I’ve felt lately that I’m always complaining, it even sounds hollow to my ears, that’s the thing with depression it steals your dreams, and gives you nothing else to think about other than how much pain you’re in.
This mood has been creeping up on me for months, even though I’m having positive interactions with my GP and feel I’m going to get the help I need, I’m still stuck in this rut of negativity, from which there is little relief.
The last weeks have been quite busy the restaurant where I work was closed whilst we decorated which was good it kept me focussed, however dealing with the woman who owns it sets off all the negative triggers simply because she believes that depression is something to “get over” despite the many conversations I’ve had with her and others, she views me as that “sick in the head woman” which is pretty disgusting, and with my situation there is not much I can do I need that job, even though I do managed large parts of her business, she uses that aspect of me and tolerates my “disability”
I have to think am I “disabled” the answer would be no, it still drives home the point, that you have to choose carefully about what you discuss, in my attempts to be open it seems to have backfired and I sound like I’m making excuses, which in turn cause me to retreat and internalise my thoughts.
Again I just feel like I’m complaining and in the grand scheme of things my problems are minor compared to others, I loathe this kind of suppressive thinking, it’s the only way I can protect myself from the ill-formed opinions of others, the “siege mentally” is indeed upon me.
Today begins a new phase of sofa surfing and to be frank I don’t know how much longer I can continue with this, as I write my stomach is bubbling away, and anxiety is spiking, the feeling of failure looms large and I cannot let go of the idea that this will be my life forever, even though I desperately want the changes, fear is standing in the way yet again, I’m not strong enough for the fight, I don’t want to fight anymore.
No matter how many times I tell myself to keep going my feet which are taking on the form of cement shoes won’t allow me to take those few steps further to a goal of not only finding a home, but trying to hang on long enough to achieve anything that can add value to my life.
I feel as though I’m in a pit and being poked and prodded at, or like when I walk down the street the is a big finger-pointing at me saying “here she comes the mental homeless person”
Worse sometimes I believe that I’m that “sick in the head woman” it’s easier, to believe that, than think I have no future.