An Entry About Anti Depression and Dating and the Future

I tricked/asked my psychiatrist to up the ante of my antidepressants. Double the dosage. I didn't think it would do too much. Though to be fair, I really needed it. Everything about  my life is really great!!! I'm passing all my classes! I love all my new friends! I watch a lot of Star Trek and I still have time to write and sew and do other crafty things. Everything about my life really does make me really happy... Except for this one thing.

You are apparently supposed to rate your euphoria/dysphoria on a scale of -10 to +10, with +10 being complete mania and -10 being suicide. Personally, I really think you should just aim for 0 all the time, although to be honest if I ever got to that level of control over my emotions, I think I'd be ecstatic. Anyway, if I think about everything in my life, I fully believe that right now is the happiest time in my entire life. I'm doing something that's important. People actually like me. I don't get to exercise a lot, but I exercise enough. I control my life more now than ever before, and I like it. I am not worried about my immediate future. I should almost always be at around +3 to +6. I should go to sleep smiling. I should wake up smiling. I should walk to class smiling. I should always be happy because everything I'm doing--even the really boring things like studying--everything is so much better than I thought things could ever be.

But then there's this one thing that's been constantly bringing me down into the -2 to -5 range. I almost... almost cried. Maybe I did cry. I want to be deadly specific about this person, but in the updated rules of this blog and in reference to the Xanga incident of 2007 I am no longer allowed to use identifying details about a person--or I have to remain so vague the person would not realize that I was talking about them if they for some silly reason read my blog (READ MY BLOG).

Irregardless, I think the general positiveness of my life made me start thinking about my long term goals. (Note: If you're depressed, if you're a depressed person, don't think too far into the future. It's almost always bad, unless you're really good at lying to yourself.) And do you know what I want in the long term? I am twenty-two and two-thirds and in ten years, I want to be at least half way through the production of my four children. Now I know what you're thinking, clearly, yes, I would not mind being a single mom--in fact, I would actually probably enjoy it. But I am not an amazing human being, and to actually have four children, I would need a partner. Now I know what you're thinking, why not have two children and stay single? Because I've thought about family dynamics and two isn't a safe number, nor is three. At around four you can start breathing easy that your children will be able to fend for themselves in case you die. With two, you could have antagonists. With three, you can have unfair teams (which was me from ages 6-11). But with four you have equal teams, and if my children can't get along with each other, then maybe they can get along with just one of their siblings.

So it's four. This means I will eventually need to find someone. And holy fuck am I fucked.

I've been thinking about all the people I've dated, and I am totally screwed. I told my best friend about how all my significant others have literally been the worst people I could have possibly chosen, and she tried to comfort me by saying that I must have gotten better at selecting people. Nope. Not even close. My first relationship was either the best or the second best, but it was still pretty crappy. And my last one was the absolute worst. Oh my god that sucked so hard.

And I want to tell myself that even if most of the people I've dated haven't been good matches, that I've at least learned a lot about relationships and who I think I would be good with. I've analyzed the mistakes over and over again. Things seem to make a lot of sense. I know the general trajectory of me getting smitten and then slightly obsessed and then either ruining the entire thing or luring them into a relationship (no, but seriously, I should probably talk to someone about the way I choose to talk about my love life... I seem to always cast myself as a predator or an antagonist... that can't be healthy for my identity). Once in a relationship, things either go okay but are ultimately doomed to fail because it was set up on superficial grounds, or things immediately implode and it's just a mess because 1) I've dated some really crappy people and 2) I'm a pretty bad girlfriend, or at least I have a "unique" personality that I don't think a lot of people should get close to.

That was a challenge.

Irregardless (<-- that's a good example right there. I will fight someone on the use of irregardless because it's a fucking word and I swear to god if you don't take irregardless as seriously as the OED, I will insult you mercilessly), I know what my major flaws are in relationships and I know what the major flaws have been in the people I've tried to date and/or dated.

So I found this person who seemed to transcend a lot of the major flaws. Indeed, I even ran tests. This person passed. I was still suspicious. So I did some other things that I won't talk about because yo, I'm trying to be ambiguous. And now I am waiting. But now I am also horrifically scared and terrified and anxious and the anxiety won't end even though there are so many more things I'd like to think about then some person who may or may not be perfect. BUT I AM HORRIFICALLY SCARED. Because haven't I felt this way about a lot of people in the past? And didn't they always fail? So what's the difference between then and now? I am trying to remain objective, and I think I am being objective... but what happens if I'm not? And I don't know it?! What if I'm deluding myself into thinking that this person is better than everyone else ever before? Haven't I done this before? Haven't I? And I WAS WRONG THEN SO WHAT IF I'M WRONG NOW?!

IT'S A COMPLETE MIND FUCK.

