Tag Archives: depression

She let herself go

 

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Want to know how a woman goes from looking sexy and shaving her pussy, getting her brows waxed, nails done; to packing on a shit ton of weight, wearing a pair of sweatpants like skin, and wandering through life with no make-up?

Too easy.

Its because….she gave up.

“There are some things worse than being alone,” my step-dad once told me, “and one of them is being in a bad relationship.” ‘Course I didn’t believe him at that time.

I’ve got an update for him now, if he were here for me to tell.   But he’s gone the bastard.  My step-dad disowned me when my mom told him his son had molested me as a child.  The truth hurts, some run.

I’d tell him,  “There are some thing worse than being dead and one of them is staying in a relationship once it’s already on life-support instead of just pulling the plug.”

Watching yourself slip away a little at a time after your partner slipped away.   When you finally “come to”, you are old and ugly and barely recognizable in the mirror.   Worse still, your soul feels marred and there is a disconnect from the only Higher Power that can pull you from the black place you find yourself in.

You are now a mere shadow of who you once were.  Not caring if you are physically dead some days, because you already feel dead on the inside.  The urge to pull the wheel to the embankment at 80 mph on the freeway creeps in more than it should.

“She let herself go”, you hear them say, and you don’t even care anymore.  It’s true because you did.  So fucking what.

You have bigger fish to fry now, than a to maintain that trim waistline and to try and look sexy for any superficial jerk-off liar who objectifies women.

Newsflash bitches.  Your cocks aren’t a higher power.  They never were.   And for all the women ensnared by abusive asshole men who exploited our kindness and love? I’ll raise you a fuck off to your “ISO a submissive” racket.

Stop acting out your own victimization under the pretense of helping to guide, shape, or otherwise better women.

Oh she let herself go alright, and that may have been a blessing in disguise.   Because  now maybe she can go inward and create the person she should have been.

 

 

 

 


3:47 am

The bad moon is rising

cursing me once again

hours drag past, lids weigh heavy

tik tock goes the pendulum clock

fluorescent flashes,  flickering, dancing across the wall

muffled sounds from a distant channel singing it’s muted lullaby

profound perseveration  persisting

hot-poker searing memories shroud me in a soft adrenaline blanket

knight after knight

night after night

obsessive rumination of unrelenting pain and problems

solutions drip from faucets of logic, then drain down gutters to nowhere

tik tock goes the pendulum clock

an infinite loop of

hope turning into despair

body aching, muscles contorting  becoming twisted, knotty, tangled vines

ensnaring me to the mattress

time melts, regroups, defying physics

eternity in the space of some hours

tik tock goes the pendulum clock

exhausted now, shaking, hypnogic images form in my peripheral vision

spectral apparitions, angels? demons? in the far corner of room

fear can’t restrain my pummeled body from collapse

sinking down, submitting to sleep

cognition surrenders,

until dusk falls again…

 

 

 

 


I’m a Marketing Dream

It occurred to me the other day as I stared blankly out of the window, not wanting to get out of bed, just like every other day, I am in the Bell Jar.  

So many of the commercials on TV for medications to treat depression are so fake.  They depict people suffering with it having a seemingly mild case of the doldrums. Just moving as if stuck in molasses.

They never show you what depression really looks like.

I am willing to let a pharmaceutical company film me to get a more accurate depiction.  It would look something like this…..

Voice over of announcer: “Depression robs a person of their energy.”

Camera pans to me sitting in the middle of my living room with a mountain of dirty laundry staring at it like the woman from Close Encounters of a Third Kind.  Saying, “I know I should wash you” and then just shaking my head no and finally collapsing back into the cushion and saying “fuck it.”  I am down to one pair of clean panties this is now my “edge play.”

Voice of announcer:  “Depression feels physical.” 

