Waking Up Happy

It was really refreshing to wake up this morning unreasonably happy; no thoughts about anything in particular, except trying to remember the dreams I had last night. I walked over to turn my air conditioner off, and when I got to the window to turn the dial to the “Off” position, I wondered why I was so happy. It wasn’t even the kind of happy you experience on your best day with friends, or the jubilant relief that accompanies realizing a gnawing worry is resolved. It was, in the only way I can think to describe it, ignorant bliss (Clichés-1, Wiggygirl-0). I wasn’t sure why I was happy, but I was obviously enjoying it. Honestly, I have not felt that happy in weeks or months. Months. That’s a long time to not experience an emotion, let alone a fantastic one. This realization made me wonder how long it would be until I felt this strange elation again. After a few weeks of believing my depression was actually going away, I was hit by an especially depressive mood at the beginning of this week; unfortunately, I have to wonder if I brought it on myself. I had been sick after coming home from vacation at the beach, and through a mixture of not really wanting to go to work and guilt of probably spreading germs to my coworkers, I coerced myself to take Monday off. I texted my boss that morning and he told me it was fine if I didn’t come into work, and to inform him when I would be able to come back in (have I mentioned my boss is really chill?). Monday was spent sleeping a lot, browsing a variety of sites on my computer, maybe a little reading….nothing too productive, because I was attempting to relax and “get better”. However, as the day progressed and I knew I would have to go back to work the next day, I started feeling unmotivated, though not quite depressed yet. Since my boss hadn’t said “see you tomorrow”, rather telling me to contact him when I was feeling better, why shouldn’t I take another day off? Though I told myself I would see how I felt in the morning, I knew in the back of my mind my decision had already been made. Not wanting to tell my mom I was taking another day off, I decided I would wake up normal time and pretend I was going to work. I drove to the park behind my house to chill and listen to music/my anxiety tape while I waited for all my coworkers and mother to get off the roads. Then, I spent three hours driving around South Jersey with no actual destination in mind. I love driving, but this wasn’t supposed to be a leisurely escapade through main streets and lonely roads. This was foreshadowing for the lowest low I’ve felt in awhile. Flashback to last summer, when my depression went along unnoticed and untreated. I was so afraid and anxious to tell my boss that once soccer started I would not be able to work, I decided I simply would not, and instead texted him two days in a row saying I would not be coming to work that day. No explanations or excuses; I just would not be working, and in my last text I told him I would not come in again because soccer would be starting. Minus the vague text messages, I did the same thing I did this past Tuesday; I pretended to go to work but instead drove around aimlessly. When I told my best friend about what had occurred, she completely brushed it off. She didn’t get it. This was what I did when I was very depressed. I know now after talking to her she was trying to help by distracting me and discussing other topics, but I had to tell her this was not how to help me. I don’t know about other people, but when I am really depressed or upset about something, I don’t want people to distract me immediately. I don’t even necessarily want advice. What I really need and covet is sympathy and someone who will tell me it’s okay that I’m upset. I really would like someone who will ask questions; this will either show they are interested in what’s going on or it will help me look at the issue and work through it. After a similar conversation with my ex/guy friend, my depression became severe, and I’ve unfortunately spent the past few days feeling alone and melancholy. I barely talked to my friends and spent a lot of time inside my room, traversing the dark regions of Tumblr and listening to music that makes me sad. I excessively and genuinely cried for the first time in awhile. Luckily I conversed with my friends and therapist about this issue and, after this wonderful morning, am starting to feel sort of normal again. Though I know this intense change of mood is fleeting, I have some sense of hope for future happiness.

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Bad Thoughts

It’s ten past midnight and I am supposed to go to soccer practice around 8am. But I went to our high school football game tonight and felt excluded, sad, and worried about my little sister. I came home and was overwhelmed by a wave of unanticipated depression. My boyfriend stopped texting, right when I needed someone to talk to, and I couldn’t muster the will to speak to anyone else, even my psychologist who told me I should text her if I start to think about suicide.

Which I did.

