Shit Day

Today has been a shit day. I got some programming done this morning, and my brain has been feeling fuzzy and on the verge of headache pretty much all the rest of the day. I haven’t gotten much out of the house. There wasn’t a lot to do today, and it’s two days after my weekly workout, which is the worst day in terms of muscle soreness. While I was planning on going to see some people at a happy hour tonight, I’m just not sure I’m up for it right now. On account of not having moved around that much and being stressed out, my back is bothering me as well.

I’m one of the lucky ones, I haven’t had to pay for my own schooling. This has been a relief in going through all of the depression issues, because at the very least, I didn’t have to worry as much as a lot of people do about the impact that depression can have on your ability to earn a living to pay for things like school. I got a text today from a parent saying that we need to get together to talk about money for school, which I’m now terrified by.

I do feel like I’m making progress, but today was already a day of seeing how far I still have to go. The worst possible thing to add onto that is the possibility that I might not be able to financially maintain my life while I spend time working on all of the issues I’m working on. It opens up all of my deepest fears about recovery. I think I can work on this concentration stuff, but if it feels like a race against time, it becomes ten times more utterly terrifying than otherwise. Because if I can’t beat the clock that ticks down until I simply can’t afford the time and resources to keep working on these issues, where do I end up? Still depressed, in pain, possibly suicidal? As much as I’d love to believe that all those dark corners of my mind are places I can choose not go to, I know that all it takes to get shoved back into them is the right combination of circumstances.

The thing is, I feel whiny and pathetic even complaining about not having more time to work on things. After all, up to this point, my schooling has been paid for. Most of my other expenses have been paid for on top of that. That’s what’s made taking this term off to work on my mental issues possible in the first place. That’s a luxury not a lot of people have, and here I am being bitter that I can’t have even more of it.

I always tell people not to think about how other people have it worse. I tell them it’s useless and it doesn’t help and that figuring out who really has it worse is such a complex question that there’d be no point in trying to figure out who “deserves” to feel bad about life anyway. In any case, if “deserving” to be miserable is even a coherent concept in any sense, it doesn’t make it a useful one. All that doesn’t seem to silence the voice, though. The voice that’s constantly telling you you’re a whiny shit and should be able to just suck it up and deal. Or maybe you should’ve experimented with meds again. Maybe it was silly not to, in spite of the fact that you’ve tried all the major categories of them already to basically no result. Or maybe you should be trying harder to do particular things. Maybe this or maybe that.

The point is, of course, that I can’t know what the perfect, ideal way of tackling my issues woud have been, and I really am doing the best that I can. Sometimes that’s enough and sometimes it’s not. Today it isn’t. The best I can do is try and talk to friends and hope that maybe tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, it is.

Blogging for Who?

Blogging exhaustion is a tricky thing for me. some days I feel like writing things, but too often, I get into a rhythm, and then I break it, and then I start thinking “I should probably write something today”, and then blogging goes from a thing I can do to a thing I have to do, and then I stop wanting to do it. It’s a tricky game, keeping it from being a chore.

I suppose the trick is to not worry about if anyone’s reading it really. I like the idea that people are reading what I write, but I have to be careful to write what I want to write, rather than what I think people want to read. Writing what I need to get out is what keeps me from succumbing to blog exhaustion sometimes, I think. But all the stuff I need to get out tends to be worried and frustrated and personal and shit, and I feel nervous that after a while people will just get tired of that stuff. Of course, getting out that type of shit is why I started this blog, so in a way I could tell myself I shouldn’t worry about whether or not people are interested in it, since the point is to get it out. Telling yourself that is surprisingly difficult, though.

Oh worries. You are silly.


So I’ve successfully been doing mobilizations and PT exercises and crap for the last few days, and I think it’s possible some of it has caught up with me today,  which means no PT exercises ’til tomorrow, just to play it safe. Soreness. Grr. Very satisfying when it’s from doing things that would make a normal person sore. Not so much when it’s from doing teensy, tiny, baby exercises.

Also, trying to figure out what to do about living with a parental unit who stresses me out. Not helpful for stress levels or pain levels, but difficult to change. Sigh. Conundrum.

Living with a parent is also one of those things that frustrates me in general. In spite of the fact that I think given the circumstances of my life, I’ve made some pretty good decisions with regard to how I’ve approached school and living arrangements, it’s hard sometimes not to feel kind of pathetic still living with and being supported by parents at this age. Given my present condition, there are very few jobs I’d really be physically and emotionally capable of holding down until I work shit out, and I recognize that it’s important to have this time to work shit out and such. It’s still difficult to shake the feeling the everyone else is out on their own and there’s something wrong with the fact that I’m not.

It’s one of the most difficult inner battles for anyone with depression, I think. Fighting the urge to look around you at everyone who seems to have their shit together and just feel pathetic. The feeling pathetic doesn’t help anything, so most of the time I try to ignore it, or argue it down, or something. Ultimately, I think anyone in my position would be having similar difficulties with life in general. But there’s always that voice that insists on comparing you to all of the people who don’t have horrible pain and depression issues and insisting that you should be able to be doing what they’re doing. That voice is hard to silence. Totally unreasonable, and yet I’ve never found a way to make it shut up.