Lately, I’ve been flipping through the tracks in my ipod, never listening to more than 5 or 10 seconds of each song before getting sick of it.
As I said in a previous post, my 88 y o grandma had neumonia and was hospitalized 10 days ago. Well, later she got worse and worse and she needed an ICU and a tube down her throat. The ICU doctors weren’t too optimistical…
However, right now she’s perfect. Walking, eating candy and cracking jokes like nothing had ever happened to her.
I’ve been at home most of the time in the past weeks. I am very pale, and socialising is not only hard, but undesirable right now. Even by msn, there’s only two or three people I am always up to talk to. One always makes me smile, the other one is my non blood-brother, and the other one is just one of a kind.
I am okay though. Depression is still here, but it’s mild. Most of the distress is due to the consequences of depression. Or is it? I don’t want to think that depression is not getting better. I am in a horrible cocktail of antidepressants after years and years of trying different kinds. How can it NOT be better?
Whenever I find somebody who knows me, I feel like apologizing about “being such a failure”. The easiest are the mean ones. The nice, try-to-be-understanding, and the condescendent are the real deal. “Enjoying your break? Lucky you, I’m to the neck in work.”, “What have you been doing in your vacations? Gone some place cool?”.
“no, I’ve been at home in my pjs sleeping most of the time; watching the days go by so fast with nothing happening in between that I almost see myself aging until I’m 100 years old with nothing acomplished; I’ve been watching the idiot box flipping through the channels randomly except when Friends is on (best thing ever); I’ve been reading old books I don’t like; I’ve been drinking so much coke my blood is black and bubbly right now and I’ve been eating whenever someone gives me food. I am absolutely useless, wasting my youth and talent, with no sense of reality or responsibility, living off my parents with a bottle of pills by my bed and some fragmented dreams that will never come true.“
I don’t actually tell people that. I make something up, like I’ve been going out with friends and visiting towns and learning new things. It’s not important, the problem is that my brain knows… it knows, and it bullies me for it.
I have tried to make sense of this in my head.
“I suffer from depression.” (*cringe*)
I managed to go through 6 years of med school, stumbling and crawling and not sleeping, and oversleeping and crying and quitting and still getting good grades, especially in the premed years. I quit for the first time in 2005. I was too depressed, anxious and I couldn’t take it anymore. The only thing keeping me in school was my best friend at the time, and when that went to hell, partly because of my own inability to be a functioning living human, I had nothing else to do. I figured I was going to commit suicide anytime if things continued that way, so one day I just didn’t see a point in getting up from bed anymore, and so the next day, and the next.
I am not sure why I went back the next year. I was taking fluoxetine, I felt more funcional, I guess there was nothing else to do. Things weren’t exactly better but I was resigned. Maybe life was sucky and grey and heavy like this. I would continue in school, graduate, work like a zombie for years, retire and die old and alone. I would be convinced of this if it wasn’t for certain lifted mood episodes, one week at the time every six months or so, when I felt strong, powerful and energized for no particular reason. I felt normal, I felt I could do all the things humans are able to do everyday. It was not hypomania, it was non-depression. I tried so hard to grab onto those moments. To make them the rule and not the exception. But they were like ice melting, and soon I could not remember how it was like at all, except for a boring mud of memory.
I’ve dropped out of school two times more.
When I see myself in perspective, I’ve improved a lot as a person. I’m much more confident, my self image is rather healthy, I know who I am and what I want (except career wise), and when I’ve had breaks from depression I can be very good with people as long as it is for short periods of time. I’ve achieved certain understanding of the world that I didn’t have before, and that many people will never have. I love the 21 year old me. I’m not the little smelly nerd girl with unbeliavable hair and no social skills who got bullied all the way through school…
But life is still grey and heavy and feels much more like a waste. I try hard to remind myself that even though I am atm emotionally colorblind, the world does have colors. But I have forgotten them.