While driving my boyfriend and little sister home from the football game, I thought about how I could kill myself by crashing my car. Of course, I knew I would never-and could never-crash while they were in the car. And I’m too afraid to wonder if I would have done it if no one had been there to silently and unknowingly change my mind.

So I spent time on Facebook, then triggered myself more by scrolling through everything on Tumblr with the tag “depression”. Please never do this to yourself. Then I of course listened to Demons by Imagine Dragons, which describes a lot of what I’ve been feeling. And I cried a lot. And felt worthless. And felt alone. I desperately don’t want to die, but sometimes I feel like I don’t have the strength to continue living. I just want everything to stop, or at least stop hurting.

Then I googled something about suicide and found this comment on a forum under the question “what is the best way to kill myself?”:

There is no reason people should be forced to live when their lives are miserable and they want an exit.
Why would a stranger have to be so selfish to deny someone the right to leave this place? 

And this killed me, because it just doesn’t seem right. Isn’t this like giving up? Like if a doctor were to say, “oh, you have cancer, there’s no reason we should try to help you”.

I just needed to release some of these thoughts, and I would very much like other people to comment on the italicized text above. Because I really don’t know what to think about it. To me at least, it feels terribly wrong.

Because I don’t want someone to leave me the right to leave.

The Doctor’s Visit

***Note: Any dialogue is from memory and therefore is probably not exact wording. Also, order of events might be wrong, but all of this did happen sooo yeah***

If this is your first time reading a post of mine or you just don’t follow me avidly, I wrote my mother a note telling her that I essentially think I might be some kind of depressed. In response, she decided to set up a doctor’s appointment for me with my regular family doctor. It was rescheduled because of soccer to this morning.

So today when my mom picked me up and we went to the doctors, I was so nervous I wanted to just completely skip it. However, I didn’t voice my nerves (though it would have helped, at least then I might have known how much my mom had already told the doctor) and sat patiently dreading the inevitable while watching Rachael Ray in the waiting room.

We got in the examining room and waited for a bit, then she came in, all cheery and such. My doctor has a slight accent (Polish, I believe), and is really nice, as far as I know. She sat down and asked me how it was going, and me being me, I was so close to crying already that I just shrugged awkwardly.

She scanned over some notes in my file and said, “Well, you think you’re depressed, right?”. Pause. Silence. “Can you tell me how you feel?”.

So, in a shaky, about-to-cry voice, I told her that, though it wasn’t every day, I felt unmotivated to do things. In no particular order, she asked me how long this has been happening, and I told her since about April. She asked me some questions, like if I felt like crying sometimes, and I shook my head quite forcefully at that one.

She also asked if something had triggered it, or if it just came on its own. I’m sorry to say that I lied, because something (might) have triggered it, but I couldn’t bring it up. So I just said no. She asked me a few more questions, about if I had been bullied, sexually harassed, or having trouble with my knee, soccer, school, etc, all of which I replied with a firm negative.

Then she inquired, “Do you want to hurt yourself?”

Now, this was a very moving, chilling,  and personal way of putting that question. Not “have you self-harmed, had suicidal thoughts, made plans for suicide, etc” like how any of the other clinical questionnaires would probably put it. It wasn’t clinical feeling at all.

And I couldn’t answer because I knew the answer.

So I shrugged again, and by now I had started gently crying. She told me that I shouldn’t be ashamed of my symptoms and that I needed to tell her so that I could get treated, because this was like any other disease that she needed to know about. I simply shrugged again.

Then she said (more so talking to my mother now, who sat with me the entire time) that she would refer me to both a psychologist and a psychiatrist. My mom had to ask the difference: from what I gathered, the psychologist is someone I would talk to for a decent span of time each week about my emotions and such, while the psychiatrist specializes in dealing with mental health and wellness, though I would see them for a shorter amount of time/longer span between appointments.

My doctor also suggested that I start medication.

And I was like WOAH THERE. What? You’re just gonna throw me on some meds?

