Sometimes I feel like killing myself. It’s actually probably the only constant in my life. The thing that keeps me going is what it would do to other people. But not just people in general, specifically my grandfather. He’s 83 years old, and I know that if I committed suicide he would go into cardiac arrest. He already has a weak heart and this would put it into overdrive. It would be so unfair if two lives were lost to this cruel world instead of one.
I can’t sleep, but that’s no huge secret. I think it’s because I’m returning to school tomorrow. I was originally planned to go back when everyone else did, but I had a court date with my mom. Oh by the way, she hired a lawyer and got the date pushed back a month. Like that’s going to do any good. I just want her to help me like any normal mother would do. I have to get a court order for that to happen. I stayed here even though my court date was moved in hopes of finding a cheap lawyer to help me out. Of course it didn’t go the way I wanted it to and I still have no lawyer, even though I’m leaving tomorrow. I don’t even want to get one, but I guess it was recommended that I should since she lawyered up. My moms trying to claim that she has no idea where I am or where I’ve been since I moved out in June. My move was only supposed to be temporary, and I ASKED her if I could. I think right now she’s grasping at straws and stalking my Twitter and Facebook. I’ve missed class before, big deal. That doesn’t mean I’m not taking college seriously or something. Whatever defense she’s trying to put together is complete bullshit and even her lawyer probably knows that.
I’m really nervous about finals. It came up so quick I barely noticed. I’m scared because I haven’t been studying. I don’t pay attention. I barely show up anymore. But it’s not because I just don’t feel like it. I physically cannot get out of bed long enough to gain the motivation in order to go or pay attention. I was supposed to do so many productive things while I was on break. I don’t think I did anything other than check my email.
It sucks having no ambition or drive. It’s like I should be using every last bit of myself to gain independence and strength and finally move on into the world. I don’t know if I’m using what’s happened/happening to me as an excuse or if I’m actually being inhibited beyond my control. For the first time in my life I get and want to be selfish, but is that really doing me any favors? I’m enabling myself to become exactly who my mother wants me to be. The hard part is that I know this in its entirety, but can’t seem to make a change for the better. Every step forward takes almost every inch of my wellbeing. It’s quite literally crippling when I get knocked back and I can’t keep taking chances.
This whole thing has taken me through some huge whirlpool. In the past few months I moved out/got kicked out (that’s another story) of my parents house, I moved in with my grandparents, lost my mother completely, moved to a school 4 and a half hours away from stability (and hated it), got stuck with a God awful suite-mate, got kicked off my mothers phone plan and had to get a new one, took my dad to court to get the child support switched over from my mother to me, am in the process of suing my mother for child support, and now trying to figure out the transfer process before next falls due date, all while scrambling for money, support, and help from the people around. It’s been a tough year and it still keeps going.
I know the nasty habits I have are only making my situation worse. I physically can’t make myself do any better. I don’t know what you would call that, but all I know is that it sucks.
So much has happened in the past week and a half that I don’t know how to process. I need to go one at a time.
First things first, I hate my college. I hate the people and the atmosphere and how large it is. The only person I generally like is my roommate, and we already knew each other from high school. I literally don’t know anyone else, and it gets really lonely when I have so much going on. So I’ve decided that I want to transfer next year. I complain to all of my friends back home how awful it is. They all know what I’m going through right now and can understand that being mostly isolated is just adding to the mess. But most of my friends don’t really understand just how awful my depression is right now. Every time I talk about what’s happening I get tears in my eyes. Every time I mention how little sleep I get or that I can’t concentrate I’m trying to fight back the tears. I’m not one to cry to my friends about this stuff. I make jokes about how awful my life is and move on. That’s usually how I deal with things. People don’t want to talk about sad stuff. Most people don’t casually ask how you’re doing or “how are things with this?” It’s my way of bringing it up without making the topic of discussion too heavy. This time it’s just totally different. I can hardly hold myself together and it’s extremely embarrassing.
My best friend of 11 years finally noticed how hard this is. Let’s call her Anna. She knows me as this strong, independent, funny person that never takes life too seriously. The other night I told her that my grandparents are okay with me transferring and somehow we meandered onto that topic of discussion. I say that I wish my home felt like home. She immediately started attacking me saying that since my grandparents are doing so much for me I should be thankful that I have a bed. But that’s not the point. She called me weak. She has never said that to me before. Anna told me that she’s never seen me like this. I was crying so hard by this point, I couldn’t talk. I tried to explain to her that it’s because things have gotten so bad, I can’t keep up my normal charade.