Camera lens catches me glancing outside at the morning school bus through the window .  I move to the kitchen and stare at the heaping pile of dishes that has amassed in the sink and repeat “fuck it” as I then head to the bed and proceed to pull the blinds and dive in to the sheets.  (Time elapses)   I rise in my pajamas in a haze hearing the afternoon school bus pulls around the block again.

Voice of announcer:  “Depression causes changes in appetite.”

Last scene too fucking easy.  Like a vampire rising from the mist I awake from bed to eat a box of Girl Scout  cookies.  Because anyone knows that if doesn’t come out of a package or ready-to-eat microvave box, then food isn’t consumed.  Camera fades with me on the couch with said cookies in the middle of the night swearing at the Girl Scouts, blaming them for peddling their crack.

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Real Depression?

Depression is wearing the same pear of sweat pants and tee-shirts every day like a uniform, and having hygiene fall to the wayside til’ someone has to insist a shower is taken.   Brushing teeth? what’s that? there’s no energy.  Sleeping 16 hours a day feels natural.    Feeling black even when the sun is shining.

Depressions steals a person of their  emotions.  Such that life holds neither joy, nor sorrow, no anger, no pain.  It steals away the ability to imagine, to dream, to hope for a better day.  It is the great equalizer changing healthy,  robust,  thriving people into living, breathing, vacuous zombies pondering their very existence.

*******

Why doesn’t Roche, Pfizer, or GlaxoSmithKline want to show what real depression looks like?  Because their drugs are largely ineffective against severe forms of it.   You will look and feel the same on their drugs as you will off them.    Big Pharma doesn’t want anyone to know that.  If the efficacy of their products aren’t much better than a placebo than Lord have mercy, where would their capitalist enterprise be?

I have tried 13 anti-depressants over my lifetime and only one did something.  Not a great track record for pills as monotherapy.   If you are mildly depressed, pills may snap your serotonin back into shape.  Buddy, if you have a severe case of dysthymia, and some C-PTSD you are not going to have that sort of response.

Millions of people are suffering with depression.   Big Pharma wants to profit from the pills they produce to treat a condition that is largely unresponsive to pharmacological intervention.

The most common reason for people to become depressed is sustaining stress and trauma.  Until we become more pro-active as a society about preventing trauma both in childhood and in adulthood we are destined to fail by looking for a pharmaceutical panacea to remedy the problem.

Learning how to intervene once children and adults have been identified as having been exposed to trauma and getting these individuals trauma informed care, we have the hope of healing them.

People need people.  The broken trust that happens through the process of trauma needs to be repaired.   Pharmaceuticals certainly have their place as an aide.  The way out of depression starts with the desire; the wanting to climb out of the bell jar.  Once that decision has been made to seek help, the human factor, not a pill, will always be a more effective “treatment”.

 

 

 

 


Running from myself

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Have you ever experienced so much emotional pain and misery that you feel like you are bleeding from the inside out? That you are willing to just say a silent  goodbye to your family, job, home, belongings, everything?  To take to the road and just drive away and leave it all behind?

It’s to difficult to believe these thoughts have crossed my mind.  At the same time I just want to escape the stress and pain.  It’s been so long since I’ve truly laughed or felt a sense of peace and joy.   The closest I’ve come is when I’m immersed in nature.

Nature never judges.  Nature’s beauty, it  never lets me down.   Yet, there is something missing still, even there.

There is something missing in my life.  There is a hole inside my heart from long ago, that has never mended, that needs to still heal.   All the wounds that have been layered over, have further destroyed me.

Now I just want to run.  Run until I can’t find myself anymore.

 

 


Something to rely on

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Photo: (mine) – The Marina –       Brattleboro, VT    2018

 

There are so many factors in life that are out of my control.  I can’t contol people, places, or things.  On good days, I find that sometimes I can’t even control myself.  A negative thought will drift in, my temper will flare, sadness will envelope me. I don’t always know how to sort them out.

Tumultuous emotions swirl within me, morose feelings can stir and despite this blue skies can be be smiling at me.

