Robin.

I'm not one of those people who thinks of celebrities like I know them and posts about them and their babies and their weddings and whatever like it's my business. I do have certain celebrities that I love as artists, because I like their body of work. Robin Williams is probably one of my all-time favorites. He's one of the first faces I grew to love on TV. No, not as Genie. I'm a wee bit older than that. I loved him as Mork. His wackiness and smiling face spoke to me as a child. I loved seeing him sit on his head, and say "Nanu, Nanu."  I did also love him as a teenager in roles like Mrs Doubtfire and the Genie. He had such a sweet spirit and a humor that seemed to speak to all generations alike.

I remember hearing once that Robin had mental health issues. I believe the rumor had something to do with how he was in and out of mental asylums. You know, the regular mental health stigmas magnified. I didn't worry about it too much one way or another. I've never been huge on digging into a celebrity's personal life. But I knew that he had issues at some point with depression. When I heard he passed away, I feared that it was suicide. I am so sad to have that confirmed. Robin and Mr Rogers came into my home and touched my heart when I was just a little mite. I think because I have felt connected to him since I was little, this news made me especially sad. I hate to think of that seemingly gentle, smiling funny man in such a desperate place. I hate to think of the desperation and darkness he must have been feeling. What ugly thoughts had probably worked their way into his mind and seemed so real and so large that they obstructed any joy. I think that given the recent darkness I've been feeling, it struck a little close to home. In the past year or so, I've felt more despair and loneliness than ever before. The realness of that darkness pinches at my gut when I hear about other people who couldn't make it another day. I feel just a smidgen of that kind of pain that visits me when I'm at my darkest. I wish someone could have been there to take it away from him. I wonder if he prayed, or if he felt no greater power was out there. I have all these thoughts, and then I refrain from posting them anywhere but here, on my secret blog. Because this isn't really about me. And I did not know this man. But I still feel love for the part of him he shared with the world. And I wish he could have found a little hope.

Hey.

It's been a while. I would like to say it's because I've been super busy, but I haven't. Still no job. Lots of interviews. Everyone loves me. Tells me I was a top contender. Then offers job to other candidate. Very frustrating. Very wearing. Not feeling super good about myself currently. Also, you know how there's no extensions on unemployment? Yeah, that sucks too. Not sure what I'm going to do if someone doesn't hire me soon.

I've been noticing about myself lately that there is a serious edge of paranoia to my anxiety. I easily go from sending my friend a text to a minute later thinking that I probably offended them and they aren't answering me right away because I was so inconsiderate and that they are probably tired of me and my depressed ways and they've been distancing themselves from me anyways....

Yeah.  That's depressing. And exhausting. I'm exhausting to ME. But I seriously have been thinking that at least three or four of my friends didn't answer that ONE text message or like some joke I made on their Facebook page because they don't like me anymore. And I have two friends I can think of off the top of my head I'm scared to call because of that. Mind you, I'm not usually that girl. The one that people burn out on. I tend to isolate myself before anyone gets too burned out on my depression. But it could still happen right? That's probably what happened...


And this is how my brain occupies all this downtime.

Happy New Year?

Soooo... I lost my job.

I'm having a hard time with all the optimism out there right now. People on Facebook talking about how great this year is going to be, and how blessed they were last year. People telling me that this is Meant to Be, and that Something Good is out there for me. Um, that's what you said last year. You know, the year I felt like I took up permanent residence in the Pit of Despair, had a horrible streak at work where my boss who I had thought was one of my best friends decided she despised me and in fact could not take the sight of me or the sound of my voice, and then I lost said job. So a really great year. But I'm told Everything Happens for a Reason. Apparently I needed to learn what pain feels like. Lots and lots of isolating horrible pain.

Despite the incredibly bitter tinge to this post, I've actually been doing OK this week. Have been doing a passable job of not wallowing until today, and I have found things to keep me busy and positive. I do feel like I will get a job soon. I just am not excited about it. I'm tired of feeling like Someday this will all make sense. Can one of these lessons conclude so that I can see the point and feel like maybe some of this stuff will have an end?