My mother was also hesitant. She got that “eh” look on her face and asked if that was necessary and what they would do exactly. My doctor responded that, because I had been feeling this way since April, which is five months, that I might need the medication to make me feel better.

Then my mom started asking about side effects, because of those commercials we all know where the list of side effects for some type of drug takes up about half the ad. My doctor said we can start with just the psychologist/psychiatrist and see  if they suggest medication. She also mentioned that the biggest thing they have to monitor in teenagers is if the medication makes the disorder worse, which is what I am so deathly afraid of.

Because both my mother and I were showing concern of how quickly this seemed to escalate, she had to ask me again to assure her that I’ve been feeling consistently bad, and she asked for the percentage of days when I feel good and when I feel bad. I answered that for a few days I’ll feel fine, but then I’ll feel bad for a few days, so it’s about a 50-50 ratio. This seemed to be enough for her.

My mom then asked if the psychologist and psychiatrist would be covered under our insurance (and I internally laughed). Also, when she first mentioned psychologist, I flash-backed to “The Room” when Johnny goes “But you’re a psychologist” and I started giggling on the inside.

Finally, she did some normal doctor-ey stuff and then she decided we would do some blood work to check if I have any chemical imbalances and such. I made my mommy hold my hand while she took blood.

We left the office with a referral to the aforementioned psychologist/psychiatrist. My doctor said that she has referred patients (especially younger ones) to this particular psychologist before and that she was excellent, which I’m sure any doctor would say but it made me feel better all the same. I’m also scheduled to go back to see my regular doctor in about a month so she can check on my progress.

On the way back to the car, my mom talked about how different people she knew went to see psychologists during their tough times, and that I shouldn’t worry about this.

I was slightly worried, but the real issue in my mind was “wait…that’s how it goes? No diagnostic tests to try to figure out if its chronic or major depression or bipolar disorder or something else? What if I’m wrong and making a big fuss over nothing?”.

I mean, please leave some comments if you can about this type of stuff. How are you diagnosed with depression? Is it all based on what you feel, or do you need solid evidence, such as chemical imbalances, or somewhere in between?

Then I started thinking about what I would tell my friends. I simply told them today that I had blood work done, and only my boyfriend questioned why, and I didn’t give him an answer. I don’t know how much they know, and I’m wondering if there will be a good time to tell them or if I should just bring it up when I get the chance.

Thank you for reading this extra long post, I just wanted to talk about this, even though I guess it’s pretty personal. Again, comments would be greatly appreciated.

A Movie You Should See

So I just finished watching this movie-a very short movie, but one of the best I have seen in a long time. It’s a musical.

It’s Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog. Just for warning, there will be lots of emotion. I wish I could rant about it, but I’d rather you all watch it and enjoy it yourself.

Just think I should mention that I sobbed uncontrollably for about ten minutes after I finished watching it, and then when I told my mom why I had been crying I started sobbing again.

I would also like to blame my friend for her Pandora channel where we all first heard the songs from the movie, which motivated me to watch the movie. I had never heard of Neil Patrick Harris before, though yanno I might have but would not have been able to recognize him. But now, I love his voice and this movie just….merp.

Here, just watch it already!

The Cost of Love-a Poem

Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all

Say misguided star-crossed people

Whom I like to call “wrong”

 

Some articulate that love is worth

The painful side effects

These people don’t understand

How love can make you a wreck

 

Slumping down upon the floor

Sobbing uncontrollably at night

Decreased focus, tunnel vision

Eerie silence or constant fights

 

Jealousy drives you mad

And distance renders heartache

Emotional roller coaster rides

Until you abruptly brake

 

Somehow separation sinks in

And then, when they are gone

And you realize it won’t come back

That’s the worst pain of all

 

Perhaps I should have closed my heart

Because, once you’ve considered the cost

Tis better to have never loved

Than to have loved and lost

Month of Motivation: Day 3

“Even if you fall on your face, you’re still moving forward” (Victor Kiam).

Well, I can definitely say I’m moving forward. Oh and look my dog just starting throwing up in the house and, being home alone, I have to clean it. Brilliant.

