My heart is in pieces. Just shredded. I'm not sure why, but the physical symptoms of depression are leaking back in. The thoughts are coming back. Nightmares. I don't know what to do other than recognize it and talk about it so it doesn't consume me again.

I wonder a lot if God just wants this. Like the plan was for me to cut this short.

Others? *Ranty

Sometimes I wonder if I have such a hard time around others because of them. My natural reaction is to blame myself for most things. So, for the decade plus that I've been suffering this affliction called social phobia, I've blamed myself.

For years, it was: "Why am I so stupid?" "What's wrong with me?" "Why am I letting myself get scared?" "I'm such a loser, only losers would let this run their lives." After months of therapy and hard work, it changed to: "No one is out to hurt me." "I'm safe. I'm fine." "Calm down." While it barely helps, it was the best I could do, because most people think social phobia is just worrying what others think too much. While that is the most common cause, there is a small percentage where the cause is physiological. This has to be me, because everyone calls me weird, and I'm okay with that. I think a lot more people would like me if I could be myself - I'm not worried about their opinion of me, I worry they think I'm what my anxiety makes me present: quiet, nervous, and hypervigilant. The physical reaction happens long before there are thoughts, before I have a chance to intervene.

Anyway, that was my conclusion, though my therapist contested that there was always a thought first. I guess it's a divisive theory. There was just no way. I care a lot how people feel in general, but not what they think of me. Again, I think people would like me!

So that was where we left it. We couldn't agree on the underlying cause, so it was impossible to work on. Maybe he just thought I was in such denial, that I wasn't ready. He asked once if someone had rejected me and said I was weird when I was young. Yes! Everyone! Always! I still think about it and there isn't a time that particularly sticks out to me. I was bullied ruthlessly about my hair and pigeon toes, but I'm largely unaffected by that now (my hair still sucks, and I do have pigeon toes!).

Sorry about the rant. My point is that I was always "weird". When I was little, nice "popular" girls included me. Even through highschool (at the height of unattractiveness), I was included in pretty much every group.
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However, I did remember people treating me differently. Just people. It's difficult to explain, but I remember a specific time when I went to a football game by myself. I was early (always ruefully early), so no one was there. I sat in a great place. People filed in, and the benches filled. I notice people start to look around with slight desperation for any space. That's when I looked around and noticed no one sitting around me. Not a soul. There was literally an empty moat going 3 feet out around me. Of course I moved, and it filled.

This happened a lot in college. The seats near me would always fill last. For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me. Maybe I was putting out a bad vibe or I smelled bad. Maybe no one wanted to be seen by me.

People just ignore me in situations where, if it was anyone else, they wouldn't have. They look at me weird, they treat me weird...not even meaning to, I imagine. They react more slowly to things I say. I say things other people say, and they just react as if I said something awkward.

Maybe it's not me, maybe it's other people. Maybe the reason people make me so uncomfortable is because I just feel like I can't do anything right by them. People always "read" me and my intentions wrong, especially when they're trying. This is especially annoying because I'm so open about every aspect of my life.

Or maybe that's just part of it. Maybe they sense my physiological discomfort and it makes them act differently toward me. That makes sense.

So this will never go away, but practice and exposure helps me tolerate the discomfort better. It always hurts to be ignored, but it happens all the time. I should be used to it. There is so much that makes me different (not special, just different) from others, I should just get used to the odd treatment.

It happened

Today was our last session. My insurance ran out. But it was getting about that time. My depression was better, the social phobia is being treated, and I had a forward trajectory. He was sure I'd quit my job after our last session. He was right.

Job is gone. I quit. Leaving sucked because everyone was so nice. It was such a wonderful job.

Anyway, we talked about all the tools he has given, he gave some more advice about dealing with suicidal thoughts, and I did the best I could at thanking him for everything.

I didn't know it would be our last session, but it's probably for the best. If I could, he'd be my friend. But that's unethical, so...just had to cut it off there. He says we might see eachother around. "Stranger things have happened" he says. But I doubt it.

It's hard to say goodbye to someone like that. It feels like he died. He means the world to me, and now I can't see him again. This hurts a lot.

But again, it had to happen sometime. And I knew it was coming. At the end, he said he expected to hear good things about me. I plan to make that happen.

Getting worse!!

It's getting worse again.

I don't even know what to do.

Things have been monstrously stressful lately. This is the busiest I've ever been in my life, so I can understand a healthy dose of stress, but I got a mouth ulcer, my weight is skyrocketing, and some of my old depressive symptoms are back. I sit at work and, despite blasting classic hip hop, can't stop thinking about all these discrepancies and painful misunderstandings from the past.