And Some More Despair

Today I'm feeling pretty despair-y. Things just keep getting worse. In my saner moments, I can see that somehow I'm still standing, and I think that maybe this is a path I need to take that is hard but something I can survive and be stronger and happier for. And junk. But I am also tired. And I have moments where my heart cries out "how much more?"  Could I please have some peace and calm and rightness in my life?

Right now the miracle is probably that I am surviving. And I know I should be grateful. And many moments I am. But other moments, I just feel like the crazy is going to suck me in. And I feel scared. Because I don't know how much longer I can stand.

Anger and Despair

Anger and Despair,
Anger and Despair,
Do dodo dooo
Anger and Despair.

I thought maybe if I made up a cute little song about my crazy, it would be kind of cute and fun. Maybe whimsical. Not so much.

I'm having one of my really angry cranky weeks. I'm feeling some anger toward pretty much anyone who crosses my path. Holy crazy. My sweet, well intentioned man came over last night with the intention of cheering me up. I had to work very hard at not biting his head off. He does not have the experience with depression to understand that the plan of "cheering up" a depressed person does not necessarily work. He did make me feel loved and warm for a minute. But then I think it might have backfired somehow, because we ended the evening with him annoyed with me. I'm not even totally clear on what it was that he was upset about. I'm not saying he was upset for no reason... but I have no idea what I did. I was trying very hard not to be irritable and angry with him. I don't know if he felt like I was being cold because I was holding back... I'm not really sure.

I hate how my depression seems to cripple my relationships. Bleh.

Stupidity

I made a huge mistake. And continue to make it. It's interesting what loneliness and isolation can drive you to. Even in this anonymous space, I can't admit what I did. It's too big, and too ugly, and yet to most of you would not be as big and ugly as it is for me. But it is big and ugly to me. And I hate that even a few trusted friends even know. I feel like this road of depression has lead me to be a person that I never meant to be. I never wanted to be this. But I can't seem to be who I want to be, even when I try with all my might. Is it just me, or is the world getting uglier? I feel like the whole world is slowly going crazy. Or maybe that's just me.

Thievery

I am fully convinced now that Depression steals from people. I have had whole parts of my identity stolen from me. That's not to say I can't get them back. But it is trying to take things from me. It is greedy, and it grabs at things, and holds onto them tight, and hopes that I will forget I once owned those things.

Like what? For one, my interests. I like to cook. But it has been so long since I've truly been able to remember the pleasurable parts of cooking that I have lost a lot of my cooking skills. People who I would characterize as good friends, and people who hardly know me, all think that I don't know how to cook, and that I don't really enjoy it. It surprises me and irritates me when I discover this attitude and belief in people. It is frustrating when my friends give me the same look my mom used to give me when I said I wanted to sew a quilt (she's seen me with a sewing machine--straight lines are harder than you think!) when I say I like cooking. I do like to cook. But even now, as the meds are returning me to a place of balance where I have interest in DOING things again, I struggle to make that true again. Because I've forgotten how somehow. And I can't think what to do. I have vague intentions of doing it again, and more often. But I feel deeply rooted in the rut in which I have entrenched myself.

It also has stolen my happiness. And I don't just mean the ability to feel it from day to day. I mean, while I've been so deeply immersed in a dark and dreary existence, I missed LIFE. I didn't choose things that maybe would have put me in better places. I seem to have lost some of the bonds with friends and loved ones that kept us bound to each others' daily lives. I'm alone. Other people around me seem to have managed to end up happy and WITH people, and DOING things. I do things, but alone.

I can't quite fully articulate what depression has stolen. People who have never felt it will often say, or privately think, that we are responsible for the loss we experience when we allow things to happen TO us. I don't dispute that. I have let a lot of things happen to me. I have been in those deep dark places where I don't care, because of a crazy chemical imbalance. It is all my fault my life is not different. And at the same time, it is NOT my fault. I have control over where I am, but I don't have control. I feel both ways. In my healthy moments, I can see what I should have done. But in those unhealthy moments, I didn't see it. 

So many times, from so many people, I've heard the viewpoint expressed that the dark ugly points in our lives make our lives richer, and deeper, and more the person we are meant to be. And on my sunny days, I agree with this concept, and sometimes even embrace it. But on my dark, desperate, miserable days, I despise this theory. I find it deplorable. What doesn't kill us might make us stronger. Or it might debilitate us and suspend us in our anguish.