And then this thought occurred and I wanted to cry:

We are all told we are going to meet the right person eventually, and we will get married and blah blah blah, happiness presumably. But I've never found the right person.... So many people are capable of being in long term, stable relationships. Did they find the right person? And if they found the right person, why is it so excessively difficult for me to find someone? I know I am pretty unique, but I'm not that obscure. I'm not underground. I like things that normal people like. I am an outgoing female, which I suppose is unusual, but otherwise I am pretty nice, pretty funny... pretty normal. I sometimes suck in social situations, but not more than other people, right? So why haven't I found the right person yet? What if this person is the right person? What if we actually did date? But more importantly, what if we date and it completely doesn't work? What then? I could romanticize this person but I'm just going to say I've never found someone who has goals and interests as similar to mine. I certainly have never dated anyone this similar. So what if it doesn't work? What if I never find anyone? What if I am this alone for my entire life? I'm twenty-two and two-thirds, I do not mind or even dislike being single. But what about when I'm thirty-two and two-thirds and concluding that no one could ever love me? Pretty fucking depressing. No one, ever. Isolating. What if the madness of being alone drives me into a marriage which is doomed? I intermittently think that this must have been what happened to my parents... I don't want that to happen to me... I don't want my kids to have parents that are aloof. What if I become a terrible mother (greatest fear, by the way: worse than dying, public speaking, the death of my parents, and slugs) because I am a horrible wife? I can't do that. But I don't want to be alone. But I can't do that. Alone? Alone is the better option, but this is a horrible would you rather. I don't want to think about it.

But you know the best thing about depression? You keep dwelling on what you are most worried about. So I kept thinking about this. AND IT WOULD NOT STOP. I could have been studying. I could have been showering. I could have been watching Star Trek. But no, I'd rather slump onto my couch and day dream, or more accurately, day nightmare. So I went to bed every night at -2 if not -7 and almost crying.

So I tricked/asked my psychiatrist for more antidepressants, and long story short, I am nearly manic! I feel as great as I should feel! I still think a lot about how much I have previously sucked as a girlfriend, but it seems irrelevant. Which is great! Because it is! I still think about this person, I still have minor panic attacks whenever I see them, but I don't dwell. And I don't frown... I actually smile, because hey! Maybe it will happen and maybe it won't. Maybe they'll be a good person to date or maybe I'll never know. Maybe there will be even better people to date. Maybe I will marry the perfectest person and everything will work out fine, and I'll be a great mom because I'm a decent, if not good, wife. Who knows? I still don't and I now accept that I never will. AH! I feel so free and almost invincible. But not that invincible. I still accept that I am merely human. I do not think I am having delusions of grandeur or being nonsensically manic. Still... everyone should feel like this! All the time! I feel as though I am always at +4 with occasional bouts of +7!!! So many exclamation points!!!! So many words like: "perfectest." I think I am living the dream. No, even better: I am living my dream. I know it and I feel it.

And still, why was I almost derailed by one person?

...Ominous....

Hmmm...

Nope. Don't care! Hahahaha, I'm sure in about two weeks or five months they will do something absolutely despicable and I will no longer care quite so much about them. And you know what? I feel pretty okay with that. I've only been dating people for seven years. In the next seven years, I'm sure something exciting will happen. In the meantime, I can look forward to actually being in medical school....! I keep remembering that and everything seems so much infinitely better. I am living my dream.

Finding My Mind

I hate the days after it happens and I have to catch my mind. There's not a lot to do when you're waiting for it to come back. You have to keep your anger down. It's best if you don't leave your house. You find a few moments every day when things are lucid and clear. Then you read something, or maybe the sun isn't shining the right way, or your friends texts you something illegible and it leaves again. My mind is a horrible, horrible person. Personified, I do not think we would be friends. But there isn't much I can do without it. So I wait. And I wait. And sometimes when I think I can't take it anymore, my mind writes me a beautiful note that attaches to my tongue and refuses to leave until I write it down and I read it and re-read it. The days after it leaves are the absolute worst--but the small gifts I receive from my estranged brain are worth it. Or at least, that's what I think at the time, all the notes piling up on my desks, all the note cards sticking to my walls. I rarely use markers in real life, but without a mind I no longer care if it appears childish to doodle on things. And then eventually my mind comes back and I realize that I don't care for all the paper surrounding all of my things. My handwriting sickens me. I tear it all down. My mind is unhappy, but I do not care. I have caught it again. It is mine. When it leaves, it owns me, exaggerates my whims; in pursuit I am always more thoughtful. Fascinating. Nonsensical. But when I have it, everything is so much simpler. Fascinating. Sensical. This is how my cognition functions.

Perfection is...

finding a wine who's tint complements the hue of your bed sheet. For me it's "Old Vine" Zinfandel and "Plum" bamboo sheets. In all seriousness, I spilled some tonight and the two colors blended into one. It was the most perfect feeling of panic upon seeing sloshed wine fall. It  dissolved into an acceptance that was in no way sad or forced. Quite pleasurable to accept something that you find pleasing. Lullaby in Old Vine. Sheets the color of wine. So pleasant. Go to sleep.

