So my family isn't rich. In fact, I'd say altogether, we're barely scraping middle class. However, my dad manages to keep a good amount of money in savings, and he's willing to throw it at problems, especially since I don't think anyone in my family ever learned how to properly express affection to other people (but that's a blog pot for another time).
My dad is offering me a chance to move back with either him or Mom, live rent free, get a job down there, and maybe go back to the local community college. He'll pay for my rent on both of these places, so I actually have a chance to save up money and pay off my credit cards (which are all currently maxed out). Alternatively, if I find a full time job that I'd truly be interesting in and doesn't pay shit, he'll pay my current rent here and help me get set up wherever I have to move. And if I manage to find a full time job here, he'll still probably throw some money at me, since I told him I had to close my savings account and am taking out checking account advances every month (which one of my best friends says the bank will stop me from doing before too long).
So now starts the mass applying to jobs. I would really rather not move back home; it's tiny and full of super conservatives. Not to mention it would feel like a huge step back, but if that's where I find a good job, that's where I find a good job. I'd be stupid to not swallow my pride and accept the offer. I really don't want to stay here either, though. Since dropping out, I feel like this place has nothing left for me, and I just need to escape to a bigger area. I'm mostly wanting to go to a nearby city, and one day I'd like to run off to Seattle (but Christ that day is not this day; no way I'd have the money for it!).
One of the issues about staying here is figuring out where I'm going to live one this lease is up at the end of July. Carrie will be moving in with the friend she's spending a shit ton of time with. I don't really care, because I don't really like living with other people, and we knew I'd want to live alone again once this lease was up. However, now my option is to renew my lease at my old place or try to find a new place and put a deposit down on that. I really like my old place, but that lease begins a month and a half before this lease ends, so that's just more time I'd have to pay double rent, which will suck even more if I don't find a subleaser for it in the meantime (which I don't see happening).
And the issue about not finding a subleaser and renewing my lease is, why would I stay in this apartment? Why wouldn't I just go ahead and move back, and just give Carrie money every month for the rent?
The sucky thing is, I feel like no matter what happens, my relationship with Carrie is irreparable. I'll never be able to forget about her dropping the ball in my time of need, especially since I feel like I've bent over backward to help her out in her time of need. It's hard to bounce back from that.
Oh, and on top of all of this, my cushy military health insurance was taken away from me because I aged out, so now I have to get civilian health insurance, which is scary as shit. I finally signed up for it, but it doesn't start until March, so I have to wait until March before I can go back and see a therapist and get started back on anti-depressants.
And I've been single for a year and a half, the most recent dates I had went really well, but the dude just stopped texting me. And I'm still fucking in love with my ex. And I think my work-crush would rather get with Carrie than me, based on a few conversations.
So yeah, basically a million reasons why most people would feel shitty right about now, with my depression piled on top of it. Which is how we come around full circle to "this is the closest I've been to self-harm in four years." haha I've yet to find a suitable destructive outlet for the urge yet, so I suppose bitching on the Internet will have to do.
I guess I just really wish I hadn't gotten so used to relying on Carrie, so it wouldn't hurt so much when she failed to be here for me.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Basically Don't Expect Regular Updates (2)
So shit just went down and now my in-town best friend has to find a place to stay.
My place is a no go. She has a dog she absolutely will not ever ever part with, and despite begging my landlady, dogs are an extreme NO.
So I guess I did what any best friend would do (or what I thought any best friend would do), I offered to sublease my place and move into a dog and cat friendly place with her. When such place with all of our other requirements basically fell into our laps within a week, and let us move into the place a week after that, how could we say no? Unfortunately, my friend was going through some awful financial shit since she just dumped most of her savings on a 5 year anniversary Hawaiian vacation that she expected to end with a proposal on a volcano (because she told him that if they weren't engaged by five years, they'd have to have a serious talk about their relationship and she told him a volcano proposal would be the most awesome thing ever). So I dumped most of my money (savings and all) into the new apartment. This was just before Christmas.
