Broken Nightmare

Today was worse than a nightmare.

I’ve been feeling rather run down the past few weeks. Little sleep, working more than 40 hours a week… it’s been exhausting. 

I’ve also been going through a depression episode.

I woke up later than I had originally wanted to. Not a big deal though. I wasn’t really running late, just not as early as I had wanted to be. Got to work on time and was scheduled with one of our best servers and one of our… competent yet still not strong servers. I’m a decent enough server, but this was just the preparation for the perfect storm. 

Because I was one of the stronger servers, I was being constantly sat during our first rush. Well, that rush never ended. I never caught up. Soon enough, I was completely overrun. I was running everywhere, taking orders where I could, trying to drop off tickets and seeing if tables liked their food enough. Then, I just screwed up. Something just clicked the wrong way and my body snapped. My heart was racing, I started hyperventilating, and I felt sick. I went to the bathroom, tried to calm down as much as I could. I then tried to get back on the floor. The first table I went to complained about my service, or lack thereof, which was perfectly reasonable seeing as I didn’t do anything, but was definitely nothing I could handle at that moment. 

I broke.

Today, I broke.

Today, I broke, and the hospital had to fix me. 

The panic attack came back. I went to the break room. I don’t really remember that much. It’s all kind of muddy. I remember looking down at one of the tool boxes sitting on the floor in our paper storage room and seeing a hammer. I wanted to beat myself with it. I wanted to find something sharp or blunt or anything really.

That’s when I knew I couldn’t go home alone. 

Not if I wanted to be breathing tomorrow.

Some how, I got hold of my sister. She took me straight to the ER. I was completely numb, shattered. I couldn’t look up from the ground. I answered questions my shaking my head yes or no or one-worded answers. I didn’t feel pain when they drew blood. A lot of doctors came in. I didn’t look at any of their faces. If you were to ask me to point out the nurse who helped me through the entire ordeal in a room with 3 other nurses, I wouldn’t know. 

I got a wristband at some point. My dad wants me to take it off. I know this scared him. He hates suicide more than anything. Calls it cowardice. While he understands depression, self-harm, and anxiety through his being a psychologist, he gets mad at me for being suicidal. He gets angry.

He didn’t believe that I had depression until today.

I’m just very sad that this is what it took for him to realize how much help I really need.

I don’t take pleasure in playing saxophone anymore. It makes me nervous. It reminds me how terrible of a saxophonist I really am. I can’t bring myself to go to a practice room. I can’t.

I hate my body. I do. I starve myself, then I binge eat, and I eat like shit, and it’s a horrible, vicious cycle.

I’m terrified for next semester. I’m not prepared to go back to school at all.

I’m very uncomfortable around people I used to call and do call friends.

My self-esteem has hit rock bottom. The job I took pride in broke me today. The girl who had her whole life figured out 6 years before college doesn’t even want to see that life or any life anymore. My friend group has dissolved into smaller sections that are more exclusive. The religion I was taught my whole life… I don’t even have faith in a god anymore. A car ride with my dad back home was pure torture as he avoided the conversation that needed to be addressed. 

My depression didn’t stay in that hospital and it certainly didn’t start there either.

I’ve hit the bottom.

I’ve really hit my lowest point thus far.

People will be optimistic and tell me that I “can only go up from here”.

They are so wrong.

Just as there is always a way up, there’s always a way down further. That is, until you reach the ultimate destination.

Death: that constant that goes neither up nor down.

I know I can go both ways here. I don’t want to be like this anymore.

I’m seeing a new doctor plus a therapist. I’m on a new medication. I’m taking steps to get there.

It’s just frustrating that I’d take these steps only to have this big of a mental break down.

It gets worse each time.

Here’s to hoping that this is the last one.

A Very Stupid and Immature Rant Because I Need It

Xanga tells me to personalize my private pages. 

… What? Fuck that extra work.

So, I caved to my sister and joined the RENT reunion we’re having here. 

… What? Fuck that extra work.

But seriously. How the hell am I going to do this working nearly 50 hours a week?

… I hate my life in a lot of ways right now. Sarcastically and not sarcastically.

I mean, I move out in only a couple of weeks, which is fantastic (*cough* getting away from psycho roommate *cough*.)

Well, away that I’m not living with her. I probably won’t be rid of her until she graduates….

And she’s not that psycho, she’s just very particular about things and gets really pissy and leaves passive-aggressive notes on our whiteboard. Look, we’re only living with each other for another week. Can we like… not complain about the way we live to each other? It’s not like you’re going to be putting up with it that much longer, why make a big deal out of something small? I don’t know. She’s not very smart and always has something shoved up her ass. 

