I Hate Most Everyone At this Moment

I'm having a moment of slight rage. It's not burning, liquid rage in my belly. More just aggravation. I'm glad it's not burning rage, because I get tired of being angry, and anger seems to be something I do a little too well in my depressed state.

Today's topic of anger is friends who think I really should find people to fill my life and make it more full. Let me speak directly to said friends (although said friends will never read this). I would like to point out that YOU are my friend. And that you are too busy to spend time with me. So apparently you feel that I should get friends to spend time with since your life is too full with your other friends and significant others to squeeze me in. How does that work, exactly? You have time for regular time with other friends, but it's not reasonable for me to spend time with my friends, who I love and value, because you're so stinking busy. So I should get other friends for that part of my friend needs? I don't WANT other friends. I'm perfectly happy with the ones I have. I don't need a ton of friends to feel fulfilled. And frankly, I've never been the type that goes out with the aim of finding new friends and succeeds. If your soul does not speak to my soul I'm not going to try to force new friendships so I can have lots of friends.

ALSO. If one more friend suggests to me that I take yoga to fill the lonely void, I'm going to... do something painful to them. I don't know what it is, but it will probably involve some stupid yoga pose they can get stuck in. Why yoga? None of them take yoga. But separate friends who do not know each other and do not talk to each other have suggested yoga to me. Because apparently I'm tense and yoga will just resolve all of that.

How about this. How about you see that I am lonely and actually make an effort to spend time with me, like I would make an effort to spend time with you. How about YOU call ME from time to time. There is something incredibly lazy about "listening" to your friend talk about their loneliness and to then talk about how they need to spend time with OTHER people, because you are busy. Really? REALLY??? Do you hear yourself? And do you ever in a million years think I would tel l you to get more friends because you are lonely. No. I would plan something with you. Isn't that part of being friends? Apparently I have very high expectations of friendship. And you are attached to a significant other who fills all of your time. Why, just because I am single, must I subject myself to socializing frantically to fill the void. Did that work for you when you were single? Because that sounds like a horrible plan to me. I would rather spend meaningful time with people I care about. I have those poeple. And I actually do manage to spend a fair amount of time being social. That's not where the lonely feeling is coming from, and if you were half paying attention you would know that. Just because I don't report to you my social life doesn't mean I don't have one. Unfortunately making plans and going out to dinner or whatever doesn't fill the void. It's not more social stuff that's going to fill my void. It's heart to heart connection. So how about instead of suggesting that I do yoga and make more friends at church, you take the time to get what's going on in my head right now. Because you are not hearing me.

I Would Like to Let Go Now.

I have a tendency to brood. Coolgirl has pointed it out to me. I have always done it, but had not identified that I do it to a larger extent than many people until she pointed it out. I knew that when I'm really anxious I would grab onto a thought and think it over to death. But I have come to realize that I often grab hold of a thought and obsess about it and don't let it go.

Example: tonight, I went to a friend's birthday celebration. It was a great time but at the end the birthday girl disappeared, and a few other small things happened that seem to indicated to me that she is annoyed with me. I have analyzed my conduct and I really haven't done anything wrong. At most, I failed to recognize the moment when she took something personally that was not directed at her and not intended to give offense. But of course, this is where my brain won't shut up. I keep thinking over and over and over again to think of everything I said, every look she had, how she might have taken things I said, and what she might say to other friends. Then I start to worry about how how she appears to feel about me at this moment might impact the way other friends feel about me. This might impact how other friends interact with me in the future, and I don't want to lose those good relationships. Then I try to talk myself down by reminding myself that if she is irrationally angry, said friends will call her on it and refuse to allow her to blame me. But the thoughts of "what if" go on. I foresee manipulation and half truths that might convince said friends to spend less time with me. Basically I start to see the demise of friendships, all over one woman's cranky moment. Described here, I sound a little nutty to myself. But I still fear the power of this one woman over one particular friendship that I hold dear. Also, I don't like having people upset with me, and I want to resolve it, and it's aggravating that I can't. But this is not a situation where I can, or should, do or say anything. And I truly honestly didn't do anything wrong. Her anger isn't even really about me. But it keeps happening. And my brain won't let go of it. Shoosh, brain.

