On losing my shit.

In case you hadn't noticed, there has been a severe dearth of posts here lately. Sometimes even when I have a lot to say I don't want to spit it out in so public an arena (though I'm sure most people who tried to read me "regularly" disappeared) and sometimes I just don't want those thoughts captured for posterity. The internet is here to stay, people.

So obviously a major contributor to my not-blogging has been depression, which has a long and storied history lately for me. If you can call "wants to do nothing but lie in bed, watching incresingly shittier TV and eating Ben & Jerry's fudge brownie frozen yogurt until she's sick, if she feels up to getting some at the store without feeling insanely guilty about it" storied, anyway.

Really, I only did the B&J's bit once. Well, twice. But it's low fat. And I probably didn't eat dinner at least one of those times. I KNOW, OKAY.

But this has been going on for, oh, months now. At one point I had an enlightening conversation with my friend Chris, who--I love you, Chris, but part of me had this thought that I wasn't fucked up because, hey, Chris is way more fucked up than me! And here you are, doing the work to un-fuck-up yourself. Or at least that's what you told me and then you pretty much disappeared off the face of the internet, which only sounds healthy. (P.S. please email me that you're okay and didn't jump off a bridge or something.) Anyway, I kept oscillating between really low and totally neutral post-conversation and continued having more conversations with other people about, well, myself--this depression is really killing any notions I had of myself being NOT narcissistic--and trying to figure out what is up with me.

Really, I think it boils down to these things:
-I keep telling myself I can't do things.
-I keep not doing those things and adding new things to not do.
-I hate myself for not doing those things.
-I am indiscriminately angry at myself and the world.
-I feel stuck all the time.
-I feel unable to enjoy a lot of the fun things that happen in life, even if I actually do them.
-I am totally distracted by all of the above, especially the self-loathing thought loop, pretty much all the time.

This means:
-My house is a mess.
-I have a lot of chores that are typically not getting done.
-I had not been eating as well as I should (with the start of my CSA season I've been making headway in the "getting kitchen clean enough to cook, then actually cooking" department).
-Work feels hard because I can't concentrate as well as I should and I let those "I hate my job" thoughts take over.
-I lack confidence in the Secret Number 4 whatever thing (oh, hell, it's a casual job search).
-Totally not doing anything on the "get exercise" front, obviously.
-Totally not talking to pretty much anyone except the people who make a concerted effort to talk to me, and even then, I am mostly buttoned up. Then with the other people I can't shut the fuck up and it's all about me.

I am probably going to regret posting some of those things.

So yesterday, I finally got over my phone phobia (incidentally, also worse) enough to call fucking Kaiser and try to get an appointment to see a psychiatrist. And you know what? They were "extremely busy" and would have to call me back. Every time I went to the ladies' room at work on Friday afternoon I was trying to hurry up in case they called me back just as I was taking a dump. That's just undignified. But they have until Monday at 5, apparently, to call me back, so I guess I'll be worrying all of Monday, too. Thanks, mental health services at my HMO. You know how to make a girl feel special.

(It will all be forgiven if I get an appointment and shit works out okay. Otherwise, they can eat me.)

I am going to crawl back into my hole and stew over my neighbors' hiring a motherfucking cement mixer at 7:30 am for the second weekend in a row. Thanks a lot, assholes.

Up too close.

Well, I haven't blogged in ages. I've been here, having nothing to say, or nothing that I feel like saying in a public blog. I've been alternately finding refuge in idle entertainment, becoming horrified by my own settling, and getting sick, so it's been an awesome fucking month.

