Nary a Word

Depression doesn’t normally give you the choice in when it comes upon you.

You don’t get to say…

“I’m not going to be depressed today, because I choose not to be”.

It’s not a matter of “fake it till you make it”, either.

It can be a sneaky bastard, too.

It doesn’t always hit you over the head with a brick, driving you to your knees in sorrow.

It can be slow.

Crawling up on you a little at a time.

You are going on, every day, with your normal routines…work, home, etc.

Not realizing that somewhere in there, you’ve forgotten a household chore – and now, here it is, 3 weeks later, and there’s mail all over the floor & piled on the counter as well, some you’ve opened, some you haven’t, but all – largely ignored, because you’re too apathetic to pay bills and answer invitations.

There are dust bunnies floating across the floor, because you haven’t vacuumed in weeks, and cats shed.

There are dishes in the sink.

You’re almost out of knives in the silverware drawer, so you’ll have to wash the dishes soon, you know, but – – apathy.

Depressíon.

And no one outside of your house has a clue – because no one ever sees it.

You have high-functioning depression.

You have created very convincing masks, and everyone believes you when you say you’re “fine” .

And on the weekends… Nary a word.

Silence rules your world – you don’t speak. Not even to the cats, because, why bother?

The one time you let your voice out is…surprisingly, to sing – with your mp3 player going, earbuds tight in your ears, sitting on your front step, eyes closed, not caring who hears you singing out loud for Goddess’ sake!

Well, singing helps with anxiety, & you’ve had your fair share of that lately, too, so, go you. Who gives a shit if the neighbors all heard you belting out P!nk’s stuff, and some of Mike Shinoda’s newest songs?

No one called the cops, at any rate.

But, it doesn’t really help…not really.

There are small moments of laughter, you smile, sure…

But that black cloud lurks, lingers, clings…to your every movement.

Like a child’s fingers tugging on your pants’ leg, you always know its presence.

Even when others do not.

And most never do.

I am a master of disguise.

And I say nary a word, most days.

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Pretty Poison

Pretty poison lurks, hidden on my phone, light gleaming through its toxic, yet enticing depths.

It makes me sick to my stomach to think about all the pain I went through because of E…and yet…

There is a subtle allure in the intentness of his purpose.

I’ve forgotten how it feels to be wanted so desperately.

And still, I sit here, crying, knowing that if I were to say even one word, I would unravel all the work I’ve done to repair the damage he caused me.

I can’t go back.

And yet, like an addict…I yearn for that feeling again.

I wish he would just go, leave me alone & not return, so I could stop remembering and missing how he made me feel at one time. Because he also tore me apart, and left me to deal with the afternoon, alone.

Always alone.

I just want this part of the nightmare to end… I’m so tired of being alone.

I discovered tonight that “spam” texts don’t actually disappear…they just get tucked away…but they’re still on the damn phone, daring me to read them.

Daring me to drink that pretty poison, and be damned…

The Edge of Panic

I’ve been sitting on the edge of a panic attack since this afternoon…

Since I noticed in my missed calls that I have auto-rejected calls from E in my phone again.

I thought I was done hearing from him, that he’d finally gotten the idea that I wasn’t going to talk to him anymore.

What do I have to do?

My phone automatically rejects his calls, shunting them directly to voicemail, which he never leaves, thank the Goddess.

I’ve set my phone to send any texts to spam, which means I never see them, they disappear from my phone, never to be read.

I don’t receive his emails, and he hasn’t sent any, that I know of, because they too, go directly to my spam box.

I thought this was all over with.

And yet, today, I had a missed call while I was driving, so I checked my call log when I got to work, thinking it might be one of my kids, or my parents…

(It was no one I knew, so it wasn’t important)

But, I found 4 auto-rejected calls between Saturday and today.

And tonight, I had another.

After missing a call from my Nephew, I checked my call log again, and there it was.

The same number. The only number on my auto-reject list.

He swore to me once that he would come here, no matter what, to see me, even if I turned him away, he was still going to come, just to meet me & to try to change my mind.

Yes, he knows where I live, I was in a relationship with him for 4&1/2 years, even if it was only long-distance, it was still a relationship.

And the pain, and the panic, these thoughts incite…are very real.

He broke me so badly. I’m still struggling with severe trust issues because of him.

And the edge of panic slices through me like a knife…and I bleed all over again.

