I don't know what to call it anymore

I wanted to start this by saying it first manifested as drug addiction, but I was sent to the psych ward for telling a cop I wanted to kill myself before I was ever addicted to opiates. From the very beginning I used substances (the first thing I ever abused was an over-the-counter sleep aid) to feel not like myself. Because I didn't like myself. I still don't.

When addiction became a serious problem, rehab (x3) and AA meetings (x∞) were helpful. The steps and companionship are incredibly valuable, and I have grown leaps and bounds because of the work I did there. So then you're an addict, the fringe scum of society. A junky. The helpless and hopeless.

I never felt well. I avoided medication for many years because I had been SUPER medicated prior to getting sober from illicit drugs, was prescribed many mental health drugs over the years. I also believed that if I was honest with myself and did The Steps and had the Higher Power, then I would eventually be free from my burden. Depression. Anxiety. Bipolar. PTSD. Whatever you want to call it. If you're not getting better, you're just not working hard enough. I kept trying.

Getting my job at Microsoft years ago was the biggest, longest, most intense anxiety battle of my life: interviewing, getting, and starting that job. But I fucking did it! What a drawn out, disassociated victory! Every meeting I had to go to made me sick (literally) with anxiety. I kept going. I persevered.

I guess once I relaxed a bit, anxiety turned into sitting in my office, working, with tears running down my face. I searched for & found my current therapist while sitting at that computer, and I decided to seriously re-consider taking medication for depression while also sitting in that office. I never poked even the tiniest of holes in my impostor syndrome, or depression, and my performance seriously suffered, as it always has in every job and school I've ever been to, which leads to further proof that I don't belong there. You have so much potential.

So I started Zoloft. And things got really great for awhile. The physical symptoms of my anxiety melted away, and I was able to do little things which led to big things in a really short time. I also moved teams, to one I thought would be a little more uplifting. It definitely was! And I moved out, into my first apartment. I want to shame myself here so you know how embarrassing I think that is, to be moving out at 26. It was a great place. I was very busy and had plenty of great days and have a great blog post about a very happy weekend.

I also felt like I was on the verge of losing it. I didn't feel like it was real, like I belonged, like it was going to last. I worked til midnight thirty and didn't have much of a social life. I started dating someone on my team. I felt new and alive and bold with him, and I enjoyed everything we did together immensely. I entered into an unconventional relationship with him because I couldn't help myself. I hadn't felt like that in years, never so intense. He said the way I smell gave him a physical reaction. What, walk away from infatuation like that? Has any single person ever successfully done that?  He was already in a relationship- an open one. It did not go well. From my perspective, their relationship was an extremely unhealthy co-dependent mess, and I shook up and cracked apart a very fragile framework. I got hit with the shrapnel and I exploded every chance I got after that. It is important to note that I was regularly seeing my therapist as well as sending her lengthy emails about all of this, and I take her advice incredibly seriously. It was nearly a year of off-and-on intense highs (best vacations and sex of my life) and seriously intense lows. I felt like a crazy person, completely out of control. I cried more than I ever thought possible, I bleached my hair so many times I had to shave my head, I screamed and yelled and cried at him when he left me / while we were apart - and it was awful. It was awful. I wanted to enjoy all of those good things and I would have been very happy to enjoy them with him. All while we worked on the same team, on the same shift, and our entire relationship was a secret. I covet my safe space on Twitter,  and I couldn't talk about this there. Everyone we know is on Twitter. I couldn't talk about it anywhere.

During a good patch, while my medication had recently been raised and/or he and I were together- I signed up for Beauty School. I worked 40 hours a week + commute, and went to school 30 hours a week + commute. That lasted from June 7th until my last day at Microsoft on September 19th. Hours or days later he said he didn't love me anymore and wasn't excited or passionate about being in a relationship with me anymore. (3rd time is the charm) And then I moved into a 187 square foot garage-convert with a leaky roof and a 5 gallon hot water tank. In West Seattle. In the winter. It was not good.