Me and one of my other roommates were talking, if we complained about EVERY SINGLE THING that bothered us about living with the people we do, we wouldn’t be able to breathe or function or do anything. Somethings, you just have to ignore and relish in the fact that you only have a few more days together. 

Sucks living with people who are in the School of Music with you. Sucks worse when you ruin any chance of a friendship by living together. 

She just… okay. Done ranting about her. Done. D. O. N. E.

She’s not worth this precious space anyway.

We probably could have been friends if we hadn’t lived with each other. Well, probably not. I have a very low tolerance for people who don’t have a lot of common sense. 

GOD I need to STOP.

Okay.

I’m done.

Now to the other predicament. 

I can’t eat.

I opened the fridge only to start to have a panic attack.

This is bad.

This is very bad.

I’ve never had something like this before.

I’m hungry, but I’m not, and I can’t do anything about it except feel sorry for myself.

Which goes on the extensive list for why I’m a worthless human being, but we won’t get into that too much tonight.

Because fuck my life.

Fuck my anxiety.

Fuck my depression.

Fuck my brain.

Fuck my messiness.

Fuck my life.

I just… I don’t want to do this anymore.

I cried myself to sleep last night. And the night before that. It appears when I try to go to bed without my little ASMR videos to fall asleep to, I cry. Because I think. I think way too much.

I’m tired of that.

I’m tired of waiting for disturbed thoughts to cloud my mind.

I would like to be happy with the good things happening in my life.

Not freaking out over them.

 

Burden

It’s supposed to be a good thing when you are able to see your faults then have intentions to fix them.

So then you can get the help you need. So then you can make yourself a better person.

I have a big problem with really asking for help. 

I hint at it at a disgusting level. I try to show people that I am by seeing a doctor. I smile pretty and say things are going well, things are getting better. 

Then I’m alone and it hits me how alone I really am.

I’ve been having break downs every day this past week. I finally decided to go see a new doctor. I’ve made too many lies, created too intricate a web to come clean and actually get help. I know I’m breaking. I don’t want to break.

Part of my problem is putting too much into the wrong people. 

I tried to my Freshman year with my new best friend of the time. She didn’t know what to do, so she did nothing. She even told me that. She told me straight up that she didn’t know what to do when I had an anxiety attack so she’d just do nothing. 

People are under the impression that doing nothing is passive. It’s not passive. It’s very active. And it actively destroyed me.

I cried to Calvin this year. He told me I was crazy. It came more of a shock to him. I broke down. He said that there were so many other people out there who had it far worse than I and was the one who had depression? 

I saw a beautiful video of someone talking about depression. He said that depression is having this inexplicable sadness even when everything in your life is going right. While not everything in my life is going right, I certainly do have a lot to be happy and thankful for. 

I’m not ungrateful, just inexplicably pained.

I know I have people I can call on. There’s only two people that I actually do call though and I’ve stopped calling one of them with these issues. 

My sister was able to talk me down a couple of times. I don’t call her anymore though. She’s done it so much for so many other people, so many of her other friends, I feel absolutely wretched going to her. I feel angry. I feel hurt. I know she loves me, but she doesn’t want another depressive case to work with. She’s tired of it and has her own life to worry about. These are the impressions I get from her during this. That’s why I don’t call. 

I trust Diego with more than my life. I trust him more than I trust in basic facts. He is my one, solid rock. When I call him, he calms me down. Sometimes, he’s my logic when I don’t want to hear it. Sometimes, he’s my shoulder that I simply sob on. No relationship is perfect, but he’s almost as close as it gets. He never, ever, makes me feel as though I am a burden to him. That’s probably why I trust him so much.

I don’t ask for help partially because I feel like I’m burdening people with my problems. They don’t need to hear it. 

I’ve gone for so long on my own. I grew up on my own. My dad and sister didn’t give me that time because they were so consumed with their own lives. It wasn’t a problem. I could learn things on my own pretty well. I had better common sense than my sister most of the time, but she was always the observant one. 

It’s now a huge problem.

Trial and error is always flawed. It’s flawed by nature. Taking a stand, falling down, and getting back up is never easy.

It’s become so hard for me to look past those failed attempts, so hard that I’m being buried by them.

I’m a failure at most of what I do. 

So when I find success, I cling to it.

Success at my job, success in finding clothes that look good on me, success in that blade.

It’s everywhere.