depression · math · School

Bouncing Back.

Or rather climbing my way out of the pit I dug for myself.

Due to my stubbornness to admit I had a really huge depression issue all last year, I now have to fight the powers that be at my school for the right to my financial aid for the coming year.

I don’t like this.

This means there will be an official document in my academic files saying I had a major bout of depression. Something I didn’t want, which is why I avoided telling anyone.

But now I have no choice. It’s admit it or move home.

Or take out an insane amount of loans, which I’m not prepared to do. So beg the financial aid people it is!

I am going into the advising office tomorrow and hope they won’t force me to meet with my faculty advisor. Or maybe I’ll convince them to let me switch faculty advisors, but I think that means at some point I will have to explain why I want to switch my faculty advisor. Which I won’t do.

God dammit.

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depression · life

Alone

I love being alone.

But I hate this so much about myself. I really wish I were the type of person who’s a social butterfly. I mean, I can be funny and joke with anyone but in general I mostly sit in the back and watch the crowd. I can also be the loud one in a group I’m used to. But the next day I’ll hide under my covers, re-thinking everything I said.

Or I’ll be so far away from the socialization I’ll be at home alone.

I feel awkward making plans with people. I assume they don’t want to be seen with me or don’t really like my company. So I don’t.

And when I am out with friends I am constantly thinking that they are wishing I weren’t there. I always think people are annoyed by me. Or once I leave they’ll call up their real friends and be like, “she’s so weird!”

It’s part of my depression, that these thoughts just overwhelm me. And I tell my therapist and we talk about what could happen if I were to ask people to do things. And I just never ask.

Then there’s me on alcohol. I know I am an alcoholic. I can’t explain how I love drunk me. It’s the me I wish I could be all the time. Before I blackout, of course, and ruin all my friendships, or damage my body, or wake up in strange places. And the great mystery of addiction is that when you’re sober, the active addicts find you to bring you back into your addiction.

It’s so much more comfortable being alone. But that isn’t a life.

depression · life

“A break from our regularly scheduled program of bitching about stupid shit:”

In order to make this post math related: I should be in Analysis right now. But I am not. I went on a run after biology and completely forgot my class started at 1 and not 2 and mid-run my phone was like, Yo bitch, you shoulda left for yo’ class like 30 minutes ago.

So here I am, thinking about things.

The big talk is this Netflix show Thirteen Reasons Why. Shit is depressing as fuck. It’s a damn reality check and I am two shows in. I mean there are so many literal parallels (from the name of the high school to the job at the movie theater with the same uniform (always butter flavoring, never butter)) to my high school life, it’s ridiculous. I had to actually google the author of the book to make sure I didn’t go to high school with him and he secretly hated me so wanted to chronicle my epic high school experience. (I didn’t, he’s like 10 years older than me and grew up 300 miles away.)

And let’s talk about how they filmed parts of this show 20 minutes from the house I grew up in. I feel suspicious as fuck.

But what is universal is this loneliness, the helplessness. This theme of action-reaction without thought. I’ve lost friends who’ve jumped to conclusions. I have been judged for my level of sexual activity (whether it’s an abundance of or lack of). I have been on a list. I have been told to just move on.

How do you move on from your life?

Now I don’t know how the rest of this show goes on, cuz I am just a few episodes in, but here’s how this story goes:

I was depressed in high school. At home, my dad was sick. I was at hospitals, doing medication routines, doctor’s appointments, helping my mom…etc. By sophomore year, I never really had a desire to do the high school experience because I felt it would be a burden. But I did a few to keep the façade up. I didn’t tell my friends, I didn’t tell my teachers. Occasionally, when things got especially hectic, my mom would call the office and request the usual e-mail of “Things are happening, just be aware”. (I actually have no idea what’s in this e-mail, I just knew when they happened because of the reactions.)

But I never did anything. I went to school, kept quiet, was the funny one with my friends, went home, did my duties, then went to my room and cried. Never in front of my family or friends. No one really knew the extent of everything until my dad died my senior year.

I took that year off, post graduation then never went to any college I was accepted to (that is a post for another day), instead enrolled at a community college. Once again, I never told my professors what was going on. Why I suddenly dropped biology as my major, or just before transferring, withdrew mid-semester.

My mom had cancer and I had to take care of her and my brother. I went home, did my duties, went to my room and cried. Only this time, I also drank a lot. Heyyy 21.

1 year turned into 7 years. Now I am back in school for now the second year. I transferred and 3 months ago my doctor found precancerous cells. (Like really, fuck genetics. My family couldn’t have given me something cool. Like…a fast metabolism or x-ray vision? I got fat arms, that one chin hair, and cervical cancer. God. The worst.) I refuse to take medical leave, I refuse to ask for extensions. I just don’t want to sit back at the end and wonder if I made it as a mathematician because I did it or because I had people feel sorry for poor sick me and carry me along. So I still tell no one and cry. (Not all true, I have a therapist this time. But I much rather be the happy, funny friend then the one who rains on everyone’s parade with her sad, shitty life. So what if it’s shit…I can still get my smile in.)

Note: Therapy is actually the reason I started this blog. I told my therapist I felt I was using time to bitch about school when the point of the sessions was to talk about being sick and possibly never having children. At least that’s what they told me to do. But I feel as if I still bitch about school there. Hey, maybe I’ll bitch about my possible sterilization here.

I don’t know how this post went from this oddly specific show about suicide to my current medical issues but damn, the show does make me happy that in my depression I never took any action on my dark depressing thoughts. Because in that darkness, your own mind turns on you.

Seeing now what I have been through, I have no regrets.

Did it suck major dick? HELL YES. Would I want to go through it again? FUCK NO. But I still have that lonely, helpless suicidal high school girl deep inside. I suspect she’s the one who gets me all anxious about math and makes me doubt myself. But we’re working on that.

And that is what keeps me going. To just work on it.