So here's something that's about to become extremely relevant: Before shit started going downhill for her, we were basically inseparable. Sure, she had other friends that she hung out with, but we were going out and doing things or just hanging out at her place 3 or 4 times a week, and it'd been like that since at least April. I didn't really have anyone to hang out with prior to that (I absolutely suck at making friends), and I only hung out with someone else maybe once a month, so I just got really used to regularly hanging out with my friend (let's call her Carrie, because I am getting tired of typing my friend haha) regularly and only her. Which was a mistake.
Around the time shit started to go down with Carrie, I started to get really depressed again. I don't know if it was because of what was happening, or just a coincidence, but either way, that's how it was. So when Carrie stopped hanging out with me quite so much in December, it hurt, yeah, but I really tried to understand that she needed space to sort things out. And then she just needed other people to sort things out with, because other people have different perspectives, and other people like to go to bars and clubs and be around tons of other people, which I don't like at all. I'm more of a one on one person. And she needed to go on dates, because she hadn't dated anyone new for five years, and before then she hadn't had many dates. So it's cool. Healing process and all that.
But it hasn't ended, it hasn't changed.
Again, we used to hang out one on one three or four times a week, and now we've hung out one on one three or four times in over a month, maybe. We live together now, and I hardly ever see her outside of work. She's always off at another friend's, or out with other friends, or on a date, or has a date over, or just needs some time to herself.
Meanwhile, I'm only getting more depressed and lonely.
I finally talk to her about it, and she said she knew I was depressed, she just thought that I needed my space. I told her most definitely not, I was really lonely and really wanted to hang out with her more. She said she's just used to giving people space or needing to be specifically told someone who is upset needs company. I said I'll try, but I'm telling her now that I'm really lonely and could really use the company. She said she's just used to it not being like that. (This is summing up a half hour long conversation, so it's not quite so simplistic, but I did outright say I wanted her specifically to hang out with me more because I was really lonely).
A week or so later, nothing's changed, so I bring it up again, and basically the same conversation takes place, with a bit more detail on either side.
She's hung out with me one or two times since then, but my depression's only gotten worse, and she was out of the apartment every single day this week. Every day. And around Wednesday she tells me she'll be gone for the whole weekend. At first I was depressed about that, but then I just got fed up. Fucking fine. I'd be alone. I'd revel in being alone. I'd love having the entire place to myself the whole weekend. A friend and I make a long-distance movie date for Saturday, and I'm almost excited to be home alone, because I figure I need to get used to being alone again anyway.
And of course I'm not actually home alone most of the weekend. She's only gone for a few hours Saturday, and when she gets back, she has her current date with her, and they stay up late talking, so I have to take sleeping pills and turn my white noise up really loud in order to sleep. Today she's home almost all day, cleaning and trying to make small talk with me, but I'm stupid and bitter, and will barely acknowledge it. She leaves to go to a Super Bowl party (which I was also invited to, but I didn't feel like being around Carrie, much less Carrie and her new date), and I enjoy the time alone (minus the occasional bursting into tears for being so bitter and awful), and then she comes back with her new date, and they are still up talking when we both have work at 7 in the morning.
And that's just the shortened version of the Carrie-specific side of things.
On the other side, we have my still not having a subleaser for my old place.
And my manager cutting my hours.
So let's do the math, in a really good month, I might make $1000 after taxes. In a bad month, which will start happening now that the holidays are over, I can make as little as $700 after taxes. My bills include two apartments (about $900 total), utilities at one apartment ($100 total), cell phone (about $90), credit cards (between $75 and $150 total), and gas for my car ($30-$60). This is not including food for myself, food and litter for my cat, and random household necessities. Not sure if you noticed, but rent almost took up my entire good month paycheck and was more than my bad month paycheck.
So obviously things aren't going well in that area.
