Tag Archives: life

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


100th post

I feel that there should be something significant here because I have now blogged 100 posts of the minutia of my life. How incredible boring it most be to read. I whine about my life, my depression and hopelessness. None of those have left me. In fact I felt close to taking drastic measures to relieve my situation. Wasn’t thinking of killing myself but I was thinking of hurting myself – traffic accident, drug overdose, crazy acting but I didn’t. I stayed sensible and relatively sane. I thought about cutting my skin open too but there is always the risk of infection and it is so much more likely in Hell than in the civilised parts of the globe.

I suffer from self-awareness. I know and recognise the likely consequences of suicide, cutting, reckless behaviour or drugs. I know that this state cannot last forever. My loneliness will not be eternal. At some point I’ll be able to sleep and to wake up. Weird to have insomnia and hypersomnia at the same time. As the old chestnut goes “this too shall pass”.

I want it fucking past already. I hate feeling like shit. My mind is either sluggish and I mix up my words or it is racing and I’m composing letters, books and retorts – unable to sleep.

Nothing has changed. I am still the actress who is fake happy in the real world. No one wants to hang around with a person with severe clinical depression after the initial “can I get you anything” and “you poor thing”. I spent the weekend alone. I called my family and friends back home and told them everything was fine. I lied because I can’t tell them the truth. Lying is so much easier. Truth is painful, not just to me but to all. I’ve learned to stfu about my pain.

Except in this space. This is my screaming into the void space. Ironic really because I live in a void – no changes, eternal pain of heat and sweat and mocking voices on every breeze. I have nightmares about tsunami. I am a mess.

I dream of drowning

I dream of drowning.
I dream of water.
The waves wash over me, soothing me, tempting me
And then I panic

I struggle against the current, against the tide,
But inexorably the water nudges and cajoles me out
The sea takes me out, out beyond the land, the sand, the earth
Then crashes
Violently back to land
Drowning the shiny happy people basking in the sunlight.

I am complicit. I am guilt
Because I dreamt of drowning

There. Some random crappy poetry for my 100th post. Maybe if I write it down the nightmares will stop. Maybe that is the solution. Who the fuck knows? Who the fuck cares?

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

Cold black cloud

Still don’t know what to do. Lay tossing and turning all night long. The sleeping pills are not working any more. My shrink is using me. My doc is a fucking asshole. My best friend betrayed me and I can’t get no sleep.

My dreams are horrific –

  • FB and IB raping and humiliating me, smiling all the while
  • Being on a tall building watching a city flood and people drown and nearly drown myself and then trying to find somewhere quietly to fuck my brains out with a random guy

Can’t stop thinking about the words between Ceili and me. I play them over and over till my head spins. I try to block them out but so far it’s not working.

Even on meds, I’m depressed and now I distrust my shrink

So much for paradise

Well the holiday is over and it’s back to hell for me. I am less one friend and plenty of money. I do not feel anything. My depression is back and I am thinking of leaving Hell and going home to my parents, get a job in Europe and stop chasing the dream.

My boss is trying to get a decent contract for me where I would be paid will actual money and then Hell would probably become Purgatory but can I stand it. I haven’t told my parents about the depression and I can’t broach the topic while I am half a world away. Going home feels like quitting though. I don’t know what to do. I’m not a quitter in general

I really fancy going to Nairobi and getting a job there. I’d be near M+L and they could be my surrogate parents for a while. Must try something cos life should not be this depressing


It’s done. It’s over. I am betrayed by my friend. Ceili believes others over me. Her lack of trust is her betrayal. It was a lie and the lie destroyed our friendship. Her inability to recognise any responsibility in the breakup just precipitated matters.

I kept her secrets better than she did herself and in memorial of her friendship I will never tell, though I doubt she will extend the same courtesy to me.

Now she talks to me only when she needs to gush about something. I am weary in body and spirit. I will miss her overall but her faults will certainly help me to miss her less.

I have not been perfect and I accept my responsibility in the breakup but it need never have happened. Alas the trust was not enough. She believed a lie spun by others (she will not tell me who). I will not make a scene but will accept and go quietly.


Well the holiday is not turning out exactly as I thought it would. I spend most of the time in bed to try and catch up on all the sleep I’m missed. I still need the sleeping pills to sleep at night.

Ceili is acting like a total bitch. So it turned out we were both keeping each other up at night so after a particularly sleepness night, she starts bitching at me and I get another room. It cost me $600 of money I don’t really have – my total birthday present from my parents.

So I’m broke, I’m old, I’m depressed and on medication. Is it any wonder I spend most of the time sleeping. I know that one is supposed to enjoy holidays especially in a paradise location but I want my computer and hugs from somebody who doesn’t treat me like shit.

The irony is that I knew this would happen. There are types of friends people should never go on holidays with and Ceili is one of mine. Once again she stirred up old shit. I can’t help but feel that this friendship is very one sided. I will explore that in therapy when I go back to Hell.

Oh well only a week left in paradise and maybe my money will last