I believe that is why I find myself more grounded in nature.  Though the winds change direction and the rain may come and go, in a world of loss and constant change, I know the sun will  rise and set everyday.


13 Reasons Why we need Suicide Awareness not just in September

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I was born at 1:44 am, when it’s as dark as it can get.  I have struggled for most of my life to feel happy.  To feel loved.  Perhaps that early darkness played a minuscule part and set the stage for the depression that enveloped me later in life and stole my joy.

By the time anyone is reading this, I am gone now.  I’m off to watch the last episode in this Netflix series “13 Reasons Why.”  So sit back, relax, and plug into whatever reading device you’re looking into as I share why this Netflix Original series is super fucking interesting and is bringing much needed awareness to suicide prevention.

I have had the opportunity to meet and got to know many people that survived their suicide attempt.  Twelve admissions to different psychiatric hospitals when I was between age 18-22 enabled me to meet those people.  Those men and women, including myself, didn’t have the wherewithal in their jumbled up mind, to sit down and speak into a microphone and record some kind of vendetta against the people who screwed them over, before actually pulling the plug on their life.  For me it wasn’t about a vendetta, it was about feeling so depressed and dead inside that I just couldn’t go on like that.  Things felt like they would never end.  I blamed no one, in fact blame never even popped into my mind….ever.   I think that’s the only criticism I have of the show is that the protagonist placed blame for her suicide on other people.  It may leave viewers with a notion that all people that Suicide leave the world angry.  That would be both untrue and especially devastating to families of victims. I was never angry , I tried to end my life because I felt hopeless.

By the time one musters the resignation it takes to jump into the noose, pull the trigger, down the pills,  or jump off the bridge; most could give a flying shit about leaving a note for anybody, let alone make 13 cassette tapes.  I know I didn’t.  The people I met didn’t leave notes either.  It honestly never occurred to me, my mind was ultra focused on leaving, not on what I may be leaving behind.

Statistically speaking, victims of suicide only leave notes  3-42% of the time.  Which means that 2/3 of suicides leave this world far more often with no words left said. Of those who do leave notes case studies reveal that the notes usually leave instructions for funeral arrangements or taking care of loved ones and mundane requests such as making sure newspaper subscriptions are cancelled.    The notes lack the sort of logicical solace the bereaved are searching for in this sort of tragedy.

“Suicides are often impulsive, and can be prevented at the last minute.  About 90 percent of people who attempt suicide and survive do not die by suicide. One survey found that 87 percent of people who attempt suicide and survive had deliberated for less than a day, 71 percent for less than an hour, and 24 percent for less than five minutes.

In a particularly vivid example of this, Ken Baldwin, who survived a jump off the Golden Gate Bridge, once told the New Yorker’s Tad Friend that as he was falling, he “instantly realized that everything in my life that I’d thought was unfixable was totally fixable — except for having just jumped” -Dylan Matthew

For me suicide was an impulsive act born from the wedding  of my mood growing darker and me becoming more isolative.  I never picked out an exact day, only a method.  The timing just instinctively drew near.   More went into building up to doing it and reassuring  myself that things would never change. To me a specific day was inconsequential,  I just knew I’d do it “soon.”  I never told anyone.  Then I sort of woke up and was feeling horrible, I knew it was “the day.” It was pretty arbitrary in that sense.

I had three suicide attempts and an intervened fourth. The first was cutting  my wrist which required stiches.  The second was driving my car into a concrete wall.  There was some damage to my car, not so much to me.  I still got sectioned into the hospital when paramedics found out I drove into the wall on purpose.  The third was taking an entire bottle of prescription pills which landed me on a cardiac telemetry unit.   The last time I was holed up in my mom’s house with her loaded  .22 handgun.  I lay crying on that cold black tiles bathroom floor holding the gun.  My mom called my then psychiatrist and he talked to me on speaker phone through the door. I eventually came out. Each time was more serious and progressively worse.