When Betty Cracked Bobs to the Surface

The office gets treats today

Cinnamon biscuits with homemade powdered sugar frosting.

(One pan down, one to go, and I swear I’m not taking any home)

I’ve been in a definite “Betty Cracked” mood, lately, feeling the urge to bake, but with no one to bake for.

And I sure as hell don’t need those sweet, baked, gooey, usually chocolate…calories, for myself.

So, today the ladies at the office get the fruits of my baked brain.

My depression is still there, and I had a flare-up of extra-heated irritation at work today. I’m still clenching my teeth, and honing for a cigarette, but I’m working on it.

Head down, nose to myself, music on…leave me to figure it out.

I need to go home, clean the house, turn the music. Up LOUD!! And bake something else.

But, again, I don’t need the results.

Maybe my kids need to come home & relieve me of the cookies I don’t need, that I know are going to get put in that damned jar on the counter within the next couple days.

Fuggghhh….

It is What It Is, and It isn’t That Easy

I’ve talked numerous times here about having General Anxiety Disorder and High Functioning Depression. They’re not easy subjects to live with, and they’re not always easy to understand, or to explain, because they’re not usually obvious and visible to most people.

They don’t reach out and slap you in the face like some mental illnesses, instead, those who live with them, usually suffer in silence, for many reasons.

I don’t ever want to be anyone’s burden or obligation, so I don’t talk much about it to people, unless I know them really, really well, and even then…most of the people in my life don’t hear about it. They might catch a glimpse, but then I stuff it back away, almost like a guilty flash of wardrobe malfunction. 

I am chronically independent, and prefer to solve my own problems. I’ve been this way my whole life, and used to be worse when I was younger. I will actually ask for help in dire circumstances now, where I would once have just sat and cried over not being able to do it myself. 

Anxiety never has a reason. It is illogical. This is the first thing you have to know. It is the feeling I have when I step outside my office in the winter, & sway…thinking that I am going to slip on the snow/ice, and crack my head on the cement/pavement. It doesn’t matter what type of footwear I have on, or whether the sidewalk has been cleaned. I know I could so easily fall… I get dizzy, I have to take small, careful steps all the way to my truck, concentrating the whole way just to make sure I get there safely.

It is knowing that bad things happen after dark, especially to women, so refusing to go out in public, alone, after work. I won’t go to Walmart after work during the winter, because it’s dark, and I’m alone. I simply won’t do it. It’s hard enough to go to the grocery store, & that gets my heart racing like a 5-mile sprint. My anxiety meds can’t keep up, so I try to avoid triggers as much as possible. I know, for the most part, what sets me off, & try to avoid them.

I have people who make fun of me for these things. 

It really doesn’t fucking help.

Depression doesn’t have to have a reason. People ask me all the time – “What’s wrong? Why are you down?” And I don’t have an answer… I have to make something up. Because there really is no answer. I’m just depressed. That’s all there is to it. I can’t see “up” right now, I have no good emotions, I have to wear “numb” on my face, because the alternative has me in bed staring at a wall.

And nothing you say is going to change it.

Please don’t send me motivational memes, or uplifting jpegs, or try to turn that frown upside down with funny gifs. 

I can still fake laughter, you’ll think you’ve succeeded, walk away with head held high as though you’re the next Freud or Dr. Phil…

And I’ll go right back to my blank, expressionless million-mile stare as soon as your back is turned.

Anxiety and depression are taking a toll on me in many ways. 

I don’t sleep right, my insomnia is worse than ever. Part of that is from working on quitting smoking, I know, but I’m not giving up on that. 

My hair is falling out from stress. Sure, I’ve always had an abundance of hair, but I’ve had way too much ending up in the sink and shower these days. 

I broke a tooth over the holidays. I know it’s from clenching my jaws so much in my sleep. I find myself clenching my jaw throughout the day…another sign of my anxiety. 

I’m researching ways to treat my depression naturally, because I really don’t want to take more stoner meds. But, because of my food allergies, I have to watch what I can & can’t take there, too. 

I do know that I have to start taking a multivitamin, for a multitude of reasons, I’m short on nutrients I need. So, hopefully, that might make a difference…but we’ll see. It takes time.

There are days, when I feel as though I am a stony beach, covered in a gritty sand, the tide washing layers of me away, slowly… Until one of these days, there will be nothing left, but the raw, cold rock, no feeling, no emotion at all, just dead stone…