Luckily, I'm getting a pretty good tax refund, which should cover my old apartment's rent until that lease ends.
Unfortunately, I just got a letter in the mail saying I owe my school $3300 back in student loans since I didn't complete a certain percentage of my courses last semester.
Man, this is long, too, and I still have a bit to talk about. Post number three coming up.
My place is a no go. She has a dog she absolutely will not ever ever part with, and despite begging my landlady, dogs are an extreme NO.
So I guess I did what any best friend would do (or what I thought any best friend would do), I offered to sublease my place and move into a dog and cat friendly place with her. When such place with all of our other requirements basically fell into our laps within a week, and let us move into the place a week after that, how could we say no? Unfortunately, my friend was going through some awful financial shit since she just dumped most of her savings on a 5 year anniversary Hawaiian vacation that she expected to end with a proposal on a volcano (because she told him that if they weren't engaged by five years, they'd have to have a serious talk about their relationship and she told him a volcano proposal would be the most awesome thing ever). So I dumped most of my money (savings and all) into the new apartment. This was just before Christmas.
So here's something that's about to become extremely relevant: Before shit started going downhill for her, we were basically inseparable. Sure, she had other friends that she hung out with, but we were going out and doing things or just hanging out at her place 3 or 4 times a week, and it'd been like that since at least April. I didn't really have anyone to hang out with prior to that (I absolutely suck at making friends), and I only hung out with someone else maybe once a month, so I just got really used to regularly hanging out with my friend (let's call her Carrie, because I am getting tired of typing my friend haha) regularly and only her. Which was a mistake.
Around the time shit started to go down with Carrie, I started to get really depressed again. I don't know if it was because of what was happening, or just a coincidence, but either way, that's how it was. So when Carrie stopped hanging out with me quite so much in December, it hurt, yeah, but I really tried to understand that she needed space to sort things out. And then she just needed other people to sort things out with, because other people have different perspectives, and other people like to go to bars and clubs and be around tons of other people, which I don't like at all. I'm more of a one on one person. And she needed to go on dates, because she hadn't dated anyone new for five years, and before then she hadn't had many dates. So it's cool. Healing process and all that.
But it hasn't ended, it hasn't changed.
Again, we used to hang out one on one three or four times a week, and now we've hung out one on one three or four times in over a month, maybe. We live together now, and I hardly ever see her outside of work. She's always off at another friend's, or out with other friends, or on a date, or has a date over, or just needs some time to herself.
Meanwhile, I'm only getting more depressed and lonely.
I finally talk to her about it, and she said she knew I was depressed, she just thought that I needed my space. I told her most definitely not, I was really lonely and really wanted to hang out with her more. She said she's just used to giving people space or needing to be specifically told someone who is upset needs company. I said I'll try, but I'm telling her now that I'm really lonely and could really use the company. She said she's just used to it not being like that. (This is summing up a half hour long conversation, so it's not quite so simplistic, but I did outright say I wanted her specifically to hang out with me more because I was really lonely).
A week or so later, nothing's changed, so I bring it up again, and basically the same conversation takes place, with a bit more detail on either side.
She's hung out with me one or two times since then, but my depression's only gotten worse, and she was out of the apartment every single day this week. Every day. And around Wednesday she tells me she'll be gone for the whole weekend. At first I was depressed about that, but then I just got fed up. Fucking fine. I'd be alone. I'd revel in being alone. I'd love having the entire place to myself the whole weekend. A friend and I make a long-distance movie date for Saturday, and I'm almost excited to be home alone, because I figure I need to get used to being alone again anyway.
And of course I'm not actually home alone most of the weekend. She's only gone for a few hours Saturday, and when she gets back, she has her current date with her, and they stay up late talking, so I have to take sleeping pills and turn my white noise up really loud in order to sleep. Today she's home almost all day, cleaning and trying to make small talk with me, but I'm stupid and bitter, and will barely acknowledge it. She leaves to go to a Super Bowl party (which I was also invited to, but I didn't feel like being around Carrie, much less Carrie and her new date), and I enjoy the time alone (minus the occasional bursting into tears for being so bitter and awful), and then she comes back with her new date, and they are still up talking when we both have work at 7 in the morning.
