After meeting Jenny Lawson, I felt really good. My depression level was low and the eating disorder thoughts in my head that usually tell me how much of a failure I am were staying quiet. Here's the thing about me, I have, according to my therapist, "anticipation anxiety". Here's how it works: in my mind it's not a matter of "if" something will go wrong, but "when". Basically even when things are going well in my world I still walk around super tense thinking to myself, "Okay...things are going too well for too long. Something bad is about to happen. When is the shit going to hit the fan?" And sure enough, last week the bottom fell out of my happiness. Because Dad hasn't been able to work he wasn't able to pay our insurance premium for this month. Which means the rehab center basically ripped away my physical therapy privledges until it gets paid. Yeah, you read that correctly. I can't get my physical therapy until Dad can pay. I only had PT once last week. Because of the type of surgery I had, physical therapy is crucial to make sure everything heals right. At my last session we started working on building up the muscle tone in the joints to make sure my knee doesn't go rouge again. My kneecap is riding high in the tracks, which isn't exactly the best but it's not the worst, so that's why the PT assistant had me on weight machines. I'm doing all of the exercises I can at home to stay on track with my recovery but there are certain things I can't do because I don't have access to the equipment nor do I have access to someone who's trained and knows how to stretch the joint properly before and after physical therapy exercises. The tech told me if I can't get back to physical therapy soon it could potentially de-rail my entire recovery. Which means this will all have been for nothing and Dad spent thousands of dollars, that he didn't have to begin with, for a surgery for no damn reason. Do you have any idea how shitty that makes me feel? How much of a failure I feel like? Doodle Buddy called me Thursday, after I messaged her about it Wednesday night, to check on me. She's quite wise, that one. I had to cut our conversation shorter than I would have liked because my voice was starting to shake and I knew that meant the tears weren't too far behind. So I threw one of my walls up and told her I'd let her go; in my mind letting people see/hear me cry shows a sign of weakness. If I cry around you it's either because I'm so shut down I just can't hold it in any longer, or it means I trust you whole-heartedly and trusting anyone that much terrifies me. I barely hung up in time before the tears hit. And boy, did they hit. I hate how I threw that wall up in her face. Blame it on the trust issues or blame it on the fact that I feel like I'm burdening people like her and don't want them to waste their time worrying about me. Whatever the reason is, I'm sick of it. And Doodle Buddy is the last person I want to be doing that to, she doesn't deserve that. She's a good influence, one that I think is good for me to have around right now. I don't want to screw that up.
For now, I feel...numb. Is that even a real emotion? Numb? Like I'm so shut down it's like I don't feel anything except stress and failure. Motivation is non-existent. I try so hard to find something positive to focus on but it's just not working right now. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of failing everytime I turn around. I'm tired of being depressed and gloomy and I'm tired of feeling tired. And I'm tired of complaining about it, you have no idea. We still don't know what's wrong with my Dad, which means I don't know what's going to happen with us. I don't want to think about what "could" happen but I also don't want to be that idiot who's walking around with blinders on trying to convince myself everything is fine. I'm tired of the lectures from Mom about my major, being told by her that I only say I have an eating disorder for attention, getting chewed out for not eating, her making comments at me when I do try to eat in front of her, and for being torn down constantly for not making the choices she would make.
Let me be clear, I'm not suicidal nor have I ever thought of "ending it all". When I say things like, "I can't take much more of this" what I mean is I really just want to go hide in a dark hole for a few months until things get better, or go on a vacation to get away from all of this. I'll be okay. I don't actually believe myself when I say that right now, but I know realistically I'm just going through a really bad depression spell right now and I probably won't feel like low forever. At least, I hope not. Jenny Lawson always says, "Depression Lies". And she's right.