Doug broke up with me the same day I wrote that post.

Cigarettes are wonderful!

When will the people around me realize that I am not available at their every disposal.
Doug called me around 4:45 this afternoon and said, "I'm in town and I'm coming by your work at 6:00 to talk."
My schedule on Fridays is hellacious. I do not get off work until 6pm, then I have to rush home to get ready for the gig, which involves putting on more make-up than usual. I have to do vocal warm-ups, and I need a few minutes of silence, before the hustle and bustle of doing three-hours of a very physical gig. Oh yeah, and I try to eat a little something, so I don't pass out. I have to do all of this between the hours of 6:30-7:15, because I have to be at the gig at 8pm. In other words, I have absolutely no time for anything or anyone on a Friday night.
I told Doug, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to blow you off, but I have no time to spare on Friday nights." I went on to explain why. Now, after six years he should know my hetic Friday night schedule, but as is the nature of the human being, my schedule does not matter. All that matters is that he has to get something off his chest. Well, guess what? There have been a countless number of times when he has promised to call me, or that I've been upset and he has not had the time to talk to me. Moreover, when I have been desparate to talk to him, I called first and made sure it was a convenient time. For him to

I am a useless human being. I cannot accomplish anything because of this disease that is eating at my brain and my soul. I cannot rely on anyone for support. Everyone is caught up in his or her own problems. I cannot bear to be a burden on anyone the way they burden me. Everyone is a flake. They just push and push me and tap me on the shoulder until my flesh is eaten away and sore from where they constantly tap.
My chest is heavy and I am always on the verge of tears. I want to mutilate myself until there is nothing left for anyone to burden. I hate my female parts that draw men like beasts. I want to cut them off, so I do not get anymore adulterating looks. I cannot concentrate on anything else but my own hatred for me and everything about me.

I feel as though I am stretched to the limits and if given the slightest tug, I will break.
I am sick to my stomach and I do not want to be anywhere but at home in bed. I do not want to talk to anyone. I feel impending doom. The last time I felt like this, the World Trade Center was attacked. I now know I felt bad because my sixth sense was telling me some horrific world-changing event would happen. Perhaps we will be hit by a meteor on Monday. Wouldn't that be spectacular?
Maybe I ate too much tofu last night.
Maybe I do not want to face the fact that my relationship of six years is ending. I don't even want to talk to him anymore. I am through with talking. I feel worse when I talk to him. He does not understand me. I do not want him to understand me anymore. I don't care, anymore.
The drugs don't seem to be working today.
I am failing my history class and it's my own fault. I don't have time for it. When I do have time to study, my body won't let me stay awake enough to read.
The other day I came home and slept from 6pm to 730am the next morning. I could have slept longer, but I cannot afford to lose my job. I cannot afford to fail my class. I do not want to play any gigs this weekend, but I have four that I am obligated to. I cannot fake it, by the way I feel today. I cannot give anything up. It is all crucial to me breaking this poverty pattern I was born into. I cannot work a dead-end job the rest of my life. I cannot be a miserable mom with 2.2 kids living in a cookie-cutter home in the suburbs. That to me would be hell.
I refuse, absolutely refuse to give up. There are people who are dying of cancer who have dreams and goals, that their bodies won't allow them to accomplish. My mind is trying to keep me from my accomplishments. I have to fulfill my dreams for all those who cannot. I have no choice.

These days I feel as if I am merely a head with two eyes and two legs. At least I have two eyes and two legs, right? I do not think it possible to feel any more numb, yet anxious. Some days I wonder what is real--people I meet, events, my job, even my family.

I understand that since I have decided to stop ignoring my depression that it will be a rough go for awhile, not only for me but also for those around me. I told Doug last night that I do not expect him to "hang" while I go through treatment and that I do not blame him for wanting to "bail" on me. I also told him not to take anything I say or do (or don't do) personally. I have not wanted to be touched by anyone or anything, lately, and that is really hard for him, because he does not understand depression. I have to give him credit for beginning to try, at least, however I wish I could disappear, get better, then return without having affected or hurting anyone.

Acknowledging this has been the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I think that is why I put it off for twenty years. There is still such a stigma attached to depression and I hope to end that, someday.

My first meeting with my therapist went well, if you can call it that. I cried a lot, but I felt very comfortable talking with her, and I suppose that's the important thing, right?

I have been to one psychiatrist two times during my senior year in high school. She put me on good 'ole Prozac and when I met with her a second time I told her I was cured and that I did not need to come back. The truth is I wasn't cured, but I could not stand the others in the waiting room, with their nervous ticks and all.

I also went to the school counselor off and on throughout my grammar, junior high, and high school years. I started seeing the school counselor in fifth grade to deal with stress-related issues. The truth is, I did not want to go to school, because I was tired of being picked on by some of the other girls. I was told on a daily basis how fat and ugly I was.

In junior high I be-friended a girl who was the alpha-female, if you can call it that. She helped me out by reminding me on a daily basis what a bitch I was. She also helped me out by always coming to the school counselor's office with me, maybe so I could not talk about her to the counselor behind her back?

High school was a pretty happy time for the most part, thanks to my alpha-female friend dumping me when I started going out with this guy during my freshman year. My senior year was terrible, on the other hand, and one day, after I missed almost a week of school, I had a teacher walk me down to the counselor's office. The counselor let me have a good cry, advised me to seek outside help, and sent me on my way. I never went back to that particular class, or any other classes for that matter after that incident, except for the one I had to go to in order to graduate.

That all took place from 1988-1996. Here we are in 2006, and I finally have a psychologist and a psychiatrist. I have finally been officially diagnosed as having severe anxiety and I was one point shy of being diagnosed with severe depression, so I have moderate to severe depression. Guess what? My folks have no idea what is going on. I am too scared of the repercussions from them, to be quite honest, so I just keep quiet in front of them, It really hurts to be this way, but it is better than being put down, again, later in life for my inherited flaws.

So, like, for the past three months at least (maybe more, but it is all a blur) I have felt like absolute hell. The sad part is I really did not recognize how far gone I was, until my whole world seemed to unravel around me. I was constantly in a foul mood at work, which led to other work-related problems. My five-and-a-half year relationship was suffering. I noticed I was feeling more and more self-destructive with each passing day, but I just chalked it up to hormones, or my problems at work and with my failing relationship. I also noticed things that I used to love to do, like shopping and even watching some of my favorite movies were becoming more of a burden to me than enjoyment. I even began to lose interest in playing with my band. I honestly thought, it isn't me, but everyone else's behavior that is bringing me down, and although this was somewhat true, what may be someone else's bad day should never make one want to destroy her own life.