I just got laid off

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday. She was very sorry, you see, because they are going to loose their second house, they have to sell one of their cars, and fire the cleaning lady, and get rid of me, their sole employee.

Did I mention she is having baby #3 next month?
Yeah.

And she kept saying

“i’m so sorry, so sorry”
and standing there with a sad look on her face while I TRY TO MAKE HER feel better about it

“its okay, I understand you have to,” I say, trying not to cry.

“I’m so sorry” “I’m really sorry”
as my nose turns red, and my eyes water up.

“it’s ok, really, I’ll be fine”

“oh no. now I made you cry. I’m so sorry”

“stop saying that!”

AAArgh.
Her kids were crying so she left to go soothe them, and I burst into tears as I packed up the day’s orders and made shipping labels.

So…
I left early and went straight home to cry on the couch, and then took 4 ativans, which made me feel like a freightliner filled with bricks (and gave me a headache this morning) and watched tv until bedtime, where I swiftly fell asleep.

This morning, slightly hungover, I feel… a bit numb.

All this work I have been doing for the last couple of weeks, new thoughts of possitive thinking, new medication (he added wellbutrin to get rid of some pesky sexual side effects) and new outlook… I was doing better. I was able to sleep at night and wake up and get things done at work, and generally (not all the time) be alright.

Now I hit this wall.
I have two weeks.
I don’t know if I can handle the job search.
I don’t know if I want to work for someone
I just want to get in my car and drive and drive and drive.
I never want to work again.

I just want to go back to bed, but alas…. I am here at work… for now.

I had (another) dream…

This one was perhaps induced by the medication I have been taking (Lexipro anyone?)

My boyfriend and I walked from the parking lot at my old community college (150 miles from where we live) into the main campus area. He went off to his class, and I decided, not being fond of math class, to skip my class, and hang out in the library until he was ready to go home.
It was pretty crowded and I stood watching students bustle here and there, off to their classes, huddled in social groups.
Then one person pointed up to the sky and yelled “that plane is too low!”
Everyone looked up to see a big passenger plane slowly jetting across the sky towards the main library building.
(might I add here that the plane looked really small for being so low, and the library building was about 5 times larger than life, making it look like it was at least 10 stories tall)
The plane was headed directly for the building. At the last second, it pulled up as far as it could, and just cleared a ledge, but then crashed into a raised portion of the roof.

Everyone was screaming and gasping, I put my hand up to my mouth and watched. Then I tried to call 911 on my cell phone, which for some reason was difficult. I ended up connecting to some guy named Richard (who tried to hit on me), and tried to hang up on him, which took a few tries. I never did get through, but by then, sirens were wailing and firemen came.
It was dark and everyone was still in the main area watching and crying as they pulled dead bodies out. They did pull a child out, who was living, and someone in the crowd just hugged her.

I hugged a couple of people. One woman had a teal terrycloth tracksuit on and was middle age. After I hugged her I said I can’t believe that just happened. She said “thank you” as if I had just made that comment about our hug. I started to correct her to say I had meant that about the plane crash, but she walked away.

Strange huh. I think I need help.

Oh that’s right. I am getting help.

What does this all mean?

I’d like to pressure wash my brain away…

Just a quick one today-

I haven’t been writing, cause I have been dealing.

Not drugs-

But just dealing with life.

Yeah I am depressed, my boyfriend is being supportive, and I still hate myself.
Good news though-
I’m seeing both a psychiatrist AND a psychologist today.

My psychologist suggested I see a psychiatrist and start some medication (which I feel weird about, and weak, and stupid and lame, but I’ll give it a go).

Yes it is complicated, and calling insurance, setting up appointments and whatnot is enough to take someone who is depressed over the edge, but somehow I made it through.

Now, I just have to make it through two “professional” appointments.

And I still feel lame.

In the meanwhile, I found this somewhere on the web, and I love it. I want to do it. Anyone getting rid of a spare pressure washer?

diagnosis:

she said she didnt like to give diagnosis’s but she had to for my insurance reasons.

what was it you ask?