To sum up my life, I always just say “My life fucking sucks.” I think that pretty much does it. Anna tried to tell me that I should just be thankful to have the help I’ve been receiving. Just because I’m thankful for getting help doesn’t mean I can’t be sad and disappointed still. I’m extremely grateful for everything I have. But that doesn’t mean I can’t want more. I want parents who love me unconditionally. I want a house that I can come back to anytime. I want a family to support my every move. I want a normal life. What I have now doesn’t cancel out all of my wants. I have earned the right to say my life sucks. I have earned the right to wallow in my own self pity. I have earned the right to be sad. I know that someday it’ll get better. But not right now. It’s all way too fresh to even begin to think about coping. Right now I’m just trying to survive.
I guess you could say that I’m just upset because the one person I thought who understood wasn’t on my side anymore. She’s pushing me way too soon. I want someone so stand behind me and say “yeah that really fucking sucks.” Sometimes that just helps. I don’t want advice on how to be happy. I don’t want suggestions to make my life better. I have done more than my fair share of trying to stay positive and change my life for the better. I GET to be sad. I GET to be depressed. I reserve the right to fucking hate my life before I try to stick a smile on my face. It’s my turn to be selfish and I’m taking it. I’m tired of telling everyone things are fine when they’re not.
I wish I didn’t engage in such destructive behavior. I wish I didn’t promise sex to men to make them want me. I wish I didn’t have such a high body count. Okay, 8 isn’t that bad I guess… (when I’ve been having sex since I was 14.) Some of those boys were one night stands. I took a guys virginity. I helped a guy cheat on his long term girlfriend. I fell in and out of love for 2 years with the same man. I slept with a man to make him want a relationship with me. I had sex with someone I should have never even had sexual thoughts about. I had sex with a guy so he’d keep coming around. I had sex with a guy to make myself feel powerful. I had sex with one of my best friends.
I always tell my friends that it’s not a big deal and that I just had a healthy sexual appetite. I could actually live without sex, especially if it wasn’t with someone I really loved. To be honest, most of the sex I have is bad. I think I’m more experienced I guess. Most guys my age are not. I learned early on in life that guys between the ages of 14-70 have an all-consuming thought. Some could argue that ones purpose in life is driven by the desire to have sex, and in some cases, reproduce.
I usually give in to whatever offer is being thrown at me. I think I give off some vibe that says “If you’re feeling bad about yourself, you can always come to me.” I’m the rebound. I’m the last option. I’m the easy target and the simple catch. People automatically assume I don’t have deep intellectual feelings because I can engage in such frisky behavior. Honestly, there is only one man that I don’t regret, and it’s the man I fell in and out of love with. The other 7 have left me feeling broken and angry and sad. Most of the time I’m disgusted with myself afterwards.
Usually I’m the one to turn them away after sex. I give off mixed signals and I know that. I bait them to get them. Then I catch them, and toss them back. Once i have sex with someone, they assume that I’ll always want it, whenever I can get it. It’s awful having to carefully turn them down. It’s really (probably) nothing they did. I just don’t have any desire to be with them after that.
I am completely and utterly aware of the effect I cast. I give the impression that it’s just sex. They don’t have to worry about my thoughts and feelings and what keeps me up at night. I lure them in by promising sex, and then I’m disgusted and insulted when they keep trying to have sex with me after we already have (and probably only once.) I have this strange backwards mentality that since we’ve had sex, men shouldn’t be looking for just that one thing. It probably doesn’t make any sense. Basically, I’m turned completely off when I steer a guy away after sex, and then he only talks to me when he’s in the mood.
I’m a hypocrite. I use men for sex and then get upset and angry when they try to do the same thing.
Nothing feels like home. I’m happy to be back at “home,” but it just doesn’t give me a warm satisfied feeling like returning to your bed after a long day. It’s a guest bed. In a guest room. I borrow hangers and use spare toothbrushes because I forget mine. I get a space on the desk. My chair at the kitchen table gets cleaned off. I live out of suitcases and boxes.
I didn’t grow up here. I barely visited here to be honest. I never even saw this room until I was moving in. You would never even be able to tell I live here when I’m not at college.
As shitty as it was, sometimes I miss being at my mothers house. My bedroom was my solitude. It was MINE. There are pictures around the house of me, though little there might be. My dog was always happy to see me. I knew the rules and the do’s and the don’t’s. I knew where all the dishes went and which shelf in the fridge the eggs went on. I closed that bedroom door and I was in a world of my own. For the most part I was alone. My mother and stepfather worked 2nd shift and always gone by the time I got home, and never came back before I was asleep.
