Depressed thoughts in late March 2015

So I’m an emotional putz. Guilty. Already know I am. Not sure it can be changed either.

But most people are very emotional as well, despite claims to the contrary. Just that they express their emotions in anger and frustration and then somehow see that as different than openly expressing pain and remorse and sadness.

I think a lot of people, online especially, jump on causes more often due to emotional concerns than simply due to rational, reasoned observations. And I sometimes think what people rail against can be the very thing they want but fear. Or they go in support of an idea that they themselves don’t have access to but wish for or are currently striving for. That’s the way we humans are. No matter how much we think we know our own selves, how much can we really? Not as if we’re static beings — we change little by little all the time based on what we experience or are otherwise influenced by.

As for me, I’m very nervous about society and the world, as should be obvious from my writings on this blog. And that includes all people within societies too. I’m never quite sure what to believe or what’s going on, and admittedly my mind likes to play tricks on me by jumping to conclusions even where unwarranted. And I struggle with this with everybody to varying extents. My baseline is, and has always been, bewilderment, so it doesn’t take much to stir my worries. I am an emotional being, plain and simple. There’s no point pretending otherwise.

Plus, I’ve picked up a number of bad habits along the way in terms of my manner of thinking and way of being. I learned a long time ago to look out for myself, but then it went too far over time and began coming across as selfish when trying to get my needs fulfilled. Doesn’t mean I don’t care about others, doesn’t even necessarily mean I care less for them than for myself, just that I’m geared to behave this way and it’s a tough unlearning process. I want to be giving and sometimes I am very much so. But too often I get paranoid and scared and worried with trying to shore up what I have and who’s in my corner and get too focused on all of that. Not because I’m simply a female but because of the life I’ve led. I too am scared of always coming up with the short end of the stick, and through my efforts to keep that from happening I’ve at times jeopardized what might’ve been positive relationships. And that’s utterly depressing and upsetting to me. Which then just leads back into a labyrinth of circular thoughts and worries and reflecting on past grievances that culminates in fear for what may lay in store in the future.

This is part of my psychology, as it’s developed throughout my life. Right or wrong. I am simply acknowledging it. And it’s very complex — so much so to where I can’t spell it out in writing no matter how I try. Oftentimes it feels like a double-edged sword where my attempts to protect myself or my feelings wind up doing harm to myself (and sometimes others) in the aftermath. Sometimes feels like I’m my own worst enemy because my thoughts never shut up, and yet too often they are knee-jerk and inaccurate and impacted by past experiences that have nothing to do with whatever I am dealing with in the present. This is very frustrating to have to deal with day in and day out.

Wounded pride is a difficult thing to swallow, most especially when one’s wounds were partially self-inflicted, even (or perhaps especially) if initially unintended. Prolonged pain and confusion can make a beast out of a person in some cases; though in others it can produce a sopping wet blanket.  Maybe I’m a mixture of both, to varying degrees. Some people cope better than others — that’s a given. But those of us who do not cope well wind up feeling relegated to the fringes, trying to avoid social interaction after enough bad experiences and then being scaredy-cats when we do take the plunge. Why is that? Who knows? Humans are complex beings and it all divvies up in countless ways. I do not have any answers.

The biggest trouble I have is with my perception. I regularly have trouble distinguishing friend from foe. Sometimes I am too trusting, and at other times I am too defensive for my own good. And this sometimes proves true even when dealing with friends I’ve known a long time. Because I fear that I will wind up being nothing but a joke, that my love will be rejected, that I will never be able to change enough to gain the acceptance I crave from those I care most about. And that then mires a person into a dark tunnel of bad feelings and troubled thoughts, and I don’t know what to do about that.

Pharmaceutical drugs are not the answer. Last time I went that route I behaved in ways that radically changed my whole life from then on. Wasn’t a good situation. Was very weird. Seemed to lose an important portion of my impulse control and apparently haven’t fully regained it much since. Or perhaps the changes it brought about just led to further breaking down of life as I had known it and that’s why the impulses took over, as a means to provide some measure of comfort in response. Either way, that was no good. Anything that lowers my concern to that level to where I smilingly sign my life away is a raw deal and a dangerous play on brain chemistry. Not that it’s entirely the drug’s fault, but still. I do not trust that route.

Nor do I trust most so-called professionals in the psychological realm. Clock-watchers is what they are. Those I’ve visited in years past acted like nothing was wrong or just sat there silently, preferring to say nothing at all. When I asked for help in coping, all I received was some lame pamphlet. When that costs $90/hr., it’s surely not worth it. I do not respect most people in that profession and see them more as vultures than as helpers. Better to have dedicated friends than to go that route.

