This came out last night, in describing my anger at someone using my depression against me.
In the past, I've had people say they couldn't (or wouldn't) be with
me because of my depression, or the roots it has in some of my
dysmorphia and anger/frustration at my situation. I understand that it
may be unappealing, or hurtful to you, but it is a completely unfair
claim to use it as the reasoning to not be with me. Just as claiming my
trans status is an unfair bullshit claim, my depression is as well.
Imagine telling someone you couldn't be with them because they had
panic attacks, or were had epileptic seizures at times. How abelist and
unfair is that statement to make.
The depression, doesn't sit with me, all the time. It's a small voice
that whispers in your ears when you're aren't busy, the tiniest of
voices that points out all the bad things, all the wrong things you did,
or that were done. It points out the flaws, the makes wild accusations
about how they are linked. It draws paranoid conclusions about how that
one thing you did, has connections to this other, unrelated thing, and
how it all really is your fault. It whispers, softly, that everything
you know is a lie, that it is wrong, its bad, its shit, and terrible. It
tells you that this is a pattern, that you've always felt this way,
that you're entire life has been this way, bad, shit, terrible, and that
it will always be this way. It tells you over and over how this is all
there is, and how there is no meaning to it. It tells you the universe
is pointless, and that with no point, you're just suffering in a shit
world, and that really, suicide is the only way out, an act of mercy and
kindness in a world of shit, that will be shit, and has been shit, and
will be as such forevermore.
It never stops. You just lean to adjust to it. Sometimes you forget
about it, and tune it out. Sometimes it shouts at you, and it yells
painfully into your ear.
You learn to compensate around it, as humans do. You pull a shroud
around yourself to block out everything, both the good and the bad, as,
well as long as it keeps the shit out, its better than not. And then
someone leaves you, because in the middle of all this, they don't feel
loved, or, they can't handle you, or, any myriad of other excuses. And
you can't help but wonder, why they can't smell all this shit, why don't
they see it?
That's what its like in here. That's what depression is. You can't
control the voices, you just have different periods of attenuation to
it. Somedays you can tune it out with amazing other experiences, others
not, but there is no getting rid of it. There is no escape from it. You
just, hope to more good days than not.
3.01.2014
Weary Eyes and Cold Tea
It's hard to describe what all I'm feeling. There's a plethora of shit going on in my head and it all just seems to be compounding in on itself. Between the ongoing stress in trying to find a reason or purpose in my life, and then all this new found other stress from a polyamourous relationship is just starting to weigh on me.
Then, of course, there is a now renewed desire to start cutting again. Which, while I debated heavily last night is still yet to happen for various reasons. I'm still not quite sure what my plans are on that front. Part of me feels I need the emotional release and control that it would bring, but another doesn't want to go back down that alley, and the last few times that I have decided to, haven't been that great at granted said desires, or rewarded. So, it is, as of yet, undecided. The desire, however, remains.
The poly problems, which more or less started this week, revolve around the hurt from people being careless with my emotions. I felt hurt, obviously, mainly dealing with the fact that in a time designed to be spent with my primary partner, after being left with nothing to do for a bit, opted to visit her new flame for what was intending to be a 4 hour jaunt. This then turned into an all day/night thing.
Thus not knowing when she would be back, and not really having anything to do on my own, resulted in a wasted Friday being spent watching Star Trek. I don't mind these things on a normal weekday, they are routine in their acceptability, but not my ideal way of spending one of the few days that I have time in which to do things.
I'm not upset at her having a new flame, I've encouraged it as there are aspects of our relationship that are unfulfilled, and I don't wish for her to be stuck without them. However I felt somewhat used, more as a closet and maid, than for any possible sexual reason. When the time meant to be spent together is then used to spend time with someone else. The word abandoned was mentioned, but that feels more extreme than I want it to. I don't worry that the relationship is over, or that I'll be neglected like my last relationship, which I think would be more akin to the meaning of the word. There was however a deep sense of isolation, disappointment, and hurt. Along with speckles of betrayal. Not in the "Et Tu brutus" sort of sense, but more in a being lied to sort of way, even if unintentional.
To compound on that sentiment, acting in either my masochism or plain idiocy, I opted to discuss, in vague terms, what was going on with my ex (I prefer to keep her at best, a few arms lengths away from my emotionality). This, predictably, didn't end well (in case you wondered why). In short, my venting was taken as an opportunity to critique my character and boast, albeit unintentionally, about her own situation. I'm starting to find that interactions with her end more and more with "oh fuck you". At which point it's probably not a good idea to continue conversing with her.
In the midst of the night, while feeling the plethora of shit cocktail, the friends and other partners that I did try to confide in either weren't intimately acquainted enough to feel comfortable properly conveying my emotions, or were too busy to deal with me. Which, inevitably ended up with my feeling even worse, both for annoying/pestering them, and for my continued exacerbated isolation.