Last night I was ranting, once again, about my indecision concerning quitting soccer (yes, I’m still brooding over it). I was pouring my heart out to my friend, who I’ve opened up to so much in the last couple months that he has become the person I automatically turn to. Essentially, the conversation came to him telling me that I was going to purgatory to have my eyes sewn shut with metal wire because I gain sinful pleasure from seeing others brought low. I’m going to be punished for my jealousy (his exact words were “It’s just something that is truly done to those like you”).

I have no clue what to do about that. I just started crying. At first I was scared because I thought that meant he was going to reject me for the rest of my life and that I was losing him. Now, I feel like he was a terrible person for scaring me and presenting it to me like that. He could have said it a different way. But then I started thinking about it, and I am a terrible person myself. A part of me realizes that sometimes I do take pleasure in seeing others lower than myself.

Not that I’m trying to excuse this behavior, but I think it relates to my low self esteem. I don’t want other people to be low; I just want to know that other people’s lives suck and that I’m not the only one going through crap like this. No excuse, but some sort of reasoning.

With all those conflicted emotions and crying, I didn’t go to bed until 3:30 am, waking up at 6 am for school. I still feel despondent and melancholy, and though I know it was caused by these events (I had been perfectly content all day yesterday), I’m not exactly sure what is making me the most insane and unstable about the issue. I probably could have fallen asleep around 1 am, when I had calmed down, but felt depressed and thought I kept hearing noises; fearing demons and evil spirits, I kept the light on and read or went on my laptop.

Tumblr eased the pain a little bit. It’s always the little things that reveal a minute but imperative ray of light. While perusing posts with the tag “David Tennant” (it’s hard not to be happier when thinking about that man), I found this:

tumblr beautiful dr tennant

As silly as that is, it made me feel better.

Nevertheless, going to school was a joy because I was both tired, which leads to crankiness and irritability, and hating myself as well as my “friend”, and, well, pretty much feeling anger, hatred, and depression in a jumbled mess. I still feel the same way. I almost started crying in lunch because I couldn’t recieve my yearbook; apparently they didn’t record that I bought one, so now I have to talk about this to my mom. It wasn’t a heavy issue, but it was on top of everything else, and it all piles up after awhile. After I blog I’m going to take a nap before either trying to sort through all of this or doing homework.

So, how can this day of depression have anything to do with my month of motivation?

Simple. Human emotions cannot be avoided: the month of motivation is not aimed to ignore all my issues and feign optimism. Life sucks sometimes, but you have to deal with all the problems or drown. Despite this terrible situation, I’m going to attempt strength, maybe find someone to talk to, and try to figure things out.

P.S. I don’t know if it makes a difference, but I apologize for my over-tagging.

Identity Crisis (advice appreciated)

Ever since I was little, soccer has been a part of my life; I simply love it. Lately, it’s become a part of who I am. When I’m writing applications for scholarships or a resume, soccer teams are the first thing I put down because they are an integral part of my being.

Recently I’ve come to a crossroads as to whether I should participate in my high school’s soccer team next year (I tore my ACL this fall and didn’t play halfway through the fall season and couldn’t play during spring). I have been agonizing over this decision for months, and have been seesawing back and forth between joining the team or quitting and just playing by myself or with friends.

One of the worst things about playing on the soccer team is the stress it causes- and it sure caused me a heck of a lot of stress this season on Junior Varsity, so why should next year, when I’ll be expected to play on Varsity, give me any less stress? I really am a sucky soccer player in comparison to the girls in my school, and am definitely the worst player in my grade, probably one of the worst in the whole program; for most of the games on JV, I didn’t even start, and I was a junior. I’ve always tried my hardest, but what happens when trying my hardest just isn’t enough? I used to come home from soccer practice and just cry because my self-esteem was so low and I felt like I was a worthless soccer player. It hurt a lot, and it still hurts, because reading this makes me want to cry.

