Entombed

Not for the first time, it occurs to me how similar depression is to being entombed, alive. You scream, you claw, you kick, you exhaust yourself in the massive effort to escape…And yet you remain entombed, going nowhere, until all hope is lost and you just lay still, accept your fate, and wait for it all to be over. And on the fringes of your mind, in spite of it all, remains the tiniest bit of hope that before you take your last breath, something, someone, anything, will help dig you out, will lift the lid and set you free.

Morbid much? I know.

I survived my kid’s Xmas concert. Man, that place was packed. And I don’t give a fuck what everyone says about small towns, the people in this area are NOT friendly. I plastered on my best ‘not freaking out’ smile and not even my neighbor lady could be bothered to speak. Do I give off some bad vibe simply because I wear all black? Because, hey, their cammo deer hunting gear and flannel doesn’t do much for me, but I don’t base my opinions of people on wardrobe choices. Guess that is where I go wrong. I’d probably be popular if I were more shallow. In town at her old school, I could at least count on a few fellow parents giving a smile and a hello, how you doing. We’ve been here almost 2 years and I can barely get a smile from anyone sans the school staff. It gives you a complex at some point, especially when you’re doing your best to ‘play nice’. I don’t think I am better than anyone here. I KNOW, however, I am definitely different and hey, that’s been my identity since I was 11. What others deem ‘the weird girl’, I deem being different, quirky, and true to who I am in every way.

My kid, of course, waited until 20 minutes before we had to leave, to go on a fashion tirade about ‘they told us to dress up in something nice.” Well, sorry, you outgrew your dresses so wear your velvet pants and a collared shirt. Nope, she wears capri gray aweats with a navy shirt and her oldest skankiest tennis shoes. Seeing all the other kids gussied up and my kid looking like a rag muffin was embarrassing. But since she won’t listen to me, I guess she will just learn the hard way when her fashion choices result in being made fun of. I mean, mine have always been met with derision, but I was tough enough to handle it. My kid is a cream puff who suddenly stopped wearing her cat shirts cos some popular girl in class said they ‘weren’t cool’. She is stubborn with me, but definitely a follower. (My heart dies a little every time I have to face that fact.)

We came home and chilled out. I did something stupid and texted a friend whose response was pretty lackluster yet if they text me, I am supposed to do cartwheels. Dealing with a narcissist (clinical diagnosis, not just my opinion) is a bitch. Because they dismiss your feelings as unimportant and whatever they have going on is crucial to the existence of mankind even if they’re just drinking a damn beer and watching Star Trek. And most narcissists are so lacking in self awareness I don’t think it even occurs to them how hurtful it is to be constantly belittled by them in this way. So by reaching out to him, I gave him more importance than he deserves and he ‘put me in my place’ with his disinterest. Stupid, Morgue, just fucking stupid.

At least I had some good dreams. Mind you, I don’t really remember them but they weren’t bad. I woke up at 5 a.m. and actually got out of bed rather than having an affair with the snooze button. Think that last dream ended on a positive note and it energized me to an extent. Now that energy is sapped (good dreams doesn’t mean I didn’t wake up six times) and it’s only 8:30 a.m. My focus is nil. I tried to get caught up on Van Helsing but ten minutes in, it was apparent my brain simply wasn’t into it at all. So back to streaming Unsolved Mysteries on Pluto, more background noise than anything.

To my credit, I kicked ass around the house yesterday. I hung dried laundry, washed dishes, swept, mopped, cleaned the cat box, tidied the living room. Sad that it has to reach biohazard ‘we have no clean plates or clothes left’ before I can muster up the give a damn to do it. And people mistake depressive inertia as me simply not caring about my child ‘enough to get it done’. Got nothing to do with how much I care about her because this depression, especially the seasonal, predates her by 35 years. I’m not taking it out on her when it has nothing to do with her. Sure, she adds to my stress and some days the way she treats me does make me depressed, but that is situational. What I am dealing with right now is clinical. And I don’t think the doctor is going to want to max out the Cymbalta since last time I went manic at 90. I don’t think there’s any risk of that right now.

The idea of feeling entombed this way for the next 4 months has me frustrated, depressed, anxious, and pissed off.

I got my power bill disconnect notice. Where is that damn assistance grant????

I have $13 for food for the next two weeks and public aid says my increase won’t happen til after the 17th.

The car is now driving funny, as if the steering wheel is too loose and I can’t keep it on the road.

SITUATIONAL.

I can’t enjoy things I normally do.

I have no energy and just want to sleep.

I hate being around others.

I see no hope in my future.

CLINICAL DEPRESSION.

Unfortunately, being able to discern the difference doesn’t really give any answers on how to improve the situation.

I have more wet clothes to hang. I miss having a working dryer, I am a princess that way. I should prolly run the hell machine aka the carpet cleaning noisy sucking thing. My kid wants to put up the tree so I should dig it out.

Know what I feel like doing?

Spacing out to the sound of Unsolved Mysteries and accept that I am entombed and no one is coming to free me. The end means peace, and peace would be so wondermous.

Sadly, it isn’t survival of the fittest, at all.

It’s survival of the most rebellious and stubborn and on that one…I’m in it til the bitter end.

Why can’t I just be a quitter?

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