I worry about being too isolated because it is in such that the worse thoughts come to bear. The suicidal and violent thoughts that I may often have but don't give much credence to come back stronger and magnified in isolation, especially when predisposed to a negative mood. I do not like being tempted/teased in this regard, I find it dangerous and unhealthy. I've no outright objection to the thoughts, but I dislike the idea of being in between them. Such, I suppose, is the curse of being a fatalist, however. I want things to happen, one way or the other, not be stuck in some half-assed half-state somewhere in between. A fitting parallel for my life, in fact.
I write this now, in the late morning trying to wrap my head around things and figure out how I feel, and what I can do to lift this veil of depression. She has apologized and I accepted it, but that doesn't repair the hurt that I feel. I'm trying, but I still can't help but feel somewhat displaced and offput by things. I'm trying hard to restrain from feeling bitter, jaded, and cynical. Though the struggle continues to be pervasive. I find myself wanting to lash out and say hurtful things, but, I've yet to sink into that much self-loathing.
One cannot claim to be graceful if it shreds at the first sign of an ill fitted environment. Grace under fire is my definition of the word. This may though, by the most extreme test of said quality to date.
Then, of course, there is a now renewed desire to start cutting again. Which, while I debated heavily last night is still yet to happen for various reasons. I'm still not quite sure what my plans are on that front. Part of me feels I need the emotional release and control that it would bring, but another doesn't want to go back down that alley, and the last few times that I have decided to, haven't been that great at granted said desires, or rewarded. So, it is, as of yet, undecided. The desire, however, remains.
The poly problems, which more or less started this week, revolve around the hurt from people being careless with my emotions. I felt hurt, obviously, mainly dealing with the fact that in a time designed to be spent with my primary partner, after being left with nothing to do for a bit, opted to visit her new flame for what was intending to be a 4 hour jaunt. This then turned into an all day/night thing.
Thus not knowing when she would be back, and not really having anything to do on my own, resulted in a wasted Friday being spent watching Star Trek. I don't mind these things on a normal weekday, they are routine in their acceptability, but not my ideal way of spending one of the few days that I have time in which to do things.
I'm not upset at her having a new flame, I've encouraged it as there are aspects of our relationship that are unfulfilled, and I don't wish for her to be stuck without them. However I felt somewhat used, more as a closet and maid, than for any possible sexual reason. When the time meant to be spent together is then used to spend time with someone else. The word abandoned was mentioned, but that feels more extreme than I want it to. I don't worry that the relationship is over, or that I'll be neglected like my last relationship, which I think would be more akin to the meaning of the word. There was however a deep sense of isolation, disappointment, and hurt. Along with speckles of betrayal. Not in the "Et Tu brutus" sort of sense, but more in a being lied to sort of way, even if unintentional.
To compound on that sentiment, acting in either my masochism or plain idiocy, I opted to discuss, in vague terms, what was going on with my ex (I prefer to keep her at best, a few arms lengths away from my emotionality). This, predictably, didn't end well (in case you wondered why). In short, my venting was taken as an opportunity to critique my character and boast, albeit unintentionally, about her own situation. I'm starting to find that interactions with her end more and more with "oh fuck you". At which point it's probably not a good idea to continue conversing with her.
In the midst of the night, while feeling the plethora of shit cocktail, the friends and other partners that I did try to confide in either weren't intimately acquainted enough to feel comfortable properly conveying my emotions, or were too busy to deal with me. Which, inevitably ended up with my feeling even worse, both for annoying/pestering them, and for my continued exacerbated isolation.
I worry about being too isolated because it is in such that the worse thoughts come to bear. The suicidal and violent thoughts that I may often have but don't give much credence to come back stronger and magnified in isolation, especially when predisposed to a negative mood. I do not like being tempted/teased in this regard, I find it dangerous and unhealthy. I've no outright objection to the thoughts, but I dislike the idea of being in between them. Such, I suppose, is the curse of being a fatalist, however. I want things to happen, one way or the other, not be stuck in some half-assed half-state somewhere in between. A fitting parallel for my life, in fact.
I write this now, in the late morning trying to wrap my head around things and figure out how I feel, and what I can do to lift this veil of depression. She has apologized and I accepted it, but that doesn't repair the hurt that I feel. I'm trying, but I still can't help but feel somewhat displaced and offput by things. I'm trying hard to restrain from feeling bitter, jaded, and cynical. Though the struggle continues to be pervasive. I find myself wanting to lash out and say hurtful things, but, I've yet to sink into that much self-loathing.
One cannot claim to be graceful if it shreds at the first sign of an ill fitted environment. Grace under fire is my definition of the word. This may though, by the most extreme test of said quality to date.
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