Assorted Inner Self-evaluation

Last week, I found I had to address some inner battles that have been occurring in my brain for quite some time. It left me rather exhausted, exhilarated, and lighter. One inner batter stemmed from the main inner battle. It is this main inner battle that I need to return to therapy for. But not yet. For now, it is under control. I am aware of it. I made a lot of progress in moving past it. However, I am not quite ready to talk, outwardly, about it. I apologize for being vague, but I know we all have these inner battles. You each have yours, and you understand that the timing needs to be right to bring it and release it into the air.

Soon. Just not yet.


An Annual Afterthought

If I were to place a percentage of good versus the bad in the span of a year, I would have to say that the year is 90% good and 10% bad. The bad, as always, seems worse than it is.

With regards to that 10% bad, it can be further broken down to 7% during the holiday season (that being November to December) and the other 3% being this past week. Most interestingly is that it is this past week that tends upsets me more than the other 7%.

You see, this past weekend, was my birthday. I received one card from my family. I got birthday texts, but two of those felt like last minute “oh right, it is your birthday.”

It is how it has been for the past several years. At this time of year, I feel like an afterthought.

Sure, I can say that this year it was because of my grandmother’s death. However, every year, it is not one thing it is another. It is always something.

It hurts. I admit it does hurt.

Also, it is alright. I am okay with it. It is only one day. Sure, it is my birthday, but I have already had 41 birthdays prior to this one. I will have many more.

I am not really convincing, am I?

Cue the End Titles

This past week continued the depression and malaise I have been battling since – well pretty much since last year. I have been making so many excuses to why I am out of sorts.

  • My hormones are still out of whack one year after my surgery.
  • No one wants to hire me (with exception to insurance companies sending out form letters that my design resume perfectly fits a life as an insurance agent).
  • I do not have a professional purpose.
  • I cannot create anything original.
  • I do not exercise enough.
  • I am tired. I am burnt out.
  • I am lazy.
  • Blah, blah, blah…

I can go on with this. We all can. Damn those little demon voices.

I finally figured out the root of my depression and it makes sense.

I no longer want to do what I have been doing since I graduated from high school. I am ending my career as a graphic designer. Done. No more. My outlook is brighter since realizing this. Sure I might be enjoying the initial “Eureka!” high, but I am also feeling that this time, I hit it. I figured out the culprit to my current depressive bout.

Initially, I started to write a very long-winded blog entry trying to explain why I am done with being a designer. It was like I had to justify to everyone why I am making this decision. I do not need to. Still, here is a abbreviated reason.

Being a graphic designer did not make me feel happy.. It has caused me stress and worry, the final results never gave me the creative high I was looking for. I was a graphic designer because that is what was expected of me.

Ah, doing something because it is expected of you. There it is.

The underlying thought behind it all: It was expected of me. Enter the plunge down the depression slide. That is something to work out in my personal journal.

I should bring this to a close.

An image comes to mind as I finish writing this week’s entry and that is the ending for every episode of the television series, The Incredible Hulk. David Banner (TV show, remember, not the comics or movies) walks down the road while a melancholy instrumental plays him off.

This week, instead of Banner, that is me. However, while the music starts off melancholy, it slows picks up its pace as does my step. Suddenly, I am skipping and it is the music during the ending credits for Little House on the Prairie.

No catchy post heading this time

The past week has been a mentally draining, more so than normal. It is getting better, but I still have a few unresolved items that I need to handle soon. And I will, if I can allow myself to.

The past is still causing me some distress and it is starting to get old.

I also am having a hard time with all the screaming coming from the apartment next door. Their child has two levels of existence, either screaming at the top of his lungs or laughing. The screaming seems to be more prevalent. He is outside, right now, with his parents, squealing.

Why do children squeal What is is about squealing? It is loud. It is piercing. It upsets me.

I need to write. But I am having trouble starting. I keep thinking about all the things I need to do. I think about all the things I want to do. I think about things I think I should do. I am asking myself questions without figuring out the answers.

This might mean that I spend a good chunk of my day sorting it all out. I am not sure I can go further, too much, without doing so.

But I feel like I need to be a productive member of society. I need to show my worth. I am not good at being one of those people that wakes up, stays in their pajamas and slacks off. I have tried it. I became even more depressed. I feel that I have to get up, have breakfast, get ready for the day and have a list of things I need to do for the day. I feel guilty otherwise.

Guilt. There is another big issue to add to the list of stuffs to work out.

I mean right now, as I tell myself this, I am thinking about what I need to do/want to do today:

  • laundry
  • the mad lib thank you
  • the dress alteration
  • cleaning up the apartment
  • empty dishwasher
  • work on menu cards
  • go to the craft store and get the vases and bags for M&Ms.
  • write and get that better under control

What I want to do is:

  • take a shower
  • play more solitaire
  • walk or not walk (I would have to go now)
  • get my car washed
  • sit and do nothing. which I have done enough of.

I can get this all done. But I need to write. I need to get myself in to a better state and habit where I write every day, in the morning, again. Maybe I do it before I even open up my laptop. Or if I write on my laptop I do it without checking my mail, etc.

Well, I need to shower. I feel dirty. That is going to be shouting at me more than anything else.

I got distracted again. See? I did it again. I need to start setting up a period when I wake up each morning and write. Just write. It does not matter what I write. I just need to write.

The same thing with my drawing. I need to do that too. I have the opportunity to do that.

And I am afraid to.

Fear. Another issue.

With Joy Comes Sadness

It is September. I should be at an optimal excitement period. In a month, the wedding will be happening. There are only a handful of things to do now. As they say, it is the final stretch.