I wish this depression didn’t grip me so hard and so often. I wish it would leave me entirely. But it’s always been here and threatens to never leave. It’s here most nights, especially when I wake up from sleeping. And it greets me in the morning when my dreams finally break. And it drags around with me most days, weighing on my spirit, reminding me that there’s nothing much to look forward to aside from entertaining myself to death along with all the rest. I do resist it regularly enough. Been trying to lift heavier weights at my gym training appointments, in hope that getting my body back on track will lift my self-image and give this internal gremlin less to worry over. Yesterday I didn’t eat but a couple bites and drank only one beer. Calories avoided, so that’s a good thing. Been recently trying to watch lectures again online instead of focusing on all the hateful vlogosphere crap since that shit does admittedly get to me after a while. But these are just day-to-day choices… Doesn’t really strike at the root of the matter, which I’m not sure how to reach and call out and effectively deal with.

This being my conundrum. And it continues on and on and on with no end in sight. Just a day-by-day situation to deal with. Always has been and probably always will be. And I get very, very tired of it. Very worn out by it. Very saddened when it affects my loved ones and brings them down too. Disturbs me how it influences my thinking and makes it so hard to let go of what I need to let go of. Makes it damn-near impossible, in fact. And I don’t know what to do about that. I’m not sure how you fix something like this, something that appears so entrenched in one’s own personality.

Some layperson-armchair-psychoanalyst-wannabes like to refer to someone like me as “broken” and haphazardly toss out labels like “bi-polar” or “borderline personality” and whatever else. Doesn’t help, only hurts, especially when they tell others that there is no hope for someone like me, despite not even knowing me personally. What I am is melancholic, heavily so, and that has been my struggle for as long as I can remember. It appears to me to be a product of chaos and instability throughout life, especially as a child, that warped my way of thinking and looking at life. Some people recommend cognitive behavioral therapy so as to try to “rewire” the way one thinks, and I have looked into that before. Just tough to curb isolated thoughts when it feels like a bombardment that can prove paralyzing at times. By paralyzing I mean circular really — my thoughts have become extremely circular. Perhaps my reasoning is defective on some level, but even when I’m feeling fine and aiming to be as rational as possible it still can look like a no-win situation. And then it’s depressing to think that I am indeed “broken” and living within a society that itself is indeed broken. And if you state this out loud, people just make fun of you and bitch at you for not “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” and becoming more ambitious like them…when really some days all I wish I could do is curl up in a cocoon and hug a loved one and just stay there in that moment in time, forever.

Is this just an individual brain problem? I honestly do not think so. I see it more as a type of individual’s reaction to life and what they may have routinely experienced. As already stated, I’m a very emotional person and always have been. Very sensitive, which isn’t a bad thing, at least it shouldn’t necessarily be viewed as such. But then that sort of nature hits this sort of reality, especially if coming from a broken home with lots of fighting and problems and being moved around a bunch and growing up aware that family members view you as a burden and never feeling settled so as to belong anywhere or to really anyone or anything (that just being about childhood, not even delving into adulthood experiences) — that’s going to create psychological problems and I think we’re fooling ourselves in pretending that’s not the natural likely outcome. Some people are naturally more stoic in their personalities and thereby cope better with all of this. And some are just more naturally optimistic than others. Some are more driven and goal-oriented than others — competitions tend to keep them entertained. Some have better support networks than others, which can help a lot. In short, we’re all different in all sorts of ways, so it pans out differently as well.

It does bug me that to talk about such things, especially out in public (like online), tends to invite wrath and ridicule more than anything else. Makes me feel worse for others in this same sort of mindset because at least I’m used to people and their cruel tendencies. I’m not looking to be saved, aside from trying to figure out how to save myself. I feel myself sinking, more in the last few years than ever before probably, and I worry about this, which just feeds into my other worries and doesn’t really get me anywhere. Not everyday is this way, at least not like today — some days are better than others, and some are even good. This is just something that’s always playing in the background, just never leaves me. I don’t know why. Just is what it is and has been this way for nearly as long as I can recall. I recognize that it threatens my survival on a regular basis and has for a long time now (in terms of bad thoughts and self-destructive behaviors). But to state that out loud is to risk drawing problems to oneself, and I know that, so I try to keep quiet about it except when speaking confidentially to people I trust. Not needing to be tossed into a hospital somewhere where people hate their jobs and force you to take pills and put you on suicide watch while basically treating you as if you have no rights. We don’t deserve that sort of treatment. And the reason I’m writing about it now is because I’m admittedly in a dark place tonight, though I hope tomorrow it lifts some. Sometimes it gets so dark that I can’t imagine a way out, not a lasting way. But then a day or two goes by and I perk up a bit and carry on until the next bad spell hits. And this is life as I experience it. Been this way a long, long time. Surely there are others out there who can relate.

