Depression, My Thoughts, Social Anxiety

When There Are No Words

It is cloudy today.

In the morning, I had a short presentation, which I was quite nervous about. When I was called up, a moment of silence passed between the teacher calling out my number and me getting up; I was distracted by something, and this was a bit embarrassing for me, but as it turns out, that embarrassment was for little use. I did perfectly fine, and in the middle of talking, I was surprised by my flow of words. Granted, the presentation didn’t require much speaking, but I was proud of myself. I am proud of myself:)

It was set up to be a perfect day, but I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.

I was reading a post by Nat from Just a Nervous Girl, and I related to it very much, especially because that’s my mood right now, as it has been for the past couple of hours.

Without my depression and social anxiety, I don’t seem to be very much. I’ll say that in the most straightforward way possible- I know it’s not true, I know it. But that’s how I feel, and how I feel is how I know- or rather, at this moment, it takes precedence.

I’m obviously quite socially awkward, which makes me feel awful.

We came back from this spring break and headed immediately to school, and my poor social skills were again shunted front and center as I was forced to interact throughout my day. I very much wish that it were still spring break; maybe I could finish all of my endless homework and projects and study on time, maybe I could have an adequate amount of sleep, maybe I would have more time to relax and do what I actually want to do.

All this time trying to talk makes my energy sapped, especially when it’s cloudy outside. I starting to believe that the weather affects my mood a lot more than I think. I just don’t know what to say. And what I do say makes me feel stupid, as I force myself to make small talk that becomes noise lost in the chaos of people that actually do know what to say.

I wish I were normal, is what I’d actually say.

But what is normal? It’s been too long for me to actually know, to feel what normal feels like. It’s been years- eight years. Truth be told, there is no normal- there is just a life with mental disorders and a life without.

I’m tired of being always being the third wheel, for some people, the backup friend, the one who’s uninteresting, the one who ends up being quiet by myself because I don’t know what to say.

I wish I could discover myself under the bubble wrap and the tissue paper and the gloomy wraps of depression and fear from social anxiety. Because I feel warped right now, like an optical illusion, not enough to be one nor the other. I don’t know what’s inside, but what’s inside may have an escape route.

I don’t know what to say, but I do know what to write.

And I think that is enough.

C.

Depression, Social Anxiety

To Tell You the Truth; Post-itivity

Today, I simply did not have the time nor the energy nor the will to create a Monday Motivation post. So I didn’t;) 

I’m just exhausted. From homework, from stress, from anxiety, from depression. 

I think I need a bit of a break. I’m not sure if posting on a schedule is helping me at all, so I may or may not post on Thursday. 

If you would like to see my past Post-itivity, here are the links:

Post-itivity created by A Girl and Depression

Post-itivity! Something a Little Different

Post-itivity! Sailing on the Sea of Life

POST-ITITIVY: Life- You’ll Die Anyway

POST-ITIVITY: Failure

Post-itivity #1: THE JOURNEY

I think that trying to spread motivation while you’re low is exhausting, and I won’t do that to myself for views or likes or anything. 

I also do not want to be a hypocrite or falsely positive when I am not; I am depressed so I AM DEPRESSED. 😂 

Well, I don’t know what the point of this was, but it made me feel better. 

But I do suppose that not everything needs to have a point; something that seems pointless could be meaningful in the best way.

If that was words of wisdom or a strange rambling sentence, I do not know 😂  

Anyways, I literally have 50 pages of notes to take on AP (college level) European history. World War I was absolutely pointless, yet we have to learn about it anyway. 

Good bye, until I see you again; 

XO c ❤

Depression

Popping Like a Kernel 

Hi all! 

Lately, I’ve been consumed by my lack of time due to my a) schoolwork and b) sudden depressive upsurge. The sum of these to things means that while homework and quizzes and tests pile up over my head in a Mount Everest-esque way, I remain sitting at my desk, staring at my phone, pretending it doesn’t exist.

Closing my eyes and counting doesn’t seem to make all this work go away, though, wish as I might. The pressure of everything is building up in me. I feel like a popcorn kernal that’s just going to pop one day and be shoved into someone’s mouth. All of that time and energy spent on nothing. 