It would have been easier if I had more friends on the team, but I don’t. I mean, I like most of the girls, but some of them intimidate me because they are so good, a little cocky and not afraid to call you out in the meanest way. I feel like they’re all going to hate me because I’m so bad. If I were bad but a jokester and loveable, it might be different, but I”m awkward and shy. The girls on the soccer team didn’t try to include me, and I remember one game they just wouldn’t pass to me as much as I called for the ball. I mean, sure, they talked to me, but I didn’t feel like I truly belonged, and I hated feeling so alone all the time. That would be six days a week, about 3 hours a day, of feeling lonely. I hate that feeling.

Contrariwise, why can’t I just make friends? I’ve grown more outspoken since I tore my ACL and more friendly, though that could be just because I’ve been hanging around with my friends more, who I’m pretty loud with. I also feel that, because I was injured and would only start playing again around June, they might be more accepting of my blunders and know that I’m trying my best for my circumstances. I know I won’t get a lot of playing time, but I’ll be playing the role of the underdog, which I do best in. But what if no one wants to be my partner and I’m stuck alone? What if the lonely and self-loathing feelings come back? The coach and I don’t really  have a good relationship, and I haven’t really talked to anyone on the team other than two girls. In fact, most of the girls just stopped talking to me. Sometimes I just miss the days when the entire team were friends and I loved all of them and everyone talked to me. We could actually hang out back then.

This part of my situation is made even worse because all of my friends are in marching band. They have been trying to coerce me to do colorgaurd for years now, but it’s not that interesting to me. I have been tempted though, simply because I want to feel like I belong in an organization, where the people feel like family to me. I’ve never really had that, or haven’t had it in the longest time. I know it’s hard for me to make friends and open up, so I guess I can sort of blame myself. But that only makes this whole thing harder. My friend has suggested that I try it out, or at the least do pit crew so that I can get into shows and hang out without being in the actual performance. My little sister is thinking of doing colorgaurd…this especially hurts because she might get closer to them than me, and I’ll feel even more ostracized than I already do. Usually I’m fine with them, but during marching band season I feel like a complete outsider.

If I don’t play, I lose part of my identity. I can’t see myself doing anything but playing soccer to take up my time. I feel like I don’t really have anything else that is purely mine. I just started doing Science League this year, volunteer, and write this blog, but soccer has always been a part of me.  If  I lose that, I lose myself (and I just started to tear up, so I know this is true). I don’t know what I’d do with myself. So yes I do have some things that I could do otherwise, and maybe me stopping soccer will be the start of a new activity in my life; I have been trying to find a job. But i can’t help but wonder…would it really be the same playing by myself or with friends and just training without participating in a real team and real games?

I’ve been believing that if I train during the fall and don’t play on the high school team, I can play intramural soccer in college, or maybe even on the town’s spring team. But is that even possible? Will I still be up to standard? In the past I’ve had a barely okay training ethic, and I’m terrified that if I don’t do soccer this year I’ll lose it completely, in addition to losing one of the most important pieces of my being. I want to prove that I can come back from this injury and be better than ever. But is that even possible? My training ethic doesn’t think so.

But I love soccer so much. Can’t you strive for something you love and achieve it, no matter what the odds? That requires a lot of work, and I just don’t know if my heart is in it as much as it needs to be. Sometimes I think it is, but other times I hate everything that reminds me of soccer because it’s so painful. I almost started crying when we went to my sister’s practice to pick her up and I saw some girls I knew playing on their spring team. It reminded of the good old days of soccer, when I actually loved my team mates and felt like, if I only trained a little harder, I could be amazing. Nowadays it would take a miracle to make me an acceptable player. Do miracles happen, and would one happen to me? I have no clue.

Sometimes I think that I’m being ridiculous and want this perfect environment for playing soccer that is never going to happen; that what I should be doing is making my environment work with me. Conversely, maybe I’m trying too hard to force myself into something that used to excite me but might not be working or worth it anymore. It’s like a relationship you hate to love; you don’t know when you’re supposed to leave, or how it will affect your future. I’m terrified of making the wrong decision  and everything surrounding soccer just hurts right now. I thought writing out this blog would help me sort my feelings, but it has only made me as confused as ever.