And that's just the shortened version of the Carrie-specific side of things.
On the other side, we have my still not having a subleaser for my old place.
And my manager cutting my hours.
So let's do the math, in a really good month, I might make $1000 after taxes. In a bad month, which will start happening now that the holidays are over, I can make as little as $700 after taxes. My bills include two apartments (about $900 total), utilities at one apartment ($100 total), cell phone (about $90), credit cards (between $75 and $150 total), and gas for my car ($30-$60). This is not including food for myself, food and litter for my cat, and random household necessities. Not sure if you noticed, but rent almost took up my entire good month paycheck and was more than my bad month paycheck.
So obviously things aren't going well in that area.
Luckily, I'm getting a pretty good tax refund, which should cover my old apartment's rent until that lease ends.
Unfortunately, I just got a letter in the mail saying I owe my school $3300 back in student loans since I didn't complete a certain percentage of my courses last semester.
Man, this is long, too, and I still have a bit to talk about. Post number three coming up.
Basically Don't Expect Regular Updates
I think this is mostly a place to talk when I don't feel like I can talk to anyone around me, and it's pretty much the only site I have that's under a username I almost never use, isn't linked to any of my other social sites, and I've told no one about.
I feel like cutting again. I won't. I can't afford to. I know it's fucking hard to stop once I've started, and I just can't go back down that road. But this is the first time in four years that I've really felt I was on the edge of doing so. I can't tell my friends, because they'd just worry too much, and there's no real way to get someone to believe you won't hurt yourself, especially when you've had such a serious past with it.
I just have so much shit going down right now.
In late September, I got pretty hard hit with depression. I've had depressive episodes off and on for about ten years, but they haven't been too bad or gone on for too long in three or four years. But this time it was awful and it lasted until late October. I dropped out of college. I just stopped attending classes, my grades were going to shit, and I both didn't care and cared too much. I almost quit my job, which I actually really enjoy.
In mid October, I finally decided to try to get help. I called up my school's psychiatric clinic and found out it would be three weeks before I could be seen. I couldn't do that. I couldn't. I couldn't wait so fucking long. Luckily, one of my best friends is super awesome and called another clinic at the university run hospital, and found out I could be seen basically immediately if I went to the emergency room, which would send me over to their in-house psychiatric care.
I got the meds I wanted, but not until after what felt like an extremely dehumanizing process.
When I first went to the emergency room, I had to explain to the receptionist what was going on. Then I had to explain to a nurse, who gave me a bracelet, then peed in a cup and went back to the waiting room. Then I had to explain to another nurse, who asked "what happened to make me so depressed" and didn't seem to understand that there was no one incident, and just because I wasn't suicidal didn't mean I didn't need help. Then I had to explain to a doctor who seemed to give as many shits as the nurse did (though the nurse did come back and tell me where water was if I needed any, which was nice). Then I got to sit in the room the nurse and the doctor saw me in for another half hour before being escorted to the psychiatric wing, which is where I really lost my personhood.
The med student (I'm pretty sure she was one, though I'm not 100% sure), stood in the hallway with me, because the person she was told to take me to was in some sort of meeting, or was somehow occupied, but was going to be right out. We waited for not even a minute when another woman came out and asked the med student what I was doing in the hallway. She then took all my things from me, not letting me text my best friend that I had to give up my phone so he wouldn't worry. I overheard her talking to one of her coworkers about how I was just wandering around the hallway, as though I had just happened by there on my own and had been there for a while. She then got a security guard to scan me with a metal detector. It beeped around my chest, but I wasn't really paying attention since I was too busy trying to not continuously sob. The security guard asked me if I had wires in my bra. I asked what and he repeated himself. I couldn't put together the context of why he would ask, and I really had no idea what sort of bra I was wearing so I said, "I.. Maybe? I think so. I don't know." He laughed and said he hoped I did or I probably did or something, which was maybe his attempt to find humor in the situation, but everything that was happening to me was making me more uncomfortable and on edge. I then had to be weighed and had my bracelet scanned. It felt like that bracelet was my new identity, not my name. Did anyone even ask for my name, after the receptionist?