 

Major Depressive Disorder

 

its weird. I knew I was depressed, but hearing the diagnosis from a professional is different.

 

Not sure how I feel about that.

Sad. 

I feel sad.

 

he believes in me…

I finally met with a psycologist.

 

THANK YOU!

whew.  I did a ton of crying, and we didnt get too far, it being a initial meeting to see where I stand, and what the standard procedures are.

It sure went fast too.  Crap. Just like those massages, you blink and its over with.

But one thing that stood out, when talking about my family, friends, relationships, and where I am at the moment, was the fact that my boyfriend believes in me.  She said it, when I was trying to describe why he was trying to motivate me and encourage me, she said “he believes in you”

ding!

holy shit.

He does, doesnt he?

 

wow.

I am thankful for him.

 

I also look forward to the next appointment- friday late afternoon.

 

a dream

 

 

The night before last, one part of the dream I remember is my boyfriend pushing me out of bed.

I got back in and he pushed me out again, and I ended up, wrapped in blankets, on the floor.

 

 

What does this mean?

Does this mean I feel like he is pushing me over the edge?
Am I letting him take the blame for me falling off the edge?
I woke up angry yesterday because of this, and ended up crying almost all day.

 

And no, the psychologist never did call back.  
I tried another one, and left another message.

Still no answer.

 

Why is it so hard to reach out for help? 

is this normal?

Let me ask you a question.

During the day, when stress hits you upside the head, and thoughts start going in circles and life seems bleak, do you imagine yourself doing violent things?

Do you picture yourself stabbing the computer screen with your fork or repeatedly smashing your head on a wall hook until it pops open like a coconut filled with strawberry jam?

 

When I was a kid, and forced to sit in school, where I was bored and unhappy, I realized something: no matter what people force you to do, where you are forced to be during the day, what you have to get done, you always have the privacy of your own thoughts, and can nod and sweetly smile while thinking “fuck you”

Was I a morbid kid?  Maybe just not understood.

It used to be focused against teachers and parents and authoritative types. Imagining myself yelling at them, flipping them off, shoving them out of the way as I leave the room, dancing the can-can on the desks and kicking them, mostly just talking back and screaming.  I did a lot of mental screaming as a kid.

It carries over to today still, imagining hurling myself over balconies at museums, imagining the car accelerating into a telephone pole or off the edge of the road, imagining stabbing myself with scissors, or knives, imagining myself screaming.  Occasionally I’ll have to take a shower where I’ll open my mouth and silently scream as the water runs and I sob for a while.

 

Where is this sadness coming from?

My doctor says that everyone occasionally thinks the world would be better without them. 

So is this normal.

Am I ok?

 

It feels like I should have a specific reason- like being raped/molested as a kid, or seeing a parent die as a kid.

But as far as my memory serves me, I have not been through any such event.

(and it makes me more sad that I am sad for no reason)

one of those days

I started my day really not wanting to get up.

But I did.

And now I am crying and doubting I will ever be able to make it working on my own.
I don’t think I will ever be able to not work for someone else, or be happy at a job.

Hell, I’m not even happy working on my own, with my own clients.

There is a sinking sensation in my center, right where my yoga instructor had me concentrate.  Right where I felt confident and peaceful for a moment.  

Now it is sinking, and I just don’t want to be here.

 

Sometimes I just want to die. 

 

I am sore

Namaste!

 

So I took my first yoga class last night.

It was a mellow class to “open up the spine”

I must admit I felt 2 inches taller after class, and the throbbing in my back was significantly decreased.

Mentally too, it was good.  I feel less depressed today, and the pain in my muscles makes me feel like I did something constructive.
I was a little uncomfortable at first, it being my first class, not knowing anyone, learning something completely new.  The instructor went around in a circle and asked about our body concerns and current events.  Most people talked about their lower back, upper back etc.  When it came to my turn, I just blurted out that my back went out 2 weeks ago.  I felt stupid because I started out class with a total lie.  What was the reasoning for that?  Sure my back has been bothering me for a couple of weeks, but it certainly has not gone out, not since last year.  Did I want sympathy?  Extra attention?  shock value? 

