Drowning in Depression

Trigger warning, suicide mention.

Days alive: 12,162

Hours awake: only about twelve.

I feel like I’m drowning today.

I got sleep, probably more than five hours of it, with interruptions. I still can’t manage to stay asleep for all that long. It’ll get better, but I’ve been up since three am.

Maybe I need to take the leap and reschedule that follow up and therapist meeting with Dr. B. Gods knows I literally need therapy. I’m barely functional. If I hadn’t planned my outfit last night, I would have been standing in night time socks and underwear, staring blankly into my closet at quarter to seven in the morning today.

It’s not even feeling tired or sluggish. My physical energies are fine. It’s my brain that is absolutely fried. I’m full on drowning in my own mind.

There’s a constant, hateful static that blaring in my mind. How I’m a screw up. How I’m a burden and a bother to those I care for. How I will never finish my degree, never finish a story or novel, never get under 200 pounds. There’s a negative tailspin on how I will never accomplish anything I try to do. I know it’s not necessarily true. But it feels like a physical weight on my chest, on my shoulders today. It’s in the plans to accomplish all of those goals: finish my degree, finish a story, get under 200 pounds; but money is quite the hamper in doing so. I have student loans, medications that run almost $350 a month, bills, rent, and real life to try and finance. And while my Darling Wife foots most of our food and outings, it is still about $220, without gas or food, more a month than I make. Which means literally eighty percent of what I make a month goes just to my continued existence. It’s hard to build up savings, afford classes, take days off to write with that to consider.

For me, as this entry is just me spilling my brain onto the page, it is a fight. I’s a literal struggle to stand upright today, to even sit upright. I’m wearing bright red lipstick and I keep trying to smile. Even wore a little make up today, just a touch of eye shadow and bottom liner.

Another thing I feel I’ll fail at is updating my makeup skills. I watch YouTube channels on end and it just doesn’t look like anything that would look good on me, or it’s too outlandish and winged eyeliner. With my nerves, shaking hands, and perfectionist tendencies, I very rarely attempt to wing my eyeliner more than a scooch outside my upper lid. I just end up looking like a Russian brainwashed Bucky Barnes five minutes later as my skin rejects the makeup and primer attempts and make it go everywhere.

I have such heart eyes for Sebastian Stan, it’s ridiculous. But that photo makes me snort in amusement every time.

I’m not suicidal, at least. Just…tired. Sad. Sore. I’m tired of the stalker ex-boyfriend being a disrespectful jackass. For the record: if you call me a whore and maliciously compare me to someone who abused me, you don’t get my sympathy. You get an acknowledgement of your apology but not my damn forgiveness. You don’t get to spend the next two plus years stalking me on every social media platform you can locate and be a creepy bastard begging for attention. I don’t have to forgive anyone. I don’t have to do a damn thing but make myself happy, try to make my wife happy, pay taxes, and die eventually. I don’t have to forgive someone. I especially don’t have to forgive someone when they seem to be incapable of taking ‘no’ for an answer. And I’m over it. Actually, I’m this over it:

I am particularly proud of the glue comment, I won’t lie.

Except entitles does completely describe him.

So that’s what I’ve been dealing with for about two and a half years. And that is on top of another decade plus of how much he loved me, how much I had destroyed his life when we broke up. Mind you, this was back in… I really want to say 2004, maybe late 2003. And it’s been bullshit since then. How the thought of me got him through the night he got a DUI or something. I don’t hate him, but I hate his actions.

He’s exhausting. I wish him happiness far, far away from me.


I want to go back to bed, but I’m also choking on the desire to DO SOMETHING. And when I try to nail down what the “something” is, my brain just screams like a nap-deprived two year old. I feel like today has gone by in a blur of chest pains and exhaustion. I keep getting physically ill, unfortunately. So a good 45 minutes of my day has been spent in the company restroom getting violently ill. Hopefully I’ll feel better soon. Somehow, it’s nearly the end of my work day. It doesn’t feel like it at all. It still feels like morning. Or that I’m stuck in some weird time dilation field where time passes differently and everyone is moving so much faster than I am.

The day is almost over. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

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