I did get a new cell phone, though. You know, that thing that I am unlikely to answer if you call. It has a lot of extraneous features (i.e., any of them that don't involve storing phone numbers, making phone calls, and receiving voice mail), some of which are even a little bit interesting, much as I hate to admit it. There is the camera, which allows me to take grainy photos of the world around me to use as my phone's wallpaper. There are the trial versions of java games that allow me to play the same one level repeatedly, if I am so inclined to use up my battery. There is a bluetooth deal that would allow me to walk around with the Borg-like earpiece, looking like a giant tool, if I felt like spending the money to get that. It also plays mp3s and gets FM radio, but I haven't really used those, either. Additionally, it is my first flip phone--and my first non-Nokia phone--so I am compulsively flipping it open and shut.

Wow, I had a lot to say about my fucking cell phone.

Two weeks ago I started getting weirdly sick--or not actually sick; it's unclear! I might've just been pushing my depression into some kind of psychosomatic illness, for all I know--and the result was missing 2.5 days of work, seeing my new doctor only to be told there is basically nothing wrong with me, and dropping the ball on what was shaping up to be a pretty decent fitness program. Motherfucker. I swear to christ that every time I try to be good, some shit happens and I lose my grip. It happened last fall with the walking to work/ankle sprain fiasco, and I'm sure it's happened other times. I can't tell you how many times I've dropped out of martial arts classes after suffering a cold and missing two sessions. (Okay, I can. It's twice.)

Right now, the only real symptom I'm experiencing is that I feel lightheaded pretty much all the time. It started when the illness started and I was on my period. I started taking B-12 at my doctor's suggestion, and I might add some iron supplements, but I don't know that this is actually a nutritional deficiency. Also, I know at least some of this was real because Kevin came down with most of the same symptoms.

Oh, this is disjointed, and I have no patience for anything. The smoke alarm is going off, again, as it likes to do when it's feeling neglected. It sees us in the kitchen, cooking, and we're not giving it affection, so it goes off. I want to throttle it, but I'll settle for angrily waving a broom at it.

I'm not feeling very inspired or motivated to do much of anything. Pretty much nothing appears to be happening on the Cryptic Step 4 thing and as the days drag on I feel less and less talented and interesting. I am going to waste in my own mind and at my own desk and I hate it. I have always been this fucking self-defeating; it's probably my worst trait (and I certainly have a lot of bad traits). I always feel like if I've got someone else to answer to, I can do anything, but left to my own devices, I'll languish.

Though even that last part isn't entirely true; I made a promise to an old friend and broke it in a seriously pathetic way. I still can't even talk to her, even though she's repeatedly told me all is forgiven. So what do you do when one positive thing you always believed about yourself is proven untrue?

I don't know, but right now the therapy involves watching shitty TV to pass the time and listening to music to grieve the passing of my soul.

I hate depression.

I mean, I think that's what's going on, because I can't make my head stop beating myself up, and I feel like I've got nothing to look forward to or anything interesting to say, and food doesn't sound delicious, etc. That, and I've been passive-aggressive and neglectful and flaky in the extreme with regard to one friend and also haven't managed to get my shit together to smog-check my stupid car so I can get my new registration sticker, which is due.

I am trying to get some things working out better in my life, and have actually taken, like, three steps in that direction. Is it cryptic enough to say that I'm working on taking my future more seriously? Also I'm taking pilates at the Campbell community center, which, two classes in, is fucking difficult. That is step 1. Step 2 is that I bought some new athletic shoes, and step 3 will be to start walking to work again in said new shoes. Step 4 is the cryptic thing. Step 5 involves planning some travel, and I'm just feeling that out at the moment. Thinking of maybe Morocco, Spain; somewhere in the Mediterranean; Peru and Ecuador--I don't know. Somewhere that requires me to get shots (which I guess would leave out the European bit).

The things to look forward to include tickets to some cool shows, like Comedy Death Ray at SF Sketchfest on Monday, John Vanderslice at the end of February, and both Ted Leo + Pharmacists and the Mountain Goats in early March. It's an embarrassment of riches, and I can barely get excited. My brain is fucking stupid. It can only think of the annoying things that are happening around me and the things I am doing wrong.

Anyway, the new Blogger shit lets me tag things, whoopdy-do. So here's to tagging.