

2007

• I got a job at the local hospital as a pharmacy technician and making a little more money, but school kept getting tougher, my relationship started to deteriorate and the stress of my family life kept escalating. All the while, I was taking my meds like a good little girl.

2008

• Cue breakdown Number Two. In April of this year I left my boyfriend, just dropped a nuclear bomb on his world and ran as fast as I could the other way. This was the start of my downward spiral and panic attacks as well.
• My family doctor asked me if I wanted Xanax***, and I said no. (Xanax makes me a zombie, no matter how small the dose.) So he prescribed me Klonopin***, which I take to this day whenever I feel a panic attack coming on. 
• I started seeing a therapist.
• The PA who oversaw prescribing psychotherapy medication in the network I was using kept increasing my dose of Effexor to the point where I had had enough. The therapy wasn't working and I didn't feel like a human being due to the amount of antidepressants I was taking.
• (I'm not proud of the fact that during this time, I was self-medicating as well with anything I could get my hands on - Valium, Vicodin, Darvocet, alcohol, and occasionally marijuana but I've never been a big pot smoker.)

2009

• My depression worsened, I was still engaging in unhealthy and risky behavior, my financial situation was completely in the shitter due to the fact that I bought a car I couldn't afford and had waited too long to apply for financial aid for school.
• I ended up losing my health insurance and could not afford the medication without it, so I weaned myself off, (which I do NOT suggest doing without aid from a doctor, but I had a pharmacology background and was able to do it relatively successfully...again, I couldn't even afford to go to the doctor.)
• I stopped going to therapy.
• I quit the hospital and went back to work for the same company that had hired me out of college. Things were starting to get a little better.

2010

• My financial situation got a little better and I was doing okay without the meds.
• I felt stronger mentally and pulled my shit together enough for it show on the outside - my work improved, my relationships improved, and the panic attacks and bouts of depression subsided for the time being.
• My beautiful, amazingly wonderful and precious nephew was born.

2011

• Pop died in February of this year.
• My panic attacks started again.
• I realized my depression had come back full force.
• Buzzard decided to tell me in December of this year that he loves me and it threw my emotions into complete chaos.

  And here we are in 2012. I decided to get professional help. I see a grief counselor once a week in order to help cope with my loss and learn the tools I need to move on with my life. Tuesday was also my first appointment with an LSW to help me get my life back on track. I will be documenting my progress with both women along this journey to recovery I've finally taken the initiative to start down.

*Paxil is an SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor.)  Drugs that are classified as SSRIs are meant to give one's mood a little uplifting.

**Effexor is an SNRI, (serotonin and norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor.) Drugs that are classified as SNRIs are meant to actually help relieve the symptoms of depression.   

***Both Xanax and Klonopin are classified as benzodiazepines and are meant to relieve the same symptoms, so I really don't understand why, on a chemical level, Xanax turns me into a zombie yet Klonopin takes the edge off enough for me to continue functioning throughout my day when taken if I need it.

Insanity and the Task of Keeping Myself Occupied - And On A Negative One

     Like I said in my previous post, I tend to spend more time doing things that aren't necessarily healthy in regards to my mental well-being.  So while the list may be short, these activities can be utterly and devastatingly self-destructive.

 Destructive

• Booze
  -I've become concerned with just how much alcohol I've been consuming lately.  But does that make me sit back and consider slowing it down?  No.  Because when I drink it slows down the thoughts running through my head.  Usually.  Sometimes it just makes it all worse, but most of the time it's the former, not the latter.  
• Drugs
  -Luckily, I've never had a problem with this one.  There's a voice inside my head that constantly reminds me that if I start, I will never stop.  I guess that can be considered a benefit of being aware that I have an addictive personality.  Unfortunately others are not so lucky.
• Sex
  -This is probably the worst one for me personally.  I use sex as a means to escape, as a means of self-justification, as a way to prove that someone does want me.  I may not jump in bed with strangers on a regular basis (I used to,) but it's still a big part of my life.  I'm going to safely assume that the endorphin released in my brain during the act of sex does squash my feelings of depression and desolation for a short period of time.  (Ex. - this past week I was at Buzzard's Tuesday night.  Wednesday night Drugstore Cowboy decided to reappear in my life and I ended up at his house.  Thursday night I got a phone call from another previous lover and he came over.  Friday night Drugstore Cowboy called me again and was in my bed within an hour.  So that feeling of being wanted?  Yeah, it's nice.  And I didn't have one depressive episode all week.) 
• Engaging in unhealthy relationships
  -This is another big one for me.  When one feels like their self-worth is in the shitter, they'll take whatever attention and affection they can get.  My weakness is the one I call Buzzard.  I love that asshole with all my heart, and I know he loves me the same, but our relationship is incredibly volatile and damaging at times.  So why don't I just leave?  Because I'm not strong enough.