Stress! Stress! Stress!

I literally have no time for myself, let alone for my blog, which is very discouraging. I hate not having time to live life- the cycle of homework and studying and school feels so monotonous and grey that depression seeps back in to my life relatively easily.

So basically, this is my sorry excuse for why I haven’t been blogging regularly. I didn’t even have time to put up something motivational for Monday! And boy, do I really need that right now. I’ve always said to myself that I won’t apologize for anything on my blog, but I really do feel kind of guilty for leaving my blog stagnant like that. 

Sorry, not sorry 😁😂

Lots of love, c. ❤

I hope you have a fantastic day, whatever day you’re in. Believe it or not, you deserve it  

Depression

Feeling Empty

This week I’ve really been struggling to function. It feels as if the world has suddenly stopped spinning, but I’m still swirling aimlessly through life. 

I forget how strong depression’s grasp is, and how it has the ability to pull me into the darkness, to make light vanish. 

It’s not something that you can simply magic away with positivity and smiles. 

For what can you do when there is that dreadful feeling of emptiness? That horrible realization that you understand what could bring one to choke down a handful of pills is something unimaginably bleak. 

When you feel sad, there is something to fight. When you are empty, and life is empty, and becomes a cycle of work and chores, that is when there is nothing. 

I’m still determined to try, though.

I refuse to give in to this eternal cycle of misery. It will end, I know that for sure; depression has its own special way of blurring reality. We’ve just got to try and have faith that it will end.  

I’m going to break out of this cycle. Trying for me will start now, right now. I should go study for my big chemistry test tomorrow- I procrastinated again. 

bye, ❤c.

p.s. Writing how I feel always makes me feel so much better 😊 I feel slightly accomplished now. Sending good vibes your way! 

Depression, Happiness

Just Be Happy- IT DOESN’T WORK

Ever had someone tell you to just brave your fears and be happy?

Ha, ha, ha. If only it were that easy to overcome depression.

Perhaps it’s genuinely difficult for people without depression to understand how it works and what it does. That for me, with dysthymia, it lasts for seemingly forever, an infinite cycle of gloomy days. That some days sadness just comes out of nowhere.

Maybe people can’t relate to it because depression sometimes doesn’t have an obvious cause–the sadness is just there. But it is much more acute and debilitating (of course, for the most part) than sadness from, for example, a bad grade on a math test. This is because there is seemingly no way out of the sadness. If you don’t know where the sadness  comes from or why it comes, there is almost no way that you can defeat it on your own.

Some days are worse than usual. Social anxiety usually leads to this for me; the pressures of fitting in at school and the knowledge that communication is arguably the most important thing to anyone causes me great pain. But I can’t help the rapid bursts from my heart that erupt when I am called on to participate, nor can I prevent a squeaky imitation of my voice from leaving my mouth.

Yet people tell me, and undoubtedly many others suffering with mental illness, simply to be happy. Cheer up, think positively, exercise, eat well, and you will be okay, they say. What is there to be sad about? The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and life is there to explore.

But what if one has lost all interest in life? These kinds of “helpful” comments offered in sympathy or pity don’t help in any way. I feel guilty that the sun is shining, birds are chirping, and the world is buzzing when I feel as if I’m in a monotonous cycle of work and sadness.

So please, if someone has mental illness, don’t tell them to be happy. It may only make things worse.

A person like me just needs a helping hand, or a hug once in a while. No pity, please; just empathy and compassion. Those will serve far better.

What is more important, though, is that all of us with mental illness need to band together and support each other. We need to help others out of the ruts that we share, to let each other know that none of us are alone.

And maybe someday, we will climb upon each other’s shoulders and out into the world.

XOXO, c.

Depression, Social Anxiety

My Social Anxiety–My Story Pt.2

It’s storytime!

In part one of my cleverly named “My Story” (thank you; I know), I talked about my dysthymia. Now it’s social anxiety’s turn. And with it comes the story of my middle school crush.

Now I’ll start by saying that I’d always been, to a certain extent, shy. This shyness was moderate in the 6th grade, but reappeared in 7th grade with the prospect of a new school and 900 new and therefore scary people haunting its hallways.