Had a lady who went by the name Janet who came onto my youtube channel back in the fall and commented on a few of my videos, then came on here and posted a few comments. We exchanged emails and she admitted she was deeply depressed too, was having a really hard time. I was trying to be her friend, she being a lady in her 40s. But then in January she sent a couple emails, the first having to do with troubles with certain sites, the second telling me that she was done and that there was nothing that could be done about her decision to take her own life. It’s bothered me a lot since, to be honest. When I responded back to her, her email account had already been closed, so I never got to say anything else to her. She was always nice to me, and I aimed to be nice back, but she said that her drinking had gotten really bad (I thought she meant in the past though) and her past relationships had been abusive to where she didn’t want that anymore but she was so lonely. Plus, she’d been medically unable to have kids, which really saddened her. I don’t know what she did, but either way she went away and I’ve heard nothing more since. Just complete silence from then on. Don’t know her full name — just know she lived in Colorado. She had shared a lot with me through emails and I did feel an attachment growing toward her, and then she disappeared with that last message telling me what she intended to do. That was really sad. Still is.  [And this post actually prompted her to email me again through a different account, so she is alive and around, just having a hard time.]

That occurred not too long after my neighbor across the hall was found dead in his apartment. Wrote about that in a previous post on here, but basically he found out he had cancer and decided to hole up and drink himself to death. Was about two months before his body was discovered.  And I always liked that guy.

Then yesterday my former companion told me that someone we both know from a bar decided to hang himself. His body was found a day or two ago. People used to call him “Sugar” — that’s the only name I recall knowing him by. Haven’t seen him in a long time since I’m out of the bar circuit these days. But the word is that he’d quit drinking for a spell and his long-term girlfriend got pregnant but then halfway through the pregnancy she lost the baby, so he didn’t take it well. Got back into drinking and spiraled down. Very sad. I never knew how depressed he was inside and didn’t even know about the baby or any of that until yesterday.

People might say that the problem is that I focus on stories such as these, but these are human stories of people I interacted with and knew, [two] of whom died in recent months due to extreme depression. Would I be a better person if I ignored that? Well, I can’t. It’s heart-breaking, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t matter. I won’t sit here and pretend that those who prove “successful” according to the societal script are the only ones deserving of attention and recognition. Some people fail. Some people fall hard. And some people don’t get back up. And they still do matter. They aren’t mere collateral damage of modern life. They were real people with real lives and real emotions just like the rest of us. Real flesh and blood with real families and friends and neighbors. I wonder if people are repulsed by acknowledging such stories simply because they don’t have as firm of a grasp as they like to pretend. I already know I’m on shaky ground, but I can and will acknowledge them without scorn or contempt or playing the blame game or trivializing what they went through.

Sometimes people die, sometimes even at their own hands, and that deserves to be understood rather than swept under the rug as has become so common. Maybe we couldn’t have helped them. Maybe it got to a point where there was no helping them, and I accept that possibility too. But I believe we can at least look at this trend and be more honest about it instead of just using it by lumping it into statistics to satisfy our own political agendas. Those who do that are the ones I’d like to spit at. What do they really care? How much do they really want to know? How much can they really relate? Just another number on a sheet of paper to them, and that’s all they’ll ever be, and THAT is ultimately depressing. That does not help. That does not illuminate the problems here or do a damn thing to improve the situation just because those jerks want to sit on their haunches and cast blame onto another group of people categorically, as if that’s all there is to these individual people’s cases. That makes me angry, because THAT is what sickens people with this damned society and all of its members and the games that they relentlessly play. Pretending to care, but only so far as they can use you. THAT has become the name of the game in modern life, and it is exactly that attitude which is contributing toward doing so much damage to people out here on the ground. Don’t care unless they can somehow use you, and even then in just a limited sense.

That’s what’s so hard about modern times and what makes it so alienating and mind-numbing. We all know we’re just a number, just some random face in the crowd, a mere drop in the sea of plenty. Our closest friends and loved ones really do matter and likely are the only ones who are even capable of truly and deeply giving a damn about us. And yet, how often do we treat them wrong? I’m guilty there too, and I am so mad at myself over it. Guilt’s an extremely heavy weight and it can do further damage as well. That’s what I’ve learned to be true, though I can’t claim to know a whole lot else definitively. Take it for what it’s worth and try to take care of one another, because our loved ones matter so much more than material acquisitions and the money game and popularity among strangers who will turn their backs on you the moment you fall out of favor. It’s our loved ones who are really there, and what do we do when they’re not there? What is life without them? It reverts back to chaos and confusion and pain…and that’s no good. Not quality living.

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