Tag Archives: friends

When friends wound II

I know that friends can be careless and so I’m trying not to take what BJ said to heart. Just because he triggered me with a remark, doesn’t mean I have to never respond to him again. I’ve been mentally composing an email since my crying fit to explain to him why I am upset. I think to say “I thought you stronger than that” when a person is depressed is cruel but I know he didn’t mean to be cruel. I don’t think the middle class cis white male that he is can learn. He’s 29 and still living with his parents. Should I write the email? I don’t know.

As for Bon, she’s a nurse so she knows what depression is. She wasn’t speaking as a nurse but as a friend. Should I let the rape jokes pass just because she doesn’t condone rape? Do I have the right to correct her and does she have the right to be offended at the correction? I think I’m in the right but since apparently I appear “hostile” these days, maybe it’s better to bite my tongue and just pretend to be a shiny happy person around her. I’m sure most “friends” won’t give a damn anyway. I just thought she was someone who I could be myself around. Clearly not.

I am lost but not broken, at least yet. Fuck you BJ and Bon, fuck you very much indeed.


When friends wound

I was just chatting to one of my best friends on the other side of the world. I told him that I had PTSD and severe depression and he said to me that he thought I was a stronger person than that. I’m sitting at my keyboard just crying because the image that I’m strong is one that I held on to for so long. I didn’t get help for ages because I’m not weak like others. It’s complete shit of course.

He didn’t mean to be so horrible but he was and it hurts so much. I feel wounded and vulnerable. I just can’t trust hardly anyone with my feelings.

And yesterday another close friend Bon told me that she’s disappointed to know me now. Before my depression she said I looked like so much fun. Now apparently I come off as hostile. Yeah I corrected her when she said a rape just. Rape is not fucking funny. I know. I’ve been raped twice. She wanted to be friends with me when she thought I was a happy person but apparently as a freak I’m not so fun. I wanted to write that she’s my only girlfriend who is there for me but she isn’t there for me. Now I’ve to play fake happy with her. I can’t do this any more.

I feel completely hopeless

Stab wounds

I hate this place. A friend got stabbed last night. He’s alive and recovering but it was really bad.

I really hate this place.


I miss my Kath. She’s left hell for the desert land of Oz to study with the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz.

She is the kind of friend that is rare – perfect even with her imperfections.

Love you Kath

Feeling better

On the advice of my dear friend BonBon I’ve split up my meds – 50mg in the morning and 50 mg in the evening. All the online advice, advises against this but it is the single most useful idea, a medical person has come up with, because for me it actually works. I’m feeling less depressed. I can sleep and I can wake up. I haven’t had an Ambien in over a week and I’m actually well rested. I can hardly believe it.

I don’t think it is just the meds. I’m doing an engaging and exciting project at work which makes it a joy to go in in the mornings. Of course, the project means I’m working up to three hours overtime a day but I can’t resent it because now I actually enjoy my work. Things are mostly looking up.

But my dear friend Kath, is leaving and I’ll miss her terribly – more than anyone who has left before. Kath I love you and will miss you terribly x

My depression

What is depression? Well it’s different for people and depends on many factors. It is a debilitating condition in many cases. It certainly is for me. The truth is that if you are depressed then you cannot just snap out of it or cheer up. People with friends or family who are depressed are often irritated by the condition.

Depression is NOT

  • Laziness
  • Bad mood
  • Exercise related
  • Grumpiness

Depression is

  • Debilitating
  • Miserable
  • A factor in suicide
  • Traumatising

I suffer from a number of conditions including depression. My depression is a result of secondary post traumatic stress or compassion fatigue, two rapes, having someone I loved almost die beside me. I dealt with the situation badly and didn’t seek help because I didn’t want to become dependent on those drugs and I’m not crazy; I don’t need some touch-feely bullshit about talking about feelings and stuff. I can cope by myself.

As I discovered, that is all bullshit. I can’t cope by myself. I need the pills. I need the counselling. I can’t sleep and I oversleep – what a joy to have contradicting conditions! My brain is a mess. I’m inarticulate one minute and eloquent the next. My thoughts race, colliding on top of each other leaving me no time alone. I replay conversations and arguments at bedtime. I’m trying to write then down to capture them in a malleable form but I’m never inspired in front of the computer. I’ve resorted to pen, ink and paper. It helps me slightly to write, to spell out my fears but it hurts my hand – haven’t written manually in ages.

When I eventually sleep, I dream of horrors. I dream of tsunami, of beasts, of betrayal, of capture, of rape and of blood. My dreams haunt me but I need to sleep – literally cannot cope without it. In my dreams I am betrayed and I can’t wake up. These dreams linger throughout the day and some last for weeks because they are so vivid. I exist in dreamworld as a living entity and there is no escape. What I would give for a dreamless sleep potion.