A nurse came in with a laptop, and I had to explain everything to her, which she entered into the computer. Then a med student came in with a clipboard, and I had to give her the exact same information I just gave the nurse. Then the med student brought in a doctor, who I had to half explain the situation to and ask some further questions. This whole time, I was crying off and on, especially after my stuff was taken from me. I was spoken to as a child was spoken to, which I suppose was supposed to calm me down, but just made me feel less human. Finally, after some deliberation, I was given a prescription for anti-depressants, and was allowed to leave. My things were retrieved from a locker, and I felt like my identity was given back to me.
Another of my best friends picked me up and took me to a late night pharmacy to get my prescription. It was a small step, but it was a good step in the right direction.
By the time I went to my appointment three weeks later, I knew I was going to drop out. I didn't tell the psychiatrist, I just got a prescription for a refill and a higher dose and left.
I tried to push myself to officially withdraw, but the only way I could see to do it was to talk to each of my teachers individually and have them sign a paper saying I get a W or an F. How could I do that? How could I look each of my professors in the eye and say "I can't do it. I'm dropping out. I can't tell you why, but I just can't do it anymore." I couldn't and I didn't. I just ignored that part of my life, and was less depressed for November, probably because preparing for Black Friday in my retail job had me quite distracted from anything else.
I started feeling worse early December, though, and this is really where shit really starts to go downhill.
One of my best friends, the one who picked me up from the hospital, was going on a break from her 5 year relationship. I hoped she'd just dump the guy. He seemed like a bit of an asshole, but I never saw enough to feel comfortable voicing my opinion to her. She faked happy well enough that I didn't think it was any of my business. But after getting into an emotionally intense relationship with another man, she realized she needed to reevaluate her relationship with her current partner and was up front with him about the reasons why (which wasn't just that guy, but their various incompatibilities which would have either broken them up eventually or made them super unhappy anyway). He responds by saying he can no longer trust her to not fuck other dudes (thus taking any blame off of him) and breaks up with her.
Needless to say, there's a lot of drama going down because of this. I won't get into all the details, but there's a lot of literal and figurative shit to unpack and figure out from a five year relationship. One of the bigger ones being: Where is my friend going to live?
And really this is long enough as it is, so I'm going to break this off here and start a second post.
I feel like cutting again. I won't. I can't afford to. I know it's fucking hard to stop once I've started, and I just can't go back down that road. But this is the first time in four years that I've really felt I was on the edge of doing so. I can't tell my friends, because they'd just worry too much, and there's no real way to get someone to believe you won't hurt yourself, especially when you've had such a serious past with it.
I just have so much shit going down right now.
In late September, I got pretty hard hit with depression. I've had depressive episodes off and on for about ten years, but they haven't been too bad or gone on for too long in three or four years. But this time it was awful and it lasted until late October. I dropped out of college. I just stopped attending classes, my grades were going to shit, and I both didn't care and cared too much. I almost quit my job, which I actually really enjoy.
In mid October, I finally decided to try to get help. I called up my school's psychiatric clinic and found out it would be three weeks before I could be seen. I couldn't do that. I couldn't. I couldn't wait so fucking long. Luckily, one of my best friends is super awesome and called another clinic at the university run hospital, and found out I could be seen basically immediately if I went to the emergency room, which would send me over to their in-house psychiatric care.
I got the meds I wanted, but not until after what felt like an extremely dehumanizing process.