Good Morning

I think I like being awake in the morning because I do not like being left out of things. What happens if something happens and I'm not awake for it? I think this is kind of funny--in a painfully sad way.

Thanks Diabetes!

Wake up with a headache. Is it a hangover?  Panic. Dread. Irrational fears of alcoholism.

Check blood sugar. 155? Hyperglycemia! Not a hangover!

Thanks Diabetes!

The End

Are you ever so afraid of what you might do that you give up? I am about to do that right now. Because I can't trust myself. I wonder If I ever will be able to. I don't care. I am getting better. Things used to be worse. Things used to be unbearable. That one time when I drank myself to sleep. Except it wasn't to sleep. It was to vomit, into the bathroom sink. That was unbearable.

Why am I afraid?

I have not done anything wrong.

But I am thinking about doing things that may not be "acceptable." 

And even though I never would, I am the type of person who sees "never" as a challenge. And "I never would" becomes "I probably should"--I commit an act, socially reprehensible--and  I can no longer stand to see myself anymore. I stop looking in mirrors when I brush my teeth. I can't stand to know myself anymore. I watch my favorite movies and I drink my way into the protagonist. I stop brushing my teeth. I lay in bed for three days. Time stops. Self loathing discolors the entire world. 

Don't send me back to that place. I can't. I can't. You don't understand.

In light of what could happen, giving up seems like a healthy alternative. Kill motivation. You'd never win anyway. I'd never win anyway. I never win anyway.

I am sure that there will come a day when these proactive decisions I make are no longer necessary. I am sure that eventually I will be surrounded by people who are as confused by how people operate as I am. 

Maybe they will listen to me. Maybe people will actually notice when I disappear for three days. 

They never will. No one ever notices.

Fuck being acceptable to a system that never accepted me anyway.

I'll still give up, though. You're welcome. See you never. 

And in a few weeks, all this chaos in my head will be buried out of my consciousness, never to be exhumed by me. But maybe you'll dig it up--I hope on accident; I hope you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. For a week you'll think that these feelings are grand and how could I have ever lived not like this? Colors will be brighter, words will be purer, life will be lovelier than you could have ever imagined. Have ever imagined. I hope you daydream until day's end, while night continues, equally stained by the smiles you always wanted and the notes you never had. I hope you keep laughing: warning others of what has happened here. I hope it drives you beyond polities; I hope it drives you mad.

Not Know Life

One of the women speaking at this conference said something really interesting and it struck me that this was my childhood:

"It is possible to research life for years, and not know life at all."

Gaining vantage points behind swing sets, sifting into the back of busy classes, listening to other children's conversations. Engaged, without ever saying much. Not shy. Just confused. Testing theories. Examine other children. Determine if I could ever be like them.

Aphasia

I can no longer trust myself.

There are words forming that I do not know yet.

But I keep speaking.

Shut up.

Keep running,
kept running away from this, knocking into walls, compressing lungs into throat.
Stop talking stop talking.

I can no longer trust you.

Keep running until the stars in the sky fade over the horizon,
until the sun blocks out everything else I could ever see with my eyes.

I do not want to harm you.

Let me hurt you by telling you what it was that made me.

Keep running until the wood thrush caws,
until the chorus frogs stop rasping in their pond.

My legs are stilts, melting into the marsh's floodplain.
Desire and fear are the blackgrass I keep getting stuck in.

Faked/Forced Emotion

I began to cry. It's such a weird action... but then again I was low on sleep and cranked on caffeine. I had been stressed all day. Stress. How unusual for me. And so I began to cry, not for any reason in particular. Or maybe there was a reason. Maybe the reason was minute and being so close to breaking allowed that reason to overwhelm me. Capable of showing emotions as varied as a soap opera, incapable of feeling anything but sadness and neutrality. Sadly, I found something to be sad about, so I went about assuming that I'd always be alone. Not single. Being single is not something to be saddenned by. I can't allow myself to cry about something like that. No. Being alone. Isolated. truly alone. How many more nights in my life would end up like this? I cannot begin to explain how terrifying this loneliness is. I used to think that being invisible sucked. No. This is much worse. So I cried. Well, not so much cried as tossed about. A seizure almost, my legs kicking, arms grasping, body twisting and turning and keeling. But as I yelled "it doesn't make any sense. why won't it end?" under my breath under sheats, I realized there weren't any tears on my face. My voice was dulled by my constricting throat but there were no... tears. And it occured to me that I didn't have a source for my crying.
So I tested my blood sugar.
I was hypoglycemic.
NOT depressed.
Thanks diabetes.

Brain Chemistry Demands...

Sautéing in the hormones of hypoglycemia, it becomes paramount for this--something anything oh god just this one thing--to happen.