I love my grandparents with my whole heart. I truly believe they are some of the greatest people on earth. They are the toughest sons of bitches with the warmest hearts. They took me in when I had no where else to turn.
I just wish they didn’t remind me that this is all temporary. I know I’m not living here forever. I know I can’t stay. It would just be nice to pretend I can.
Today I head back to my hometown for thanksgiving break. I left a little early though, I started getting really homesick. I live with my grandparents, and I really miss them. I took a train back because it’s about 4 and a half hours by car and my poor Gram just can’t do the trip.
I’m kind of nervous to go back though. My grandparents expect a lot from me, and I’m not sure I can measure up to their standards all the time. I have a huge fear of getting yelled at, mostly because I spent a good portion of my childhood on the other end of a tantrum. My grandma told me that we need to have a few conversations. That probably means I’m going to get yelled at about something, and usually it’s about something out of my control.
I did forget my house key back in my dorm though. I did that last time. My grandma was very mad. Now I’m going to have to get it copied somehow.
They’re old. It’s hard for them to understand how and why I do the things I do. I try to ignore it and just agree, but my defensiveness gets in the way most of the time. I feel the need to explain everything to try and make them understand. I think it’s just time for me to accept the fact that I can’t make everyone understand all the time.
They put a lot of pressure on me. It’s kind of bad enough that I deal with everything I already do. It’s hard to squeeze out perfection when all the odds are against you. It’s frustrating and tiresome– and I’m lazy.
My grandparents also don’t really do Thanksgiving dinner. It’s really just the two of them. This will be my first Thanksgiving without somewhat of a celebration, let alone a traditional thanksgiving meal. I know the holidays are going to be hard.
I know I shouldn’t complain because there are starving families and people on the streets. Just because my war isn’t as big as theirs doesn’t mean my battle isn’t a struggle.
Today was my second session of therapy. I still can’t fall asleep before 4am. Dr. O gave me some home remedies that might help. If that doesn’t work I’ll have to take drugs.
I had to take a trip somewhere by myself after the session. All the feelings were just too raw and intense. I couldn’t just go back to my room.
We talked about what’s keeping me up at night. I’m a little worry wart. I have a whole layer of anxiety that comes alive at night.
I have no one to talk to about my anxiety. I don’t have someone to express all of my fears to. I explained to him my friends and their natural tendencies. He thinks I don’t have anyone I can count on, but that’s not entirely true. If you put together all of my friends, you get one whole, solid person. Each friend is good for a different kind of thing. I would go to my friend; let’s call her Stacy, for a good night out or a lot of laughs. She’s not the kind of person who wants to know the personal and horrible details of my life. There are really only a few people I can turn to when the depression starts to take over my life. Dr. O thinks I should start opening up to my other friends and family and tell them what’s really going on. I’m not sure that’s a good idea, though. He tells me that if they really cared about me, they would listen and endure it. I’m torn between thinking, “If they were really my friend they would want to listen,” and, “It’s not everyone’s job to care about me.”
There’s another topic of discussion. I worry I am a burden. I fear being an inconvenience. It’s in my nature and something I can’t change. I feel like a burden because my mother made me believe I was. It’s not someone else’s job to take care of me, yet I am completely incapable of being the sole caretaker. It’s a catch-22. If you grow up trying to be completely self-reliant, you end up missing out on a lot of opportunities. Dr. O told me that in order to gain a level of intimacy, I need to allow myself to be vulnerable. Otherwise I will never find someone to be there and care for me 100% of the time.
I miss my ex-boyfriend. Let’s call him Zach. I don’t miss him in the way that most people miss their exes. I miss him because he was my caretaker at an extremely vulnerable time in my life. I took it for granted. In some ways, I used him. Zach stood by my side for 2 long years. When my mother tried to kill me, he drove outside my house for an hour hoping I could sneak outside. He opened his home to me, gave me his family, and loved me unconditionally…until the very end at least. I miss his companionship. I never had a person like that in my life. His warmness literally started to chip away at my solid effort of keeping a stone wall. Zach knew I was depressed, but he made me live. It sounds really gushy and honestly it’s starting to even make me sick, but he was a strong constant in my life and I miss him. I don’t know if I’m still in love with him anymore. It’s been a year since we broke up. It’s been a very hard year. I think I broke up with him because I thought I didn’t deserve him. I was punishing myself. I think about him almost every day. He really held me together. But it’s not his job to do that anymore.