Dont know.

 But class went on, even with my Karma reducing lie that may or may not have been discovered by the instructor.  (it did still stick in my mind throughout class, and still does today) 

I signed up for a 10 class deal (so I guess I have to go back 9 times) and I can tell my back really needs it.

Today,  I am sore.  Muscles I never knew  existed have been stretched and tested and now they protest.  I was probably the least flexable in class, a little discerning when I was the only one sitting vertical when everyone else bends over their legs and touches their forheads to their knees.  

I suppose we all have to start somewhere…

 

need?

So I heard back yesterday from “jo” at samaritans.org and it got me thinking (forgive me if I go WAY off on tangents…)

Definately was good to write all the stuff that was bothering me in an email and send it off to some stranger who is halfway across the world.  It was a bit releasing, like writing in this blog, but even more so.

The weird part was the response/questions I received back.  They seems a bit robotic at first.  Like the stereotypical  psychologist response: “and how does that make you feel”

Not having gone to therapy sessions, I guess I was just not used to this turn around and come back on me.  What did I expect?  I guess part of me expected the person to say that everything was going to be okay, that the best thing for me is to stick with what I am doing, go to my yoga classes, be thankful for what I have, yadda yadda yadda…

But I guess not.  So I wrote back, trying to answer the questions they came back with, and trying to be honest with myself.  One issue that came up:

My mother
(cue dramatic music here)

In writing to “Jo” I realized that I don’t have the support of my mom.  She loves me, yes. She wants me to succeed, but I think because she never took chances in life, (and I have, unsuccessfully at times) she doesn’t think that doing things outside the box will turn out ok.  Like my freelance work- HUGE for me to be out there like this- super insecure about myself and my work, and well, my last 2 clients hate me!  One won’t even return my emails.  This is not a good boost to my confidence, and makes that little mom voice in my head say, “you should settle down as a secretary at a large secure company and start a long career”

um… no. Even if the idea of being a secretary didn’t make me want to find sharp objects and hurl them in the air over my head, things don’t work like that, like the way they did in the 50’s, where you find a job, work hard, maybe become manager, work at that same company with yearly raises, bonuses until your 65, then retire with a fat pension and take the motorhome around the country for a few years until you end up on your recliner complaining about the nonsense Judge Wapner has to put up with.

Things just don’t work like that, and well, even if they did, I don’t think I would make it at a job like that til 65.  I would snap, and someone would get hurt.

So exposing myself and risking loosing my pride/sanity/hopes/whatlittleconfidanceididhave for doing some freelance work was so risky for me, and terrified me, and I haven’t gone forward with my self promotion stuff/business cards yet because these last two clients (who where undecided in what they wanted and big pains in the arse) are freaking me out.

 What if I can’t do this?

Am I going to burst out crying in frustration and be all pissed off everytime I work on a project?

Am I going to go to bed sobbing every night because I can’t do what people want me to do for their project?  Is this going to ruin my relationship with my BF?

AARGH

so, to get back onto the subject of samaritans.org, they did respond to my response, and are asking some provocative questions that are very useful in untangling the webs in my brain.  One question that has been rattling around in my head since I read it is ” do you really need your mom’s support for this”

wow.  I feel like I don’t have her support, and always felt like I wanted it, but do I really need it?
I need to think about that one for a bit.  (do I need it to succeed?  do I reaaaally need it?)

 

I suggest, even if you aren’t suicidal (which I don’t think I really am, but could picture myself being in the future…) if you just need some anonymous outsider comments that could help you figure things out, give them a try, email is so much easier than calling (at least for me)

Heck, you could even email me (or leave a comment) and we could share our woes and support each other…

 

(did that seem like a pathetic attempt to find friendship?)