Brutal honesty Part one

I am not well. I have been sick for two weeks now. It's really not anything I can go to the doctor's for. They have done what they can so far. This is something that only I can make better. I have a disease know as depression. Yes, it is a disease. It is something I am learning will never go away although once upon a time, I thought it would.

My depression and anxiety (let's not forget the anxiety--it goes right along with it), reared it's ugly head back in January of '98. I was living with my parents and my ex-boyfriend in the same house. My ex and I still shared the same bed which was pretty much fine with him 'cause, well, he turned out to be gay. Why did we all let him stay? Because 1. he was still in high school and had no where to go. 2. We were suckers. Anyway, two days before my 21st birthday back in '97, we broke up. He had been my first love and we had dated for 2 1/2 years. I was devastated at the time. I thought my world was going to end. Fast forward 5 months to Jan. '98 and I was a mess. (I had had one boyfriend during this time but it had only lasted a month. He couldn't figure out how I could still live with an ex and I couldn't explain it to him so we broke up.) Crying all the time, bitter and angry at the world. (Kinda like right now.) I was positive that no one would ever love me again. How could anyone love something as grotesque as me? (This is how I see myself when I'm in this cycle) The worst part was watching him fall in love again. Now I'm not going to go all Brokeback Mountain or anything, just being honest. He had two loves in 5 months and I was bitter and pissed. I was angry at him and angry at myself. I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel some of the pain he made me feel. I started picking fights with him. And not just verbal. We were in a crazy place and I wasn't making it any easier. I'm not proud of myself, but we would get into fist fights. The night that finally pushed me was a night that I didn't have any cigarettes. I know, pretty insignificant fact. But it was enough. I was in so much emotional pain that night that I didn't know which way was up.

He was getting ready to go out and I just wanted to scream and yell, you know. Get some of the hostility towards him out of my body. I don't remember the exact details but I know that I threw a cordless phone at him and we just started wrestling. I broke a finger. During this fight, my parents came home and that was it. They called 911 and saved my life.

I was in Rochester General Hospital for a week in the psychiatric ward. (On a side note, when I was in emergency, the lady next to me was really crazy. She kept talking about how she was the devil and she had cigarette's up her vagina and a lighter up her ass. I kept praying that she wasn't in the room next to me once I was admitted.) I was on suicide watch and screamed at my doctor's that I wanted to go home. Room checks every 15 minutes. I remember this one guy the first day I was there, getting down on all fours and barking at me like a dog. I headed straight back to my room. I was defiant and didn't want to leave my room. Somehow though, the nurses got through to me that I needed to participate. It was all very structured. Wake up at 7am, breakfast at 8am, arts and crafts at 9am, group participation at 10pm and so on and so on. Tony and his friend came once to visit me. That was enough for him. He couldn't handle it. He did still love me in his own way, just not the way I wanted to be loved. He moved out while I was there.

About four days into my involuntary stay, I was taken off suicide watch and allowed to go outside and breathe fresh air and smoke a cigarette. Now here's the weird part. We were allowed off of the psychiatric floor. By ourselves. To go outside. To where the city buses pick up and drop off. We wore our own clothes while we where there, no open back gowns for us. What in the hell kept us from getting on that bus and leaving? Maybe it was the trust issue. Maybe it was the fact that we felt safe from ourselves for the first time in a long time. We always went back inside. Three days later, I was released from the hospital. It was very scary to leave a place that I knew what was going to happen. Outside, I had to deal with life. Inside, I just had to go through the imitation of life. It was time to put the coping mechanisms into practice.

It was time to start to rebuild my life.

grrrrrrrr

My job is driving me crazy. I feel trapped with no place to go. If I don't get a new job soon, I'm seriously gonna go ape-shit. I have no training for anything else though because my intelligence has dropped about 80 points since I started working there and I am no longer qualified to do anything other than say "How would you like that sliced? Thin or regular?" Dear god, help me find a new job soon before I become postal.

Happy Anniversary to me!

I was just going through my archives and realized that this week is my two year anniversary of having this blog. Alot has changed but oh my goodness, so much has stayed the same. I don't work for The Health Association anymore but I still work for the most evil place on earth (bj's). I'm still dating Jim but my dad and extended family moved to Chicago. I no longer have my Kia but I now have a car I don't have to make payments on. My credit is still bad but it is getting better. My ass hasn't gone back to school but it is still wanting too. Now I just have to decide what I want to do. It changes about every week. My weight, like the gas prices, has gone up and down. I still love frogs but I decided I have too many and donated alot of them. Although I still have every one anyone has ever bought/given me. I wonder what the next two years will bring. Any one have any fortunes for me? Tell me!