My parents had signed me up for intramurals, which were classes for my favorite sport, at my new school. The majority of the kids there were immature, obnoxious guys. On the first day of class, there was this one guy who was in the same grade as me. We had a 10-minute conversation, with me acting all cool, girly , and uncharacteristically confident, all the while cackling hysterically. I cringe.

I suddenly started to see this kid everywhere at school. And whenever I did, he’d be staring at me with this wide-eyed look in his face, like a deer caught in headlights. Or he’d whip his head around to pretend he’d never even glanced at me in the first place. He tried to talk to me more, but it was pretty awkward, because he’d try to show off by “acting cool”. His idea of acting cool, by the way, was yelling at my back “I hate you” in front of all of his friends because I got a good score on a math test … but I digress. He and all of his friends–a whole pack of 15 of them– started staring at me whenever I walked past. It was a little more than awkward, as they all whispered amongst themselves very conspicuously. This is all with me within 10 feet of them.

After probably a week of that kid standing up in the middle of his group of friends with all of them staring straight at me, I “fell in love”.

I was aware that he thought I was pretty wearing a ponytail and cute clothes, so I kept wearing a ponytail and cute clothes/ Every day. I was aware of all of the boys staring at me, and began to act as if they always were.

So this is where the story becomes depressing.

Sometime during the 7th grade, I learned that I was ugly. I really truly thought that I was incurably ugly. I thought I looked hideous with my hair down, with my chubby cheeks’ proportions showing and my gigantic nose a prominent growth in the center of my face. I became obsessed with mirrors, turning my head in different directions, trying on different facial expressions, testing different hair up/hair down hairstyles. I used to do this for half an hour every day before and after I took showers.

While testing out facial expressions in the mirror, I found that I looked prettiest smiling. So I smiled all the time, no matter whether I was happy or not. And did that hysterical cackling thing at the most inappropriate moments. But I thought I was pretty, so that was all that counted.

Eventually the novelty of the crush wore off, but I was left with the impression that people were staring and talking about me all the time. Whenever someone near me laughed, I felt on edge. When I was the only one not talking to anyone, I felt that everyone was staring and talking about me.

I stopped listening to people when they talked and just smiled, nodded, and laughed to pretend. I couldn’t hear them because all I could think about was whether they liked me or not, or thought I was a “retard” like some other kids called me because of my quietness. I was completely silent during all of my classes, only willing to talk to a few of my friends out of a fear of rejection.

It even ruined libraries, my last sanctuaries, for me. I was so scared that people were watching me and were judging me on what the books that I borrowed that I hid in a corner between bookshelves and the walls whenever choosing a book. So I ended up reading a lot of books by authors of last name R-Z.

I started living simply for other people–to make them like me, to make them think that I was a nice person. All the while wearing a fake personality and pushing people away in an effort to protect myself from rejection. Of course, that couldn’t get me any real friends.

Now, I think I’m better, although I could actually pass for mute in some of my classes. I still have bad days or even weeks, but I don’t let that linger in my mind as often as it used to. I try hard, but not to the point where I drag myself down. And in spite of it all, I like to say that depression’s made me an optimist. Depressed optimist, haha- now that’s an oxymoron. But I truly believe that being so hopelessly sad and empty has made me more active in my search for happiness, more selective in the people I hang out with, and more empathetic to other people. I’ve discovered how truly important happiness is, and can appreciate it a lot more than the average person. I still want to make people happy, though not by bringing myself down but by lifting others up. I think about how nobody, except you, knows about how I feel when I try to be kind to others. Who knows what problems other people are going through?

That’s why I decided to start a blog. I was absolutely terrified at the idea, because my inner voice told me that I’d fail and that it would make me feel even worse. But I decided to anyway, because even if I can’t make myself happier, it would be amazing if I make someone else a little more thoughtful or happy. (Ok, this post isn’t exactly happy, but well…) Successful or not, I love the idea that this blog allows me to share my thoughts and have my voice be heard. Your likes on my last post were so encouraging because I’d had an awful day. I never thought that people would even look at my posts at all, much less like something that I wrote. Thank you so much for reading. It means a lot to me.