People judging me or completely misreading my intentions or actions.

I was planning a party for my husband, and I asked who he wanted to invite. He didn't mention his brother, and I suggested he ask to be nice (we both assumed his new wife would have something planned). We were surprised to learn that she had no plans for his birthday. I assumed this meant she'd be out of town. And, of course, his brother didn't say or allude to anything. So I invited him.

Mistake of a lifetime.

Apparently, this meant that I was purposely excluding his wife from a birthday party for both my husband and his brother (it was just Stephen's). I was being hurtful. Of course, still no one said anything to me, they just kept it to themselves to be mad at me for until it came out later.

That still bothers me. I don't know if it will ever not.

I was gossiped about my actions after getting cheated on. ME, of all three people involved.

Just a LOT of things like that from people who don't know me. They were mean to me from the beginning. Not unwelcoming, just legitimately mean. They'd all call me self-absorbed despite a major in social work, domestic violence shelter volunteer training, etc. Everything they knew about me (which extended only to Facebook) contradicted self-centeredness. Yet everyone loved to call me that.

I think about how easy it would be to just end it again. It's easier to fixate on something else when my mind wanders here, but I'm just tired of feeling this way. Feeling pressure everywhere I turn. I can't be myself and, even if I could, I would probably have to look at someone a certain amount or say things a certain way. Like they're constantly watching and judging me. I can't handle that.

But my mother-in-law apologized for everything she did fairly recently. We cleared a bunch of things up. I want to say everything is forgiven, since it's on me now. She's done her part. But there is one thing I can't quite understand or forgive: my wedding. Most of that wasn't even her. A lot of it was my dad making us stand in front of everyone the entire night. A lot of it was everyone yelling at me and telling me Stephen was a scrub for not having a phone or car. A big part was Stephen's dad calling every day the few days before to ask Stephen to reconsider. But the biggest deal was an invitation she wrote to her family. It was mean, it was passive-aggressive and bitter. It didn't have my name in it. That I can't understand. She said it wasn't about me, but it was my name that was missing. No one wished us well. I know how that family feels about me, and I don't want to be around them. But I don't want my mother-in-law to think that I didn't appreciate her effort.

I don't know what to do. Sometimes I wish I didn't marry Stephen at all. Honestly. I love him and he makes me happy, but there is a lot of sorrow that the happiness is trying to make up for.

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Other than that, I feel a ton of stress about future decisions, and I don't really have time to research them or obsess, which is apparently something I need to feel secure. Some things I've learned/questioned:

Can I ever work 40 hours a week? I'm doing it now, and it's so miserable. I hate getting up everyday to surround myself with people - even people who hardly speak English! I just feel like I need a break, some rest. I can't keep this up and live a healthy life. I'm stressed TF out. I'm run TF down. My body is going nuts. Could I ever do it? If I got a job I loved?

Things fall apart at home. There are dishes in the sink that have been there for over a week. Stephen doesn't take baths or groom as often as he should. Millie's litter gets neglected. The house gets cluttered and/or messy. It stresses me out, but everyone else is okay...should I quit work to keep up my wifely duties?

Should I get my paramedic, or AEMT? Since I'm probably gonna be having babies soonish, should I bother wasting another $10,000 to get my paramedic? Would I ever be able to use it? After babies, my kidneys might go haywire. Other health issues. Who knows? Or I could get my AEMT and stop there and work. But again, will I be able to work? I think I would like the schedule more because they're 12-24 hour shifts 2-3 times a week. Especially if I were just an E.R. technician, that wouldn't be too stressful, right? And the work would certainly be meaningful!

I don't know. In the perfect world, I would be able to handle my current schedule with my ultra-accelerated schooling so that I could have my own money and feel worthwhile and see Stephen at 4pm every day! But...I really can't. I feel like I'm running around with mangled legs. I'm trying to do everything, so I end up doing well at nothing.

And it's weird, but I think about having a baby now and I get excited. Sometimes. I don't know if it's my biological clock ticking, inspiration/guidance, or something else...

Depression

Despite having chronic depression for nearly a decade, I've been learning a lot about it lately. Regarding this, I've uncovered a flaw in my thinking.

Maybe it's just the circle I run in, but it seems like everyone and their dog has "depression and anxiety". Honestly, it's beyknd irritating to me because the two don't seem to be mutually exclusive. As if you must have one to have the other. And I examine these people and their lives, and it just rarely added up. They had active relationships with friends, a social life, success (academic and/or career). They had hobbies and activities they liked to do. They didn't really seem like me at all, and it would make me mad. They can't say they have these things and live a normal life, it makes us look bad!

