Tag Archives: depressed

Depression is a snowball

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Today I started Christmas shopping. Mike is letting me borrow a little bit of money so that I can actually buy everyone gifts. When I say I’m broke, I mean I am broke. I don’t have a single spare dollar to my name. I even have to borrow money from him so that I can pay an upcoming bill — and usually I have enough money budgeted out so that even “next month’s” bills are taken care of. I have paychecks coming in; I just don’t know when.

So, I’m broke.

Luckily, I have an awesome boyfriend who is making extra money working third shift. I’d be completely screwed without him right now. I cannot even tell you how difficult it is to swallow my pride and ask for money when, since I was sixteen, I’ve been making my own money to buy what I want (and some of what I need; my parents still feed me, and even when I was working as a teenager, still bought me food, clothes, and stuff). My mom is going to help me with medical bills and expenses, but otherwise, I’ve got nothing. I feel really bad asking Mike for anything. I mean, I know we’re a team, and I know I’d help him if he needed it — and have helped him in the past — but it still sucks. I like being independent. Hell, I guess you could say I’m kind of addicted to it, and super stubborn.

So yes, it’s been bothering me that Mike is the only one putting gas into my car, and that he’s been supporting both of our cigarette habits (though I have definitely cut way down on smoking), and that he’s buying everyone’s Christmas gifts. It bothers me that even if I had felt good enough to go out last Friday night, I still couldn’t have, because going out costs money — even at the cheapest bar in town. And yes, it bothers me that I can’t go out this coming Friday, but what am I supposed to do? There’s nothing I can do. Even if all of my clients paid their invoices and put them in the mail this week, I will not be able to get paid until the end of the month.

When that happens? I will pay Mike back. I will take him out to dinner for being so wonderful. I will go out with my friends and buy a round of drinks to say “Happy Birthday.” I will book an appointment at the spa for a motherfucking massage because I’ve been so stressed out, I fucking deserve one.

Also? The score is now: flareup 16, me 3. I am pretty sure the itchy bumps on the back of my right hand are another rash. Either that, or I got bit by a spider. (Please, please let them be spider bites.) The rash on my chin is definitely bigger. It’s not too itchy anymore, though. It’s just annoying, knowing it’s there; everyone else swears they don’t notice it, but I do.

I am not feeling very Christmasy at all.

To top it off, every time I think of shopping, I think of how there is one less person on my list this year.

Popi.

It all just keeps adding up.

Way beyond my reach

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I wish the holidays were over already. Aside from being super stressed out about projects for clients, and worrying like crazy about Popi, I’m now barely going to see Mike on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

In years past, Toys R Us closed at like 6 on Christmas Eve and wasn’t open at all on Christmas Day. This year, they’re still closed on Christmas Day, but they’re open until 8 on Christmas Eve. Scratch that, as of today; Corporate sent an email at the last possible fucking minute and told everyone that they’d be open until 9.

What. The. Fuck.

Why does this matter?

Let me back up. Initially, Mike was scheduled until 8. He was trying to find someone to switch with so he could come over my house and have dinner with Noni, Popi, Biz Noni, Mom, Dad, Lauren, Aunt Wendy, Uncle Lonny, and I, but couldn’t, so he was going to see if he could just leave early because they will probably be dead. Now that they’re going to be open until 9, his boss asked him to stay until they close.

And he agreed.

Trust me when I say he already knows how pissed I am about this.

I understand why he’s doing it. Right now, he’s on great terms with his boss and the district manager, and he really wants to keep those relationships positive in case any higher positions open up. I get that. But still, I had a perfect picture of how Christmas would go, and now it’s just not going to be like that. I can’t help but be selfish and want to have things go my way. So much has not gone my way these last couple of years: my own health, my grandfather’s health, my living situation… I know I should just shut the fuck up and be grateful for what I’ve got. I know that. So many other people have it worse. It just feels like I’ve had a shitty line of luck lately and I guess I was depending on the holidays to be perfect so it could all be better.