The myth that women are just seeking attention but that men really do it a myth too.  Men usually pick lethal methods for their first attempt and are therefore “successful” when they try.   That said the old adage of of at first you don’t succeed try try again seems to hold true for women.  Statistically,  try more often, try less lethal method first, but eventually catch up to their male counterparts and succeed…. seems to hold true for women.  My aunt made several attempts on her life and the last ended her on life support in ICU.  It is by the grace of God she is here.

I never picked out an exact day, only a method.  Suicide for me was always impulsive. I was very depressed for a prolonged period of time, I had no access to feelings, I felt numb all the time, dead inside. The suicidal ideations would come and go and then eventually they would build and one day then I just acted on it. Tbere was no way any one could have intervened because there was no way anyone could have known I was planning to do this.

My best friend’s husband attempted suicide 6 years ago.  He took his police service revolver into his car in the wee hours of the morning and shot himself in the head.   He died instantly. He only planned a few details.  To park his car on a main highway where he knew his fellow officers would find him and not his family.  He hung a quilt over the drivers side doors so that any passing motorists would not see the carnage.  He did this at around 4 am so that his suspicious looking vehicle would be discovered at daybreak.  It was very graphic.  His wife, my friend wanted to see him and wanted the car back.  The police told her that neither were options and sent her brother to take a look.  Inside the car were pieces of brain and skull along with significant volume of blood throughout the vehicle.  Once she was told this, viewing her husband was obviously something that she bor the family wanted.

They had four kids.  Four girls that will never have a Dad.  It has affected those girls in horrible ways. Two of them send text messages regularly to Facebook and Instagram hoping that heaven also has these apps.  Old photos and home movies are all they can see of him.  Old voice messages are all they can hear of him.  A cold stone grave is all they can hold onto at birthdays, holidays, hard-to-get-through days.  Suicide is forever.  It can’t be taken back.

Recognize Suicide warning signs can help you intervene at an early point by talking to your friend or family member.  Remember that talking about suicide will not make someone do it.  Ask them how you can help, if you feel it is beyond what you can do, call 911.
Physical changes

•Major changes to sleeping patterns – too much or too little
•Loss of energy
•Loss of interest in personal hygiene or appearance
•Loss of interest in sex
•Sudden and extreme changes in eating habits – either loss of appetite or increase in appetite
•Weight gain or loss
•Increase in minor illnesses

Conversational signs

•No future – “What’s the point? Things are never going to get any better”
•Guilt – “It’s all my fault, I’m to blame”
•Escape – “I can’t take this anymore”
•Alone – “I’m on my own … no-one cares about me”
•Damaged – “I’ve been irreparably damaged… I’ll never be the same again”
•Helpless – “Nothing I do makes a bit of difference, it’s beyond my control”
•Talking about suicide or death
•Planning for suicide

Behaviours

•Alcohol or drug misuse
•Fighting and/or breaking the law
•Withdrawal from family and friends
•Quitting activities that were previously important
•Prior suicidal behaviour
Self-harming
•Putting affairs in order (giving away possessions, especially those that have special significance for the person)
•Writing a suicide note or goodbye letters to people
•Uncharacteristic risk-taking or recklessness (for example driving recklessly)
•Unexplained crying
•Emotional outbursts

Feelings

Sadness
Anger
Shame
Desperation
Disconnection
Hopelessness
Feeling Emotionally Dead        Worthlessness
Powerlessness
Loneliness
Isolation

It can be scary as hell when someone you love reveals or shows signs of suicidal thoughts. However, not taking thoughts of suicide seriously can have a devastating outcome. If you think your friend or family member will hurt herself or someone else, call 911 immediately.