The drugs help, sort of. I can get out of bed at least. They help me function but they don’t brighten my mood. I’m often tempted to throw myself off the balcony at work but it’s only two stories, it would hurt a lot, I’d forever be branded the crazy girl and I’m not suicidal. Just want to hurt a little, I guess.

Feel alive through pain – yeah that’s fucked up. I am undone. This is not me. I am fun. I am outgoing. I am my mother’s embodiment of her dream. The choice she couldn’t make.

I am following my dream though. I’m not living in her shadow. From as far back as I can remember, I have felt privileged. How was I so lucky to be born into a middle class family? How was I so lucky to have all that I have – education, healthcare and all the books I could read? I didn’t want to contribute to the problems of our world, I wanted to help find solutions. That statement is in itself privilege incarnate. As I child, I only knew that there were people who went without. At seven, I was fundraising for Peru. I have always wanted to work to help people help themselves. This is what I’m doing now. This is what I’ve always wanted to do. So why am I so fucked up? Why am I not ecstatic at the opportunities I have?

I long for my family. I long for my home. I long for the rain. Ok this the getting a bit self indulgent. I am meant to be writing on depression.

Counselling is important. My counsellor helped me to change my “cognitions” – which verbosely means thoughts. It was helping too. Counselling takes time and even with my natural aversion to giving people any ammunition that can be used against me, I opened up to her. I don’t really believe that most doctors, mind or body, keep medical confidentiality. Others may disagree but my experience tells otherwise.

I have been going to see her for four months, that is until this weekend when I wrote her a letter. I wrote of her manipulation. I wrote of my lack of trust. I wrote to fire her. What did she do? After three months, I was invested in therapy. It was helping and then she tripled the fee. She wanted me to pay triple until my insurance money was all used up and then I could go back to the regular amount. That, in my book, is manipulation. When I started, to determine my price, she asked for my salary. There was no mention of insurance. Now she racketeds up the price. No fucking way I will allow anyone to manipulate me like that. I am my own woman. And even though I live in a very corrupt fucking Hell, there is no way some western chick is going to use me to make her fucking fortune.

Of course, all this leaves me in is a mess. I need counselling but I’m not going to open up to someone I don’t trust. Betrayal is one of my triggers. I believe it is the unforgivable sin, which is unforgivable of me too. Circular reasoning, I know.

So why am I spilling my guts on the internet? Mainly because I have nowhere else. Friends know my situation. Friends get bored. I can play at being light-hearted for about an hour before grumpy DS returns. They try. I know they try and I’m also aware of what a pain it is to listen to me complain and whine and bitch about life, the universe and everything. Can’t tell my family. They would freak out and I am light years and a couple of thousand dollars away from them.

Hell I bore myself half the time. As the Doctor in ST:VOY says “you know, you really should keep a personal log. Why bore others needlessly?“. And he’s right or he would be if he wasn’t a computer generated hologram in a fictional universe. So this is my personal log. These are my confessions. This is where I drone on endlessly about my life and the effect my depression is having -fyi it sucks

This long malingering post is almost at an end. It was going to be on depression and explaining effects and stuff but one of the side effects of my depression is meandering thoughts and inability to write in any sort of structured manner.

So long and thanks for all the fish

Friends are forever? Nah

I should probably refrain from posting with drunk but on Saturday I got really pissed off at BG. He sent me a text after I left “The other place” asking why I ran off. I responded with a why do you give a shit. He said that he did and goodnight and all that.

I don’t think he gives a shit. During my dark months, he never called. He was not in Hell for part of the time and did try to contact me upon his return but still, he like so many others abandoned me to my depression.

Friendship is a very complex issue and requires diplomacy and tact to safely navigate through the murky waters. But then you meet someone and something goes click. There is a strong connection between you are Friend A. You pour out your heart. She pours out hers – taking quite a bit more time. You ooh and aah over each others’ troubles and successes, work and life, love and death.

You comfort her when her boyfriend dumps her. You plot revenge on the dumbass. You listen to the minute details of every aspect of their relationship for the past few months for the 10th time. Time passes and she gets better.

You fall into a depression but she never comes around. You go on holidays together but she is highly unsympathetic. You wonder who this fucking bitch is and what she has done with your friend. And then you have a fight and everything explodes.

She is sick of taking care of you / it’s her holiday / no consideration / so immature / etc. You feel this is unjust and mention that you were there for her at every moment since the friendship began. Then she cuts a little crueller – fat bitch. You accept yourself and she knows this. You know her only motivation her is trying to hurt you. Stupid. Once you reclaim the word fat, it can’t hurt you any more. So all her words meant were – I want to hurt you but am too incompetent to do it right because I never paid enough attention.

Just like that the friendship is over.

Hum it appears I totally drifted from the post, which was supposed to be on fair weather friends. Maybe I’ll do that one tomorrow