The Depression Diaries
Entry Two
So here I am again. Rock bottom with no were to go cause I’ve lost my wings and forgotten how to fly. Or that’s how it feels. That’s how life makes me feel. Broken and crushed under this impossible weight. Suffocating, I can’t breath.
But my therapist says I have to stay away from those feelings. I don’t know how. It’s like running from your own shadow. But the only thing that scares me more than the actual feelings is the things they do to me. While I’m lying, sobbing on the bathroom floor, fighting with my own thoughts, trying desperately to get away from the darkest places in my mind.
Sometimes it feels like the only way to get out is to forget.
I think that’s why I started partying two years ago. Passing out was the best feeling in the world. I didn’t worry about how I looked or the grade on my report card. I would stop thinking about the college I need to get into, or what boys think of me. I stopped thinking about my mother screaming at my dad about money, or my sister crying about the girls calling her fat. None of that mattered while I was drunk. Or if I did think about it, it was always funny.
I remember telling my best friend about my grand mother’s death and laughing about it. Nothing ever had to make since or be logical or right while I was at a party. I didn’t care at all about the guy I was dancing with at the moment. How old he was, where he worked, if he was a Christian. Basically I wasn’t my usual worrying self. I was free from my own fatal flaws in those moments.
The problems always came the next day. I’d feel terrible inside and out. Like I was selling myself. I knew that life wasn’t what I was made for; the party scene, all the superficial people there to be seen, to be cool. I hated them all. But I needed that life, the other me, to keep me from going mad.
I remember, each time I took a sip of alcohol, wondering how angry I was making God at that moment. God’s always been a huge part of my life. two years ago I started pushing him away though I didn’t realize it. So each time I asked the question “What would God think of me?” I would answer myself “Who cares, he’s not here now. He left me on my own to deal with this sucky thing he has the gall to call a life. So this is how I deal with it.” and I would take another gulp.
The truth was, he was there even then I think, sitting next to me on the couch shaking his head when I would try and stand up to go to the restroom to puke. He let me do what I wanted but was always there keeping me safe. I think that’s why I’m still a virgin today. I can’t even remember all the times I had drunk men twice my age falling all over me. God’s the reason I’m still alive. All those nights I drove home when I had to crawl to get in my car.
I remember those nights too. Driving home thinking this is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, I’m going to end up dead or killing somebody. But my dark and twisted mind would take over even then. It would tell me that death would be so much better than life and if I took anyone else with me I was doing them a favor.
That’s what I thought then. Now writing this down I see exactly how sick I am.
Maybe writing this down is the cure.
But I’m still having trouble finding the root of my problems. Maybe it’s just that I’m crazy and need medication.
Medication, that’s a joke. A year ago medication was the new cure to my problem. I had finally decided like the burning partying and getting drunk was a bad idea.
Two weeks after that I was driving to school and got in a car accident that shattered one of the bones in my leg. I had to get a giant rod in that leg to get it to heal. I couldn’t walk for months but I was still alive. My leg, well it hurt a lot to say the least. To help with the pain my doctor gave me hydrocodone. A lot of it. And I took them all. Long long after the pain in my leg left and I finally healed up, I was still taking the pills. They were so much better than getting drunk. I didn’t have to put up with the stupid men or the bitchy girls. I could walk in my room take a pill and fall asleep forgetting who I was.
So you see this recurring idea that I like to stop the feelings by forgetting them. Not dealing with them. That’s bad I think. I should probably get that checked on.
But my therapist says I have to stay away from those feelings. I don’t know how. It’s like running from your own shadow. But the only thing that scares me more than the actual feelings is the things they do to me. While I’m lying, sobbing on the bathroom floor, fighting with my own thoughts, trying desperately to get away from the darkest places in my mind.
Sometimes it feels like the only way to get out is to forget.
I think that’s why I started partying two years ago. Passing out was the best feeling in the world. I didn’t worry about how I looked or the grade on my report card. I would stop thinking about the college I need to get into, or what boys think of me. I stopped thinking about my mother screaming at my dad about money, or my sister crying about the girls calling her fat. None of that mattered while I was drunk. Or if I did think about it, it was always funny.
I remember telling my best friend about my grand mother’s death and laughing about it. Nothing ever had to make since or be logical or right while I was at a party. I didn’t care at all about the guy I was dancing with at the moment. How old he was, where he worked, if he was a Christian. Basically I wasn’t my usual worrying self. I was free from my own fatal flaws in those moments.
The problems always came the next day. I’d feel terrible inside and out. Like I was selling myself. I knew that life wasn’t what I was made for; the party scene, all the superficial people there to be seen, to be cool. I hated them all. But I needed that life, the other me, to keep me from going mad.
I remember, each time I took a sip of alcohol, wondering how angry I was making God at that moment. God’s always been a huge part of my life. two years ago I started pushing him away though I didn’t realize it. So each time I asked the question “What would God think of me?” I would answer myself “Who cares, he’s not here now. He left me on my own to deal with this sucky thing he has the gall to call a life. So this is how I deal with it.” and I would take another gulp.
The truth was, he was there even then I think, sitting next to me on the couch shaking his head when I would try and stand up to go to the restroom to puke. He let me do what I wanted but was always there keeping me safe. I think that’s why I’m still a virgin today. I can’t even remember all the times I had drunk men twice my age falling all over me. God’s the reason I’m still alive. All those nights I drove home when I had to crawl to get in my car.
I remember those nights too. Driving home thinking this is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, I’m going to end up dead or killing somebody. But my dark and twisted mind would take over even then. It would tell me that death would be so much better than life and if I took anyone else with me I was doing them a favor.
That’s what I thought then. Now writing this down I see exactly how sick I am.
Maybe writing this down is the cure.
But I’m still having trouble finding the root of my problems. Maybe it’s just that I’m crazy and need medication.
Medication, that’s a joke. A year ago medication was the new cure to my problem. I had finally decided like the burning partying and getting drunk was a bad idea.
Two weeks after that I was driving to school and got in a car accident that shattered one of the bones in my leg. I had to get a giant rod in that leg to get it to heal. I couldn’t walk for months but I was still alive. My leg, well it hurt a lot to say the least. To help with the pain my doctor gave me hydrocodone. A lot of it. And I took them all. Long long after the pain in my leg left and I finally healed up, I was still taking the pills. They were so much better than getting drunk. I didn’t have to put up with the stupid men or the bitchy girls. I could walk in my room take a pill and fall asleep forgetting who I was.
So you see this recurring idea that I like to stop the feelings by forgetting them. Not dealing with them. That’s bad I think. I should probably get that checked on.
♠ ♠ ♠
yup Ella is pretty messed up.