Waking to the Sounds of an Interminably Pessimistic Brain

I am so tired. I'm tired of waking up feeling yucky. I'm tired of waking up dreading the day. Dreading it for no good, sound reason. I know that I love my job. I love most of the people that I work with. Good things happen to me at work. I have some good relationships with people at work. Why do I wake up dreading to go to work? I'm anxious about everything lately. Anxious about if people will be happy with my work. Anxious that my boss's boss doesn't seem to like me. Anxious that I won't get enough done. Anxious that people are saying things about me. Anxious that people are complaining about me. Anxious that I will do something to make someone mad. It's crazy. No, really. I feel like my crazy side is taking over. I keep having conversations with myself. No, not out loud. At least not outside of my car. I keep telling myself, today is going well. Why are you stressing? There is nothing to worry about. But I can't quite seem to talk myself out of my anxiety. I take walks. That doesn't help. I pray. Doesn't seem to help. I meditate at my desk. Nada. I go and hide in a quiet place and meditate. Nope. I take deep, calming breaths. Not calm. I curse under my breath. Definitely doesn't help. I try focusing on work in hopes of distracting myself. Sometimes, sort of, works.

The good news is that many days the feeling seems to wear off after about 1 or so. Unless something happens for me to fixate on and be anxious about.

I feel like I should talk to someone about this. Don't feel like I can talk to anyone at work about this. Showing my insecurities does not seem to be a good way to advance myself professionally, and poor Coolgirl has been exposed to enough of my anxiety to last her for a year or two, at least. I've talked to other friends about it and they don't know what to say, and I end up feeling guilty for making them worry, not supported, and kind of stupid for showing my crazy. They don't have any advice to offer that I'm not already giving myself, and I'm tired of having people look at me like I am overemotional. I could go see my counselor, who I have not seen in quite a while. I don't really feel like she can say anything to make the feeling go away either, and she is far away from where I live now. Or at least, far enough away, especially in rush hour, to make it a huge effort to go see her. I don't want to change counselors. I like her. I know that is silly since I just said she is too far away so I'm not going to see her. But I don't think that telling anyone about my crazy is going to make it go away or fix it. I've already done a lot of talking to smart people and praying.

I don't feel like taking more meds is going to resolve this. Except the anxiety, my depression is pretty well in check. The anxiety does come coupled with some immense sadness sometimes when I first wake up. But I think it's more sadness over the things I'm anxious over. I've started taking Omega 3's in addition to my meds. They're supposed to do good things for your brain, and so far seem to be helping me balance out a little more in my PMS stage, which has been WAY too emotional up until this last month.

I know I should be exercising. Endorphins are good for you, blah, blah, blah. I know that. I intend to exercise. This week in fact. I just, you know, haven't.... Not tomorrow, I have a meeting after work. Wednesday. I'll exercise Wednesday. Yeah.

I've been making myself go outside after work. I sit and I read. Vitamin D is good, and natural light and fresh air and all that junk. I think that's helping me not be as bad as I could be.

How do I stop feeling so crazy? I'm tired of being so crazy anxious over things. When I do come down from my anxious place I realize how irrational a place it is. But I can't seem to talk myself out of it even when I realize I'm there and know it will look crazy later.

Man, it's exhausting being me.

Where is My Sickness-Powered Artistry?

I've always loved writing. My sort-of-secret aspiration is to write a book; to be a published author. I say sort-of-secret, because in high school I did not hide it. I would have told people. I did tell people. People knew I liked to write. I was the one who would write letters, notes, and long thoughtful ponderings and pass them to friends. I loved having written interaction. I loved expressing myself. But now, as an adult, my friends don't really know how important writing is to me. I don't share this blog address with people. I do have a blog that I share with my friends, though. I loved that avenue of expression. I loved having friends read it and give me feedback and tell me things they liked that I had said, and all that stuff. It aggravated me (and still does) when friends told me (which at least two have) "I don't read blogs." Really??? I'm not asking you to read blogs. I'm asking you to read one. Mine. It can come to your email account and you can pretend it's just an email. Yeah, I'm still really, really bitter about that. And when one of those friends referred to themselves as a writer today, like they are in the club, and clearly have not clued in that I write, and so they have to explain the club to me, it aggravates me even more.

This aggravation led to the pondering: aren't I supposed to be all artistically inspired in all my darkness and turmoil? Isn't that what people always talk about in TV shows and on postsecret and in books and whatever? That they don't want to take the meds because they feel all real and able to express themselves in deep, deep ways when they give themselves to their mental illness? I would like to know why I don't get to have that experience. My depression is like a big damp, uncomfortable blanket squashing me down and making me feel too weak to do anything, let alone get all deep and expressive. I have written so little lately. I feel like a different person. I think my little author pilot light has died. I can't seem to reignite it. So... why is it nice to be off meds? I can't even find my groove on them....