I was deeply depressed. I was making friends, and learning a skill that I was good at, still medicated, still in therapy, still feeling worthless. Still feeling unworthy. It is a deep loneliness, a giant sucking black hole between me and everything else. It kept me in bed, it told me I didn't care anyway. Maybe if I just lay there and close my eyes hard enough I will disappear completely. It was a stressful time, I was petitioning the state for the right to be paid to go to school after being fired (I won) and also had intense upper respiratory infections, probably from living in a moldy cave.

And then I was kicked out of beauty school for attendance. And in a lot of ways, that was sort of it for me. I think a piece big of hope inside me died that day. I didn't complete high school, I didn't complete shoreline community college, I couldn't even compete 13 months of Beauty School at 28. I can't do anything right.

I wish I knew exactly when it was, but I think it was around this time we added Wellbutrin on top of Zoloft to help combat crushing doom.


I appealed my termination. I got a letter from my therapist verifying/explaining Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety. I sat with the director and I made a case for my return. This was extremely vulnerable for me, and I was unfortunately met with the reaction most of society has about mental illness: "Really? Sadness? Just try harder." I said some very strong words and cried and ate my resentment, and she ended up deciding to let me come back.

But then our landlords decided to sell the house, so we found an apartment in Columbia City. We just signed our second year lease here. Security. My job is 800ft from my apartment, and it is low stress. I had a job at PCC too and I made friends. I joke with everyone I talk to and I smile big and I change my hair color and I cry at night. Things are okay and I talk about self care and I am in therapy and I try, I try to do things. I feel the crushing weight and I think "I know I'm supposed to do something" and I try. I go through the self-care list and I wash my hair and I eat things and I try. Some days I have the mental and physical energy to write and perform a one-hour stand up special. I use it to do all my laundry and run a bunch of errands while I can. Other days, most days, my body is 10 pounds heavier with dread. I put on a good fucking act, though.

We changed my meds again, which eventually led to (we think?) horrible side effects and a trip to the ER. Now I'm on another new one.
I can't do this anymore is my prevailing thought. I think it a thousand times a day. I look at myself in the mirror and I shake my head and I think, I just can't. I shouldn't exist. They call this suicidal ideation, and it is loud. Because I'm tired, but I'm not aloud to stop. I barely have the energy to take care of myself, and the world yells "just keep going!"
I used to stay up at night because I dread the morning. I hate going to sleep because I hate waking up & doing it all again. I believe I am worthless, and hopeless, and lazy, and unworthy. I have so much evidence for it.

I have some evidence against it, but it's not enough.

I can't focus long enough to read anything longer than an article. My male psychical therapist triggered horrible sexual-trauma response. I haven't made myself a decent meal in a year. I haven't had sex in 2+ years. I can't keep my bills straight and I'm always paying late fees. I put a lot of my living expenses on a credit card. I can't see more than two weeks ahead and I have a terrible memory. I can't remember what plans I've made. I have a thousand item to-do list, that piles up and piles up as my brain says "Maybe you'll just drop dead tomorrow and you won't have to keep being a part of the matrix? Wouldn't that be nice?"

Last week I went on a hike and I recall feeling absolute bliss. I like hikes because the creator of EMDR discovered it hiking. But right now, I feel a complete disconnect from the Tara-in-the-woods, feeling-bliss-and-wonder.

"I am the saddest person I've ever known" is a thought I just had, and have a lot. I cry in the shower a lot. Think about a time when you felt utter despair, when you can feel gravity inside your chest and you sob until your eyes are swollen. Everyday. Sometimes starting at 9am. Crying is tiring, but the despair is killing me. It is literally trying to kill me. My tears are huge lately. It's been so noticeable I Googled it and mentioned it to my therapist. Just this second I realized it could be that I'm just well hydrated. Or maybe my eyes are just really good at crying. They were meant for it.

Ksenia Anske keeps telling Twitter (and me) to write. She writes every day and she is honest and she pours out herself into her writing.

 So I wrote. I am still crying. I am very, very tired. I do not want to do this anymore, but I will.
I don't know what to call it anymore, it was Bipolar Disorder when I was 15, Major Depression now, or Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which isn't even in the DSM-V but fucking should be, or.... does it matter? I'm struggling, I'm drowning. I talk about it on Twitter a little, but I am not otherwise open about it. It's shameful, it's embarrassing, it's my fault. I thought I could hide it until it went away. I don't know what else to do anymore. So I wrote.