So fellow mentals…mentos! come on, let’s keep fighting. We’re in this together. ♥♥

XOXO, c.

p.s. I am really, really hoping that the mentals thing doesn’t seem insulting, because I am stressing over it. lol

p.p.s. You know when you type lol and you’re never actually laughing?aHAha

Depression, Social Anxiety

My Story of Depression and Social Anxiety, Part One

When I was little, I was a rambunctious, headstrong child. I had no problem talking. I actually liked to talk to everyone who came around me at school, whether it be my teachers, classmates, or other kids. I had no cares about what people would think about me, because back then I was a kid, and kids don’t usually think about superficial things like that. And my thoughts were acceptable thoughts for a child; my biggest worries were about creating that perfect tanbark “cake” without having any of the boys stomping on it.

When I was in second grade, however, everything changed. There was a widely publicized murder– a girl was murdered by a woman who killed her, put her into a suitcase, and then threw it into a lake or something like that. That was when I learned about murder. This realization shook me to the core, maybe even farther, because it pulled something out. Up until then, I’d never thought about that. I knew that robberies happened, and that you shouldn’t talk to strangers, but I never thought about the evilness man could have. I never thought that someone could possibly feel in such a way as to end a fellow human being’s life. I just didn’t know.

When I found out about this, I went into a stupor the whole day trying to comprehend this new knowledge of evil and cruelty and brutality and hatred. And the girl murdered was just a child! She was eight years old, so close in age to me. I was utterly astounded, I was horrified to the utmost extent; I lack the vocabulary to describe precisely how I felt about this. My stupor gave way to sheer terror, and then to an unfathomable darkness. I often felt normal during the day, but when I came home, waves of incomprehensible sadness, deeply penetrating, rolled through my mind all afternoon and night. “It’s just a phase,” I remember calming myself, using a phrase that I learned from a book. “It’s just a phase, it’ll go away”. And it did go away.

About two years later.

Two years later, I was in the 4th grade. I knew that this unusual sadness wasn’t telling me the truth, and that despite it, I should try to remain happy. Although pockets of dark remained in my brain, everything was getting better.

About halfway through the 4th grade school year, I discovered Harry Potter. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone was finally available in my school library. I hesitated to borrow it, because I wasn’t sure if it was considered school to be reading such a thick book about a kid with glasses, but I decided anyway. I loved that book. I read through the entire series, reading for hours straight at a time. This was binge-reading, the precursor of binge-watching. That book was such an escapism that I forgot all about the sadness, but I became so fixated upon this point of relief that I literally read it every free moment I got. If that book were a drug, I’d have to go to the most intensive rehab facility there is. I read it while brushing my teeth, right before and after doing my homework, and would do very little else. I read it while eating if I could. I read and read and read the series dozens of times over, and could recite portions of the books.

My parents eventually became so disturbed by my compulsion to read that they donated all of my books one day when I went to school.

I still read after that, but not to that extent. The sadness went away, and I just continued with my life, until I met social anxiety. But that’s another part of the story.

When I was 12, I had to get braces. (I recently FINALLY got them off. They sucked.) In the orthodontist’s office, I read a Time magazine article because I was bored. The first sentence of the article read something like, “I didn’t know that my fear of death in the 2nd grade meant that I had depression.” Depression?! I thought. How the hell can a seven year old have depression? I’d thought that depression was something that, you know, people who’d suffered something traumatizing, like the death of a partner, experienced. People with gray hair and sad lives and exes or whatever. Again, this was something that I’d never known before, and it was shocking.

I then left the topic alone for a few years, before meeting my depression again and social anxiety. How are they now? Fantastic, they’re in a relationship! Maybe this is being facetious, but humor has truly been the only way I’ve managed to avoid getting knocked out by life for too long.

Part 2 will come later. If you’ve read this far, thank you so much for listening. I am amazed that you would take the time to read through this lengthy article about a barely interesting girl. *Cough cough low self-esteem cough*. Seriously, thank you. If you are fighting too, I love you and am rooting for you. See you later!

XOX, c.

Part 2 of My Story, social anxiety