The Defeatist

I am one of those people who analyzes everything, and more often than not my analyzing borders more on over-analyzing than anything normal. If you're still with me, thanks. So today is one of those days when I should feel happy and chilled out. The sun is out, it's not too hot and not TOO cold. My wife has put down the computer and taken up the landscaping job I started over the last few weeks. We actually have progress in the area, and have put in two little bushes. It's her mom's birthday. And I don't want to do anything. I don't want to be productive, I don't want to go in public, I don't want to talk to anyone, and I feel like a fat, lazy, ugly, slob. My face keeps breaking out and I've gained weight.

I know what to do to stop it--to reverse it (well, the weight thing. The acne thing is 9/10 a mystery), but I can't bring myself to do it. I don't. Want. To move. I'm tired, I'm convinced people hate me because of things I've said or done, and I can't find any clothes to wear. I just want to go back to the bedroom, lie in bed for a week watching television and speaking to no one, and when I come out it will be wonderful spring/summer weather outside, I'll be rested and have magically dropped thirty pounds, my friends will all be clamoring to speak to me, and my face will no longer resemble a twelve-year-old's. And I'll have a British accent. I think that might make me feel better, too.

Today Was a Bad Day

I just got home from the store. I sat in the car and considered spending the night there. It seemed like a good idea, especially since I couldn't get the key out of the ignition. Oh, I could take the key out, but I most definitely didn't have the emotional strength to do it. And then I thought of the Butterfinger ice cream I just bought. It motivated me to get out of the car and climb in the snow drifts surrounding my driveway (I'm parked at the way back since there are three cars ahead of me in the driveway this week) and get into the backseat for the few bags of groceries. The first bag I picked up contained the orange juice, which was 50% of the reason I was even at the store to begin with (since after the Super Bowl I picked a fight with Julie and left the OJ on the kitchen table all night instead of putting it away). The bag sliced open and the juice dropped out. I almost shut the door and left everything in there. But no... the ice cream. Also, Heather is on her way over in a few minutes, and then I'd look like a jackass because she'd insist on helping me with the groceries once I told her where they were. But I didn't. I brought everything in. And now it's waiting on the kitchen floor for me to put it away, which I won't do until Heather gets here and sees that I haven't done it and I feel guilty enough to do it. I fed the cats, because I can't look at their poor meowy faces too long when I know Julie won't come home and do it.

I had a breakdown today. A complete and total sob session within full view of a lot of people. Heather offered to come over to be with me so I won't be alone tonight. I can't do this anymore. I can't do it. I can't feel like this. I can't let every little thing hit me like an emotional mack truck and let it run me over. Repeatedly. I'm not excited about anything. And then I am, totally gleeful. And then I'm not again. It's been going on for a while, and I've been trying to be "me," the me I'm supposed to be. But this is a me no one wants to be. And people are beginning to notice. I suppose this says it best, this excerpt from an email I wrote tonight. In order to understand it, you should know that I've been slowly attempting to wean myself off my medication because... well I guess I'm stupid and thought I could. I thought that, in a controlled way, not just cold turkey, I could "be like normal people." There was another, more significant reason, but I'm not ready to discuss it. Here's the excerpt, minus a few personal remarks:

"I'm going to see the doctor. The more I think about this situation, I think a lot of it has to deal with me being chemically imbalanced. That doesn't go away, like regular depression, and I've been fooling myself thinking I was just plain depressed, when I knew the doctor said (in 2003) I had a chemical imbalance. I need to find out if I can continue taking my medication... Up until I find out, I'm going back to doing the dose I've been on for a year. I've been sitting here having some seriously dark thoughts like being just fine with not waking up tomorrow, and all of the sudden I thought, "wait... wait... I remember this conversation with myself... the last time I had it, I was in college and having horrible life problems like... not making good choices, saying stupid things and regretting them, hurting friends, and crying at everything. EVERYTHING. Well, except for when I was fighting with people. Oh........ JUST LIKE NOW." ...it is ridiculously unhealthy to attempt to live like this."


So here I go to the cabinet, to give myself a dose of anti-depressant, and to the kitchen floor, to get out my Butterfinger ice cream. Because I deserve it, damnit.