To make things worse, I have a huge project deadline for the end of the month that can bleed into the first week of January because of some crazy server issues, but the deadline is making me nauseous because with all of the holiday shit going on, I have barely had time to work on it. Add a whole lot of lack of motivation, and I’m pretty fucked. Fuck you, depression. You’re such a greedy asshole.

So it’s no wonder that I’ve (sort of) picked up smoking again. I made sure not to buy myself a lighter tonight when I picked up a pack of Marlboro Lights. I’ve only had one so far. I don’t feel like I need one now, which is good, I guess. Right now, it’s either smoke or kill someone. Or run away to Florida.

It’s hard to get in the holiday spirit when so much shit is all fucked up. I miss being a little kid, and having only one worry this time of year: Santa not knowing that I really want a Gigapet, or whatever toy. (One year, I asked him every night before bed during this season to bring me a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup. No lie. My love of Reeses started early.)

This year, Santa, all I want is to feel better. Actually, scratch that. I just want everything to go back to the way it was in mid November, when everything was better. When Daddy didn’t lash out every five seconds because he is hurting so badly inside. When I would go to the Barnes and Noble Cafe every afternoon to write with a Pumpkin Spice Latte at my side. When we looked forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas, not a care in the world. When I thought Popi might just have arthritis or a sciatic nerve problem, or something FIXABLE, dammit.

Right now, it feels like nothing in my life is fixable. I feel like I have no friends. I feel like I can’t rant too much to Mike because he is already stressed out enough and I know that by whining that he has to work late tomorrow night, I’m only making it worse. I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around my whole family, because I don’t want to say out loud that shit, I don’t believe in god so I have no fucking clue where my grandfather is going to go when he dies.

Fuck.

There it is, guys. There it fucking is.

We were best friends

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17

I have had many best friends.

The first was Emily, in kindergarten. We talked on the phone.

The second was Elizabeth, in second grade. Then I met Jackie, Desi, and Miranda, and in third grade the four of us were sort of inseparable.

In fourth grade, I met Vanessa. We were best friends all the way up until 8th grade. Even when she moved to Panama during our 5th and 6th grade years, we still kept in touch, and when she came back to Connecticut, we continued to stay in touch. We were best friends again in 8th grade, but lost touch during high school.

The summer before 8th grade, it was Leugim.

During 8th grade, it was me, Vanessa, Jessica, Reshma, and Sandra.

My freshman year of high school, it was Lauren and Ryan, interchangeably. When sophomore year came, I met Sandy. We were best friends up until maybe a year or so ago.

Now I consider the cat my best friend. Or Mike, depending on how the day is going.

I scroll through Facebook status updates and Facebook pages, read old journal and blog entries, cycle through memories. Each of these people were once a huge part of my life, but they aren’t anymore. And I don’t get it.

I don’t get why I can’t seem to hold on to anyone that I care about. I don’t get why the relationships I think are precious to me end up not being precious to the other person. I don’t get why distance, time, and differences ebb away the closeness that once was. I don’t get the petty backstabbing. I don’t get why I move through life like a ghost, passing by people but never sticking to them. I once thought that it wasn’t me, that it was them, but maybe it really is me.

I think about inviting these old friends out for a cup of coffee or some lunch. I can see us sitting at a table, catching up, sharing the years that passed without a word over an hour or so. A simple message over Facebook could arrange this. But then I hesitate. What if we don’t have anything in common anymore? Or even worse: what if they say no?

Then the moment passes and I feel like an idiot. Normal people don’t cling to the past. Normal people move on through the future. Normal people make new friends.

I am not normal. I don’t make friends. Everyone I ever knew or cared about just drifts away. And I find that I have to look at myself, very closely. I once thought I was a good person, that I was a great friend — the kind who would bend over backward for my friends. I thought that I was fun to hang out with, that I was interesting enough to keep around.

More and more, I feel like a hermit. I fear that I will be alone. I fear that these friends from the past don’t think of me anymore. Maybe I meant nothing to them. Maybe I will never mean anything again.

Is this normal? Or should I just suck it up?

Read my Batman/Harley fan fiction! Harley Quinn decides she’s tired of Joker’s bullshit and decides to take revenge…