But I am not excited. I am in a weird place. I am trying to fight the malaise that is creeping in. Each morning, I feel a little less happy and a little more – not really sad per se, but Blah.

I feel blah. I think it might be some left over feelings from my past. I think it might have to do with finally coming to terms with my last job not being an optimal environment for me. I did not thrive at all. Instead, I bled out slowly.

I bled out my creativity. I bled out self confidence. I bled out money. I bled out pride. For eight years, I sat there and let it feed on me. When I tried to perform triage, I could never tie the tourniquet  tight enough.

The bleeding has stopped and I feel better than I have in years. But right now, my mind is telling me that I still have a lot of healing to go. This currently malaise is my mind’s way of telling me that.

Mild Ranting Time

It is mild ranting time. In advance, I want to thank you for my rant.

I am in the process of deleting my Facebook account. When I first created my account, I did it because my friend, D (we shall stick with first initials) talked me in to it. Initially, it was a fun thing – you got reconnect with people you have not seen or talk to in years.

However, my feed has evolved from fun, simple posts (photos from a recent trip, or a quick “hello”) to people writing about anything that pops in their heads. “Hey look, I just threw up. Isn’t that cool?” for example. Or “Hey, I am in driving right now – driving a heavy piece of machinery. Why don’t I take my eyes off the road for a few seconds, endanger those around me, and take and post this picture of the back side of the truck in front of me. LOL.”

My feed also turned into a lot of “hey, support my cause because if you don’t, a kitten will die.” While “volunteering” for a non-profit (I was being paid, it was part of my job), I was required to post on my feed, like other volunteers’ posts, and share info related to events this non-profit was doing. It made me uncomfortable. I hated doing that. I am not a fan of people forcing their agenda on others. I do not force my agenda on others.

Although, my agenda is totally the agenda you should support. It supports me. I kid.

For me, Facebook encourages my depressive tendencies. And I have been battling a bad run of depression as of late.

In recent weeks, I have taken breaks from Facebook, to see what life was like without it. I discovered that my mental state improved. My creativity returned, I was being productive. Stuff was getting done. Most important, I was not feeling depressed.

When I would sign back in, within a day, I was feeling depressed again. Maybe it is coincidence. Or maybe I see what a friend’s newest agenda-pushing post and I immediately roll my eyes. Then I see that a former beau has passed away unexpectedly, which causes me to rethink my mortality, makes me realize that my short time with him impacted me more than I thought, which causes me to rethink my career, my confidence drops, my thoughts become self-defeating, and depression has now returned full force.

It has been a little over a week since I have started to feel better. I have cried twice in the past week, instead of every day. I am feeling better. I would very much like to continue to feel better.  I have a wedding reception to plan. It is suppose to be am amazing time for me.

I do not need to include in my life things that will make me feel bad again, to bring back the depression. The negatives must go.

Facebook has to go.

Dress bomb go boom

“Why is it I feel that nothing I do is right? ”

This one thought has done so much damage to me for months now. It planted itself in my brain, whispering at first. Now it is shouting at me with a bullhorn.

Nothing I did, I felt was right. During the past few months, any decision, any choice I had to make, I doubted I was doing it right. The few moments where I felt confident with my choices, someone was there to tell me otherwise. This is what my brain was telling me.

I am not good at anything.

Nothing I do is right.

Once thoughts like these make their way into my brain, it controls me. I become blind to everything else. Constructive conversation start fine, but then I will break down and cry. I am crying, again. Stop crying! Then I will cry more.

Something must have happened to me that put this thought into my head in the first place, right? But what? What was the moment in time that set me on this path to being so depressed, so down on myself, and so trapped in my own head?

A few months ago, I panicked and purchased a wedding gown. I was caught up in the moment. Since then, it has sat in the corner of my closet, hidden, not displayed. Why did I buy it? Why did I buy something that is not me? Why did I let my mother pay for it? Why did I rush into the decisions?

Why did I make such a big mistake? Of all the mistakes I could make, the dress? Oh lord. My mother paid for the dress. How do I tell my mother the dress is not THE dress? That I made a mistake? What was I thinking? Was I thinking at all? What was wrong with me? Why can’t I do anything right?

Nothing I do is right. This dress is not the dress. I bought the wrong dress!

There! That last sentence in the paragraph above. That is it. It is the dress. The dress is the catalyst causing my recent turmoil and self-defeating behavior. I regret I bought it. The dress is not me.

The doubts in my head – the confidence to be creative, to be comfortable in front of the piano again, to draw & paint, and the inability to have one coherent thought. Also there is the gown related thoughts – wedding shoes are hideous, I cannot find shoes to complement the dress, why did I pick a gown with no back? It has no back? I hate dresses that lack a back. It has lace. When was the last time I wore lace? I look at this dress and I see everything that I am not. It. Is. Not. Me.

So, what can I do? The dress has been purchased. I do not want my mother to feel she wasted money? I feel guilt because I made her waste money of something I should not have committed to in the first place.

In my head, it is the end of the world. I have screwed up big time. I have made the ONE mistake I should not have made. My brain is telling me that it is a decision that I will have to live with.

I cannot do anything right.

But, I can, and I am. I can make everything right. The first thing is to regain control of my brain.

I can do the right thing. I can make the right decisions. I can make the right choices. The dress, is just a dress. I let it be more than that. I let it become something more. I let it become the symbol for my perceived failures and mistakes.

I let the dress evolve into a mental bomb, with a short fuse. This past week, the bomb detonated.

The good news is that the damage is much less severe than it could have been.

So what to do now? Make everything right.