When I first went to the emergency room, I had to explain to the receptionist what was going on. Then I had to explain to a nurse, who gave me a bracelet, then peed in a cup and went back to the waiting room. Then I had to explain to another nurse, who asked "what happened to make me so depressed" and didn't seem to understand that there was no one incident, and just because I wasn't suicidal didn't mean I didn't need help. Then I had to explain to a doctor who seemed to give as many shits as the nurse did (though the nurse did come back and tell me where water was if I needed any, which was nice). Then I got to sit in the room the nurse and the doctor saw me in for another half hour before being escorted to the psychiatric wing, which is where I really lost my personhood.
The med student (I'm pretty sure she was one, though I'm not 100% sure), stood in the hallway with me, because the person she was told to take me to was in some sort of meeting, or was somehow occupied, but was going to be right out. We waited for not even a minute when another woman came out and asked the med student what I was doing in the hallway. She then took all my things from me, not letting me text my best friend that I had to give up my phone so he wouldn't worry. I overheard her talking to one of her coworkers about how I was just wandering around the hallway, as though I had just happened by there on my own and had been there for a while. She then got a security guard to scan me with a metal detector. It beeped around my chest, but I wasn't really paying attention since I was too busy trying to not continuously sob. The security guard asked me if I had wires in my bra. I asked what and he repeated himself. I couldn't put together the context of why he would ask, and I really had no idea what sort of bra I was wearing so I said, "I.. Maybe? I think so. I don't know." He laughed and said he hoped I did or I probably did or something, which was maybe his attempt to find humor in the situation, but everything that was happening to me was making me more uncomfortable and on edge. I then had to be weighed and had my bracelet scanned. It felt like that bracelet was my new identity, not my name. Did anyone even ask for my name, after the receptionist?
A nurse came in with a laptop, and I had to explain everything to her, which she entered into the computer. Then a med student came in with a clipboard, and I had to give her the exact same information I just gave the nurse. Then the med student brought in a doctor, who I had to half explain the situation to and ask some further questions. This whole time, I was crying off and on, especially after my stuff was taken from me. I was spoken to as a child was spoken to, which I suppose was supposed to calm me down, but just made me feel less human. Finally, after some deliberation, I was given a prescription for anti-depressants, and was allowed to leave. My things were retrieved from a locker, and I felt like my identity was given back to me.
Another of my best friends picked me up and took me to a late night pharmacy to get my prescription. It was a small step, but it was a good step in the right direction.
By the time I went to my appointment three weeks later, I knew I was going to drop out. I didn't tell the psychiatrist, I just got a prescription for a refill and a higher dose and left.
I tried to push myself to officially withdraw, but the only way I could see to do it was to talk to each of my teachers individually and have them sign a paper saying I get a W or an F. How could I do that? How could I look each of my professors in the eye and say "I can't do it. I'm dropping out. I can't tell you why, but I just can't do it anymore." I couldn't and I didn't. I just ignored that part of my life, and was less depressed for November, probably because preparing for Black Friday in my retail job had me quite distracted from anything else.
I started feeling worse early December, though, and this is really where shit really starts to go downhill.
One of my best friends, the one who picked me up from the hospital, was going on a break from her 5 year relationship. I hoped she'd just dump the guy. He seemed like a bit of an asshole, but I never saw enough to feel comfortable voicing my opinion to her. She faked happy well enough that I didn't think it was any of my business. But after getting into an emotionally intense relationship with another man, she realized she needed to reevaluate her relationship with her current partner and was up front with him about the reasons why (which wasn't just that guy, but their various incompatibilities which would have either broken them up eventually or made them super unhappy anyway). He responds by saying he can no longer trust her to not fuck other dudes (thus taking any blame off of him) and breaks up with her.
Needless to say, there's a lot of drama going down because of this. I won't get into all the details, but there's a lot of literal and figurative shit to unpack and figure out from a five year relationship. One of the bigger ones being: Where is my friend going to live?
And really this is long enough as it is, so I'm going to break this off here and start a second post.
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