January was a very hard month for me, with work being slow, I had too much time on my hands, most of it spent in my room, alone, at a bar with a drink in front of me, in the bathtub with a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  I'm trying to pick up the pieces of my life and make decisions based on whether or not they will affect me in a positive or negative way, but it's not easy, and anyone who is afflicted by depression can tell you that.

So for now, it's one fucking day at a time.

Insanity and the Task of Keeping Myself Occupied - On A Positive Note

When my mind and body are idle is when I tend to start spiraling downward.  That's when the scary thoughts start creeping into my head, that's when I decide to hole up in my room and not want to see or talk to anyone, even though I'm craving human contact.  But my state of mind won't allow it.

So what do those of us afflicted by depression do try to alleviate the feelings of desolation, isolation, worthlessness, listlessness, or wishing that we could just disappear?  I've taken inventory over the past of things I personally can do to help get myself through the bad times, some suggested by others, some I've come up with on my own, and I've separated them into two categories, the positive and negative.  Unfortunately I spend too much time going through the negative list, but let's start with the positive.  

         Constructive                                               

• Exercise or manual labor
  -one of my dearest friends told me the other night that when he was going through a stressful time in his life, he'd put on his running shoes and just take off, running until he couldn't possibly go any further, to the point of exhaustion.  So the other day the weather was nice, and instead of spending the afternoon in bed, I got in the car, headed over to a local recreation park, and started power-walking (I don't run) with 311 blasting in my ears.  I walked over five miles, and when I was done, I was tired, my muscles were sore, and I was proud of myself.
• Creative projects
  -After the first of the year I decided to organize all of my photography work, everything I've shot since 2001.  It took me about a week.  I took every disc with photos on it, loaded them on my computer, compressed every file and condensed what was once a giant pile of over 30 discs into maybe 10.  Everything is accounted for and organized nice and neat.
  -I started this blog.  I need to do something constructive with my time, and whether people read it or not, I don't care.  It's for me, but I do hope it can reach out to others going through the same thing.
  -One day not too long ago I took the initiative to rearrange all of the furniture in my bedroom, all by myself.  I cleaned my room from top to bottom, washed and re-hung my curtains, and rearranged the prints I have hanging on the walls.  I had also purchased a new television, set it up all by myself, built another bookshelf, and reorganized my books and photo albums, over the span of about two days.  Little things like that give me a sense of accomplishment.
• Long and short term goals
  -Back in the summer I opened up a savings account with two goals.  The first was obviously to start saving money, because I hadn't been for a very long time.  The second was to save for a trip to Las Vegas coming up in March to be a part of every die hard 311's dream - 3-11 Day 2012.  As of right now, I have a sizable chunk of money in that account, the tickets for my 311 weekend are sitting in my desk, and my flight and hotel are booked for Vegas.
  -I started taking better care of my car once I paid it off.  I keep it clean, and have been steadily getting it fixed back up, because, I think we can all agree, having a nice ride makes us all feel a little better.
  -As far as short term goals, mine are just to get through the Goddamn day sometimes, hopefully without crying.

Unfortunately sometimes these constructive ideas/projects/goals truly are just short lived.  Even though I have this amazing trip to Vegas planned, my depression clouds my thinking and I almost forget that I am going to see my most favorite band in the whole world for an entire weekend in the biggest party city in the world.  That's one of the bitches about depression.  It will drag you the fuck down no matter how hard you try not to let it.
               

                 
           

"When I Put My Finger, On Your Trigger..."

The triggers of depression are so widespread that sometimes it's hard to keep track of them all.  Major things such as a traumatic experience like the sudden loss of a loved one (which also has the power to launch someone who has never dealt with depression into a dark hole for a very long time,) relationship problems or work related stress to trivial things like hearing a certain song play, someone looking at you the wrong way, the slightest change in your routine.

I used to think I could handle change with no problem.  But these days all it takes is something as little as an appointment being canceled or someone deciding to tailgate me on the turnpike, and the panic attacks start.

