Deal with my depression

Until I came home, and I was alone. I started to replay certain things that happened over the last few days in my head, and then my stomach churned.
I couldn’t say why for certain, but too many things have been cluttering my mind lately, too many worries.
All I can say is that I’m extremely glad to be back home. Things feel better here than they used to, and I feel less inhibited, more eager to hang out and meet new people.
But I still can’t deny what’s been bothering me lately.
“It’s not going to work out:”
That’s not something that I want to think about, not something that I want to spoil my day with, but it does, and I do think about it.
It’s hard to control the way that you feel and hard to fight against everything when life is so weighted down—too weighted down to bear at times.
I’ve found myself day-dreaming a lot lately. Normally, I would deem this as a “good” thing. But these day-dreams are not what I find to be “good.” Just little make believe pigments and pictures of another person, another life. I want to break them, but at the same time, they’re the only things that I feel like I can grasp right now, the only thoughts that make me happy… until I realize how unreal they are. Then, I’m just stuck feeling miserable and helpless.
I’m not helpless though. I know that this is my life and not the worst life by any means. But sometimes, I feel like there’s no escape
because the only escapes that I find are not the ones that will help me in the end.

It is so hard for me to feel good when the one person who makes me feel good is constantly throwing me back down. I just wish that I knew what to do about this. I feel so stuck and tired of the emotional roller coaster that I go on every single week. I want to be happy again. I want to feel happy with life.
I’m just lost right now. And I can’t figure out how to get out of this mess. I am so scared about everything, but mostly I’m scared that things will always be like this.
People always say that when you’ve hit the bottom, things can only get better. But I’ve been here for the past year, and nothing has gotten better. It’s so childish of me, but I just want to escape, run away and be in a whole other world. And I know that that can’t happen. I know that I have to face this and see where it goes. I’ve been facing this—straight on—and it’s done nothing for me. There’s only so much “give” that I can give before it tears me apart.
I want to feel okay, and I’m not… at all. And that’s so scary to me.

I shouldn’t feel bad to stand up for what I believe is right. I shouldn’t be demeaned over it.
I made a resolution to try to accept people for who they are, especially a particular someone.
But hiding how I feel didn’t help anything, it only made me feel worse and it only made that person feel that he had the right to step all over me.
I noticed something that I don’t do enough: be selfish. Since I was younger, I learned that being selfish is never a way to solve things. Rarely will anyone end up with what they want in the end. But regardless of if I get what I want now, I have to put my foot down. Because I can’t just sit around and watch his life go down the draing. That life is my life too.
So, tonight I burst, letting all of the truth spill from me. It didn’t make me feel any better, but I wasn’t planning on that outcome just yet. And although nothing is resolved, I’m glad that I put myself out there. I’m glad that he at least now knows how I feel about this.
I realized days ago that I can’t always wait for happiness to find me. Sometimes, I have to chase happiness down first.
So this was my first step to chasing life. As Frost said, I did take the path less travelled by. It might not be any easy path, but I’m more ready now than I was several weeks ago. The cards will fall into play, and I’ll just have to learn to deal with what’s dealt to me… the right way.

I found myself in my car crying and screaming at the same time—
Crying because something happened that was way beyond my control,
Screaming because I’m frustrated, and I never get to scream,
And in my car because it’s the only place where I can cry and scream piercingly without being stared at strangely.

I know how ridiculous I must have appeared, but it made me feel better… just a little bit. When I got home, I wrote a poem expressing how angry I was. I actually really liked it, though the topic wasn’t a very happy one. Writing, at least, is something that I still feel passionately about.

I don’t like feeling like I’ve gone mad. Driving down the highway screaming and sobbing doesn’t seem like normal behavior. I just can’t believe how far this has gone. I got home and took some Nyquil. I wasn’t even sick. I would never O.D. on anything or think about suicide, I just needed a little something that would make me feel sleepy so that I could go to bed and feel better in the morning. I know that this behavior isn’t healthy.

I’m going to draw a little pill on my hand tonight to remind myself to call the doctor on Monday. That way, tomorrow, when I feel an unusual jaunt in my step, I won’t say to myself, “I’m fine now. I don’t need help.” Because I know that this will just happen again in a few days.

It’s so easy to say, “I need help.” It’s only three words, but they’re so much much bigger than I would have thought.

I told my husband that I was going to get depression medicine. I was almost afraid that he would be upset by this, but he agreed. For some reason, that bothered me more than him being upset; it shouldn’t have. The only thing stopping me from doing this is that in order to get pills, you have to see a psychiatrist. If I don’t feel like sharing my life with the people who are close to me, then I definitely don’t want to share it with someone who isn’t. But, at the same time, I’m been really torn lately. I know that I need help. I’m just too afraid to share things with other people. This is mainly because everyone that I know is connected to eachother, and everyone will tell. I don’t want people to know how bad things really are because they’ll just tell me ways to “fix” things. Unfortunately, they’re advice is always rather biased. I know that if I saw a psychiatrist, he or she would have to keep my secrets. The outcome probably wouldn’t be biased, but it also wouldn’t be what I’d want to hear.

I know I’m too anxious about this. I just feel that opening up to a stranger is… scary. I would hate to get that, “How does that make you feel?” question. To me, that is the most aggrivating question that anyone could ask. I feel like a psychiatrist should know how I feel about something. It’s ridiculous how flustered I get over something like this. It’s definitely not an excuse for me to stay depressed. I don’t like to feel depressed, I really don’t. And I don’t want to stay this way. It’s just hard for me…