But not all depression is the same.

I was comparing everyone to me: if their "illnesses" weren't as bad as mine or, somehow, worse, they weren't actually depressed. Certainly, they didn't "have anxiety" (such an annoying and non-specific phrase). The problems with that are A) my depression was severe. Moderate and mild depression are real and should be validated. B) there are other types and levels of depression.

Even in my own life, my depression was not always severe. High school was a nightmare. I'd ditch classes at every opportunity, I was alone most of the time, I didn't really hang out with friends, and I experienced constant digestive distress, but I was still able to make it to school late. I had hopes for the future, and I enjoyed viola. At the time, I adjusted. I thought it was bad and that it couldn't get worse, but it did.

After high school and through college, the depression worsened and destroyed me. I lost a lot of weight, my digestion was obliterated, I didn't enjoy viola or anything anymore, and I could not possibly feel good. Ever. I spent literally every second hoping I would die. That a car sound crash into me, a silent brain aneurysm would bleed the organ of distress dry, or that I could gather the courage to finally shoot myself without incident. I couldn't hold a job or do well in school, even if I had enough energy to try. I had NO energy. That lasted a little over 4 years.

So, in my decade of suffering, only the last years of it were truly severe. Yet I can't validate anyone with anything less than that?

When someone claims depression, my first reaction is to be critical and somewhat offended. And, while this serious diagnosis is thrown around like a frisbee, it's possible likely other people have it - whether mild, moderate, severe, chronic, episodic, or situational.

That said, I think this is a vastly over-diagnosed issue. All you have to do for a prescription from a general practitioner is say you're sad and have feelings if guilt. I've done it very easily for lexapro and zoloft. Therefore, I don't take most people who haven't been to an actual psychiatrist seriously.

I think (and I have absolutely no research behind this) we're just much less resilient than we were years ago. Back then, hardship was an everyday experience. Nothing came easy, everything required work (making soap, fetching water, etc.), and death and disease were commonplace. Everything is easier and more accessible now. Diseases are cured, babies don't die as much, and neither do the old.

We have it good, yet antidepressants fly off the shelves. I really think we're just used to things coming easily to us that we can't really cope when they don't. It's because of this that I have a really hard time accepting depression for people who have just broken up with someone, or who had to leave a beloved program at school, or who gets home from a mission and is no longer "worshipped" by members. All of these situations are an adjustment, and will of course make someone reasonably sad, but not depressed. That's offensive to me, and to everyone else who can't get taken seriously because people don't know what real depression looks like.

I get bothered because there are still people who don't even believe it's real. I get similarly bothered by someone who will cry "depression" anytime a hardship comes their way. The latter, I believe, causes the former. That's why people need to be much more careful using that word. We all could stand to be a bit more resilient.

That said, crap happens. Real crap. Some people are "blessed" with tons of it in a single lifetime. And, when combined with unfortunate genetics, unfortunate consequences follow. Not every clinically depressed person had a ton of bad things happen to them. Enough, but it doesn't always take much. Conversely, not every non-depressed person has had it easy. Not by a long shot. That could be genetics or resilience.

Either way, I think my point was to be careful judging both the depressed and non-depressed. Don't throw that word around, please. It furthers stigma and misunderstanding.Lastly, it's not "cool" to be mentally ill. No one gives you a break for it. People judge you (even other mentally ill people, see?). It's not fun. There's nothing sexy or compassion-earning about it.

Full-time

It's blurry.

I'm in a training program right now and it's kicking my butt! It's hard to do school and full-time work. Very hard. Even though I found a great job, I wish I'd waited to find one. This is my future, and the job is just a temporary provider.

Anyway, having all this going on has given me a small taste of the downsides of full-time work. My house is in constant disarray, my husband begins to look unkempt, dishes pile up, and my stress manifests as arguments with my husband. I'm less happy, despite having less worry about money.

Because everything is beginning to fall apart, I worry if I should even try to get a career anymore. Me having a life causes tumult in my home now, what if we had kids? Just one kid? They'd be so neglected! And, if I ever do become a parent, I want to be a good one.

On top of that, I'm experiencing acute stress on a daily basis. My stomach is getting noticeably bigger because of the cortisol. For some reason, perhaps because I'm so aroused from stress, I experience extreme vaginal discharge. It's freaking me out, honestly.

My job itself isn't stressful, I just worry about getting there on time and there are people present. They don't even hardly speak English. I am alone most of the time. And yet, I'm still THAT stressed out. Maybe I'm just not cut out for work. That worries me too.

If we were to ever have kids, it just seems like any more investment in my career is useless. I can't really handle both.

That just makes me very sad.