There are a few ways to approach this situation:

•Remove means such as guns, knives or stockpiled pills.
•Calmly ask simple and direct questions, such as “Can I help you call your psychiatrist?” rather than, “Would you rather I call your psychiatrist, your therapist or your case manager?”
•Talk openly and honestly about suicide. •Don’t be afraid to ask questions such as “Are you having thoughts of suicide?” or “Do you have a plan for how you would kill yourself?”
•If there are multiple people, have one person speak at a time
•Ask what you can do to help
•Don’t argue, threaten or raise your voice
•Don’t debate whether suicide is right or wrong
•If your loved one asks for something, provide it, as long as the request is safe and reasonable
•If you are nervous, try not to fidget or pace
•If your loved one is having hallucinations or delusions, be gentle and sympathetic, but do not get in an argument about whether the delusions or hallucinations are real

You can make a difference for someone who is suffering.  Don’t be afraid to talk to them, it could mean the difference between life or death.  If you are the one who is suffering, please talk to someone, anyone you can about your pain, don’t make a permanent solution to what IS a temporary problem. ❤️

#endmentalhealthstigma

#timetotalk

#

 


Obsession

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You slither around the folds in my cerebellum

in a cyclical motion

unceasingly,

unrelentingly,

squeezing and constricting

rational notion.

*****

Eventually you attach yourself into my thoughts,

you become one with me.

I cannot separate myself from you.

I am you, you are me.

Without you, I cannot breathe.

*****

I lose myself in fantasy…..

What if, maybe, what could be, if only.

You are both my pleasure and my pain.

A strange dichotomy.

I rarely fight you anymore these days.

What if obsession gives way to possession.


Toxic Shame

0E6185B6-ADF6-490A-9675-B1E2F5FD549EComplex trauma has left a wound on me that I don’t know will ever heal.  Or maybe it’s that there’s so much scar tissue I just need to get used to that “new normal” of who I’ve  become.

Complex trauma is still a relatively new field of psychology. Complex post-traumatic stress disorder.  (C-PTSD) results from enduring complex trauma.

Complex trauma is ongoing or repeated interpersonal trauma, where the victim is traumatized in captivity, and where there is no perceived way to escape. Ongoing child abuse is captivity abuse because the child cannot escape. Domestic violence is another example. Forced prostitution/sex trafficking is another.

In my particular case, I was a victim of childhood incest.  It is the hardest thing to type that sentence, harder still to say it out loud.  I want to delete the sentence and delete “it” from my history.  Additionally, there was heavy-handed corporal punishment which by today’s standards would be considered physical abuse.   There was definite emotional abuse and at times neglect.  Continual domestic violence pervaded my childhood home.  My home did not often feel like the safe place it should.

Later in adulthood, I was the victim of domestic violence within my two major long-terms relationships.   I don’t know that I even recognized it happening as such it seemed so familiar.  If that makes sense.

All of my life I have struggled with low self-esteem.   Underneath my low self-esteem  belies a  darker feeling .   There is this deep sense of shame I have carried since as long as I can remember.

Unlike ordinary shame, “internalized shame” lingers and changes our self-image. It’s shame that has become “toxic.

When a person is ruled by toxic shame it interferes with their ability to accept positive regard.   For in childhood they internalized the belief of not being worthy of being loved or given any attention.

It dawned on me today as I couldn’t look into the mirror, that I just hate myself because I’m ashamed of me.

I wonder if this shame will ever leave.  I’ve got a new shrink I’ve been seeing for about 9 months.   I’ll call her Lee.  One can’t help but feel disillusioned after 20 years in/out of therapy.   I’ve ditched seeing Lee the past month.  Made up some excuse or other.  I mean everyone needs a mental health day from the mental health provider.   Oh wait this can’t be treatment resistance this soon can it?  I am feeling vulnerable because we are past the point of rapport building, and she’s a quick study.  She sees through my best defense mechanisms, and is trying to dig deeper and I’m running like hell.