When and why did it get this bad?
Last February, I lost my father in a car accident.  His life was wiped out in a split second.  I briefly detailed it in a post titled Time Doesn't Heal from another blog of mine.  I grieved and grieved, and am still in the process of grieving.  It's not something one can get over in a day, a month, even years.  So my main trigger has been the fact that my father is no longer here on earth.  I cannot call him on the phone, he does not come by the house anymore, he is gone and it's permanent.
One of the hardest things is watching my nephew grow up and knowing that my father is not here to see it.  Sometimes it's difficult for me to even look at that sweet little boy without wanting to burst into tears.  This first year it was the birthdays, the holidays, even little things like seeing a special about the San Francisco Giants on television or hearing Rocky Raccoon by the Beatles.  I can either smile about the memories those things invoke or go in a corner and cry from the overwhelming sensation of loss.  When I'm talking to someone about it, I attempt to explain to them the scope of having lost someone so quickly and tragically - that every little thing, from the big stuff to the small stuff, from the joyous moments to the sad ones, are magnified a million times because of the void that now exists in my heart.  


For example:  Last summer I started dating a really nice guy.  We enjoyed each other's company, he was smart, attractive, we got along very well, my family really liked him.  And out of no where he dumped me, his reasoning being that, even though I was "so awesome, beautiful, so laid-back and fun," he couldn't put aside his issues in order to pursue a relationship.  This devastated me.  Usually I can bounce back from a rejection, but for some reason this one took a little longer.  And in the back of my mind all I could think was that if Pop were still around, he'd hug me, dry my tears, look at me and say, "Angel, he's a fool."  But Pop wasn't here to do that this time.


So the tragedy myself and my family has experienced over the past twelve months has pushed my depression into overdrive.  There's more that goes along with it, of course, that I will write about in detail at a later time.

How The Fuck Did I End Up Here?

Let's talk about what exactly depression is.  Is it a disease?  Is it an affliction?  Wikipedia defines it as a state of low mood and aversion to activity that can affect a person's thoughts, behaviour, feelings and physical well-being.  Click on the link to read more.

So how do I personally define depression, that from now on I'm going to refer to as my "D," and how does it affect my life?  I've battled with it for quite some time now.  I've experienced just about every emotional and physical symptom that it can invoke, even ones I would never consider related to it.

The D for me is many things.  It's feeling isolated in a crowded room.  It's a feeling like a worthless human being. It's feeling like there's no purpose for my life.  It's the feeling that no one truly loves me, even though I fucking know better.  It's listlessness, frustration, mental exhaustion.  It's looking in the mirror and not liking the person staring back at me.  And those are just the things I feel inside of me.
Physically, it's the fact that I rarely eat anymore, and when I do my stomach feels like it's trying to lurch it's way out of my body through my navel, or I get indigestion so bad I feel like there's a Mac truck sitting on my chest.  It's waking up in the middle of the night unable to breath because I'm having a panic attack, or just not being able to sleep.  It's crying so Goddamn much that I get dehydrated, (yes, it's possible,)  it's sitting in my room and smoking cigarette after cigarette watching the clock.

I'm having a hard time hiding it anymore as well.  People pick up on the fact that I am not okay a little quicker than I'd like.  "You look beautiful today baby, but you're not happy, I can see it in your eyes."  "You've lost so much weight, you look fantastic, but I can see it in your eyes that something's wrong."  Damn me and my tell-all eyes.

I've decided that I'm fed up, and have decided to get professional help, which I'll elaborate on later.  Because honestly, I don't know how the fuck I ended up here.

Welcome To My Groove

What is my purpose for starting this blog?  To give others an inside view of living with depression and anxiety, not just the woe-is-me, "I hate my life," whiny perspective that I find is all too common.  I want this blog to be informational, yet personal.

Some background on myself -
  I've been struggling with depression and anxiety for the majority of my life.  Yes, I grew up a privileged white girl in suburbia who had two loving parents, wanted for nothing and boatloads of friends.  Now I am a still somewhat privileged white girl in her late twenties, still living in suburbia, with a college degree and decent job, even more friends, an adoring little nephew, a loving family, the phone numbers of more men whose faces I can't even remember stored in my phone, who has done more and been more places than most people I know.

So what's your deal, Dana?
The truth is, I don't fucking know.  If I could understand why depression afflicts certain people and leaves others alone, why it makes those of us who do have it feel the way we do, I'd have an answer.  I don't know the reason why I feel alone in a room full of people, or even with someone laying in bed next to me.  I don't know why I feel like no one "gets it," like no one gives a flying fuck about me, but dammit I just do.

I'm starting this blog to track my progress as I travel down this long hard road to recovery and am going to do everything in my power to keep it going, for myself, for anyone else who feels this way, for people who don't understand what it's like for those of us who are unfortunate enough to be afflicted by this awful demon called Depression. And I'm also doing it for my mother.