Always alone, forever inside, the tears you can’t see, the side of me I hide…

I had a bad day.  Big surprise, right?  (I should warn you, the end of this post gets totally way TMI)  When you’re bipolar the little things can set you off.  I can’t help it.  One of those things that consistently hurts me.  It’s actually almost physically painful is the feeling of being blown off.  If someone says they’re going to meet me, and they don’t show up, or they show up half an hour or an hour late, I want to cry. If someone says “I’m going to go grab this quick, and then we’ll go to the store,” I expect it not to take 2+ hours.  It makes me feel worthless. Like I’m not important.  Every single time.  I used to have birthday parties and invite all of my “friends,” and only a few of them would show up.  Now, I never expected all of my classmates to show up, but my friends? People I thought were ACTUALLY my friends? Yeah.  But it didn’t happen.  Year after year I’d invite them, and year after year they didn’t show up.  So I stopped.  And I developed abandonment issues.  By blowing me off, it meant you didn’t like me, or care, or want to be near me.  Stupid, right?

So one of the great things about me having a bad day is that I already can’t sleep, so my already heavily full mind of festering thoughts fills even more.  And it compounds.  I tend to listen to one song on repeat all night.  Or if it’s during the day, all day.  Right now, it’s “Bad Day” by Fuel.  One of my favorite bands.  The irony is not lost on me.

She had a bad day again.”  I really did.  “She said I would not understand.”  No, you really can’t.  “She left a note and said I’m sorry I, had a bad day again.” No. I’m not going there. Won’t happen.  … “And she swears there’s nothing wrong.”  I do this every day of every week of every month.  Most of the time, when I tell my friends, my family, coworkers, acquaintances that I’m doing well?  I’m lying.  I’m faking it.  Why?  Because it makes them feel better.  “I hear her playing that same old song.”  I do. All day.  I don’t know why.  It probably makes things worse, but I have always done that.

But enough analyzing that little snippet of the song.  Now for the TMI  I totally can’t do the sex thing.  I could, once.  I liked it.  Loved it, really.  I blame the meds. I blame the depression.  I blame me.  I feel guilty about it.  So guilty.  Which, of course, makes my depression worse.   I feel like I’m a horrible person.  That’s what a girlfriend is supposed to do, right? That’s one of the things you’re supposed to want to do with your boyfriend.  I WANT to want to do this.  I just don’t.  It’s not him.  It’s me.  I just have zero desire.  He doesn’t believe me.  And I’m pretty sure he hates me for it.  I feel broken.  I am broken.  I keep trying everything, and I can’t fix it.  So I sit here, wrecked, like I am. Bawling, like I do every time I think about how I fail at life, and I feel this overwhelming sense of guilt.  That I’m just taking up space.  That I’m ruining his life, that he just feels too guilty to kick me out, and knowing he wants to go find someone else to fuck.

Here’s a secret, if you’ve made it this far.  When someone’s depressed, and they have no libido, trying to “jumpstart” their libido by pawing at them, or fondling them, doesn’t work.  It’s something that might normally get something excited.  If they’re depressed and have nothing there?  It just makes them feel worse. Because it tops that depression with guilt and adds more depression.  That’s where I’m at.  Not only do I have that depression, that lack of libido, I have the guilt and self loathing on top of it.  The best part? In the back of my mind, I still have, on repeat, those words of every “well meaning” person in my life who’s ever told me, “Learn to love yourself first.  No one will ever love you if you can’t love yourself first.”  That’s great.  I will spend the rest of my life knowing that.  No. One. Will. Ever. Love. Me. Because. I. Can’t. Love. Me.   That’s awesome.

So yeah… Had a bad day again.  You probably wouldn’t understand.


I’m bat shit crazy and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I admit it.  I’m bat shit crazy.  Seriously folks. Guano style.  I go to therapy, I’m on meds, and I still have days where my world is just exploding in a pile of insanity.  Those are the days that I hate trying to reach out to people, even though it’s what I need.  That’s kind of… well, akin to self harm.  I know I need to talk to people and work through it, but at the same time, I refuse to do so.  Why?  Because I know the second I try to talk about it, people will tell me the same things they always do:  “Go for a walk.”  “Just breathe.”  “You’ll get through it.”  “Try meditating.”  “It could always be worse.” (usually followed by) “At least it isn’t cancer.”  I want to flip out and scream and yell. I want to tell them that I don’t need their stupid advice that, for the record, won’t help or work.  I have TRIED to tell people that I just need an ear, and some positive reinforcement that I’m not a horrible person, or worthless, or should just disappear.  But society has taught us for years that mental illness isn’t real.  It’s intangible. It’s not the same as a broken limb, or a gaping wound, or cancer.  It’s something to hide.  So, we do.

One of the worst things to suggest to me specifically, and often people who have anxiety or depression, is to try to walk it off or meditate, or do another activity that requires them to sit and process things alone in their head while they’re having a bad breakthrough day.  When I sit alone in the quiet, my brain focuses on what I call festering thoughts.  Apparently they’re actually called ruminating thoughts.  It’s when you play things over and over in your head.  You focus on situations on what might have been said and done differently.  Or even what the other person may have been thinking.  It SUCKS.  It keeps me up at night. All night. Every night.  There are things to do to help focus and block these bad thoughts, often replacing them with good thoughts, and it takes a LOT of practice.  Yes, eventually some people can even learn to focus enough to meditate.  Apparently it’s quite refreshing to be able to do this.  I can’t. Not yet anyway.

The most important thing about being depressed, or anxious, or just whatever is asking for what YOU NEED.  If they don’t like it? Screw them.  There will ALWAYS be someone to listen.  *I* will listen.  *WE* will listen.  People tell me all the time on bad days that I’m a drama queen. That’s why they invented block buttons. 🙂  Someone who makes you feel bad on good OR bad days isn’t worth your time.  You are better than that.

The most important thing about being friends/related to/in a relationship with someone who’s suffering from anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, OCD, or any other mental illness is acceptance.  This is still a person, not an illness.  It isn’t “Jake, he’s bipolar.”  It’s “Jake.”  Stop with those stupid “Look, ma, I read a Facebook post on depression, so I know how to deal with depressed people!” posts, and just LISTEN to your friends. Everyone is different.  Learn to listen and adapt to their specific needs and wishes.  Just be there for them.  I know you can’t relate.  If you haven’t been there, you just can’t.  That’s okay, you don’t need to.  You just need to support them.

What the ever loving… is this place?

So hi there. This is me and sometimes a few other people who are a little crazy, a little depressed, a little wonky, a little anxious, have OCD, or some other problem that just want to talk about it.  We’re hoping you can relate.  This is my safe place.  Today’s world feels like it’s crashing, and we all need a safe place.  So here it is.  The goal here is to offer up our experiences, and feelings so that others don’t feel so alone, so they can relate, so YOU don’t feel alone.  Everyone here has had a range of experiences with different results, some positive, some negative.  We’ve all been through a mess, but our issues aren’t more important or worse than anyone else’s.  So hang out, check back, and maybe we can all get through the end of the world together.