There’s no shame in investing in a sturdy paper bag to wear over my head to hide myself, right?  Wearing bags are so much easier than facing your own demons.  ‘Cause Lord knows I’m hoping for a loophole.

 

.

 


Rorschach Test

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What do you see in the ink blot?

The Rorschach test is a projective psychological test in which subjects’ perceptions of inkblots are recorded and then analyzed using psychological interpretation.

I remember when the test was given to me at 19.   I was in the psych hospital for a suicide attempt.  I felt hopeless and empty  had been for a long time.

At first, I thought about screwing with the tester, albeit briefly, then changed my mind because I was suffering immensely.

He informed me,”I am going to hold up a card and you will just tell me the first thing that comes to mind. Okay?”

Sure.

card goes up with black ink image only

“Ink blot.

Okay, I forgot to mention that you can say anything except for inkblot.”

Flashes card

bat

card

butterfly

card

“butterfly with goat head

card

“weird looking bug with skull face

card

Moth with fangs

card w/ black + red ink image

death

2nd card black/red

death

3rd card  black/red

death

multi-colored card

“well of you want me to look at it as a whole, I see a giant head, but within the upper right corner there is a a goat head with horns, over here in the bottom left there is this sort of devil creature, at the very top I see a baby’s face.”

Tester takes copious notes while I speak then packs up his cards. Day or so later,  I get slapped on Prozac and diagnosed with depression.   Wasn’t that apparent from the suicide attempt?  I’m kind of glad I didn’t screw with the tester.  I could have ended up on massive amounts of Thorazine drooling and shuffling around like the other  blokes aimlessly wandering about that smelled of piss and cigarettes.

My roommate’s depression was so severe that it didn’t respond to medication so they had to strap her down and take her to the basement for ECT aka Shock therapy.  I think she had bilateral (both sides of her brain) zapped to induce the seizure.   She came back looking like Sigourney Weaver had sucked her brain out with a straw and there was nothing left.  She had that 1000 yard stare, empty eyes that penetrate straight through you.

She never did remember me for a few days after she got cooked, despite having known me for nearly a month.  I was always jealous though because ECT patients got to have coffee and Dunkin Donuts after the switch was thrown.

So if you eat your donut and drink your coffee and enjoy it  but don’t remember you do, did it really count?     It’s almost like they never got their coffee and donuts.

What do I see in the blot doctor?  Big Pharma profiting from human suffering.

 

 

 

 

 

 


My libido must be hiding behind the couch with Jesus

Sigh.

It’s official.

I’ve lost my sex drive and my faith in one fell swoop.

I think it’s the fucking Prozac.

or maybe the depression….

hell, maybe both.

I get down on my knees in the morning and say a prayer but there’s a disconnect.

In yesteryear I always I felt a strong connection with God in my life.  It was an awesome feeling.  I never felt alone,

no matter what kind of monkeyshit life was throwing at me.

This is the worst.   Such a painful horrible void.  I miss that relationship so much.  This, This is hell.

*****

Life’s pleasures are slowly being whittled away one by one.

These days, I am not supposed to drink alcohol, binge eat/starve and to top it off I have absolutely no libido.

It’s like some thief in the night stole it from me.  The girl who used to having sex at least 5 times a day,

Doesn’t even care if she ever has it again?

****

Sigh.  Me thinks it’s because I’m taking the Prozac.  Manufacturers insert reads:   “It is thought that the action of this medication is….”

So the powers that be, don’t even fucking KNOW what this shit does to my neural network? they are simply extrapolating from looking at

a bunch of rats?

‘Cause gosh rats and humans are ever so similar….

****

Hmmmm….. well that rat is chewing off it’s own tail….so people might get suicidal on this drug.

That rat is agressively biting the fuck out of the other rat…….homocial.

This one is bouncing off the cage…….irritability

This one doesn’t sleep…….insomnia

And when the rats stop screwing each other?

*****

Guess that’s me.

*****

I’m getting off the shit.


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