Aug 6, 2011
May 11, 2011
Check yoself.
Hi.
I'm Dawnne.
We've met by now, hopefully. And if we have not, let me start off by saying that I'm a very nervous person.
This post is about what I refer to as my psychological struggle and how I've dealt with it over the years. I'm dedicating this post to my friend who is currently going through something similar, and who I sincerely hope will benefit from learning about this the way I have.
I've been dealing with depression for nearly a decade now. A long time. Especially when you consider I'm not even 18 yet (2 months, people). When I was in elementary school, of course, I didn't understand that I was experiencing depression; I simply thought it was in my personality to be quieter and more secluded from the rest of children my age. I didn't have many friends growing up--none that really stuck with me for a while, anyway. I was simply never a popular person, and I think that's okay.
Regardless of my popularity, I always struggled with self-esteem. I never thought I was especially pretty, or incredibly smart, and that I was slightly weird. Later I realized that it wasn't exactly that I wasn't pretty or smart, it was that other people were prettier and smarter. That was probably the first time that I realized my biggest fear in life: not being good enough.
Today I finished public school forever. No going back. I'm probably never going to see half of them again. Which is good, in my opinion. Maybe I'll finally stop comparing myself to them.
The depression I experience comes in waves. I'll be fine for months on end, without experiencing hardly any negative emotions, but then dive into a very bad, dark place in which I contemplate suicide and wish to die...and that can go on for just as long. The thing about my depressions is that I pretend they don't exist. I don't want people to know how badly I'm hurting, because then they'll feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for me? Fuck, I don't want pity. I want help.
The anxiety problems didn't come in until about 2 years ago. It started with something simple: balancing work and school. This was the first year when I had a part-time job along with going to school. I handled this surprisingly well. I experienced hardly any trouble. In fact, I was surprised by myself.
And then it hit me. Suddenly I was paranoid and worried about everything. I thought one small thing would lead to eventual devastation. It didn't take long before these kinds of thoughts infiltrated every square inch of my mind. I started doing things out of fear instead of doing them out of habit. I hate change. I can't stand it when something is different from the way I got used to it.
This is about the time that I started into psychology. I studied GAD (generalized anxiety disorder) as a class project, and realized how shockingly alike I was to this disorder. In fact, to this day, the only symptoms I do not experience on an almost-daily basis are the eating and sleeping habits. Before this time, I had never considered that I might be an anxious person. I knew I had problems with depression, but I knew those were different things.
Later, I noticed I also experience several obsessive-compulsive symptoms. Not all of them, like with GAD, but OCD was also likely for me.
With all of this going on inside my head, it drove me to eventual insanity. I practically begged my mom to take me to a psychiatrist so I could be evaluated by a professional, but each time it was always the same thing: "You're just being a teenager, everyone goes through this." "Are you on your period? It's probably your hormones." "I worry about things, too, you know. It's part of growing up." "You have it so much better than a lot of other people. What could you be so upset about?" (this one pissed me off the most)
And eventually I got this: "The insurance won't pay for a psychiatrist, anyway."
That really struck something with me. It hurt. Unbelievably bad. My mom cared more about money than she did my mental health.
I got so sick of being misunderstood and so tired of my mom trivializing what I was feeling, and how she made it all seem like it wasn't real or that it was normal...I knew it wasn't normal. It can't be. Regardless, I plunged into a frightening depression in which I attempted to kill myself, but failed. I was quiet for a while and didn't mention it to anyone, even though there was one person who I was sure knew about it. He never said anything, though. I'm sure he was never even worried, like he thought I was joking or that I wouldn't actually do it (watch me try). The fact that no one knew I was hurting, or cared that I had tried to kill myself only made me feel worse, if that was possible.
I don't know what it was that finally brought me out of that depression, but whatever it was, I'm glad it happened. Who knows what might've happened if I didn't get better. I might have attempted suicide again and perhaps succeeded this time.
After recovering, I realized that my anxiety and depression are something that's just simply part of my life, regardless of what caused it or why I have it. Even if I "cure" it, it won't go away completely and forever. I think this realization really helped me take a big step to recovery. Acceptance. I accepted that it exists. And because of that, I feel like I'm resisting it less, causing less of a strain.
For anyone who believes they are suffering from a mental disorder such as anxiety or depression, I encourage you to consider how much it impacts your life. After that, understand that this might be a permanent condition that might go away for a while and come back sometimes. It's not what attention-starved 13-year-olds on the internet glorify it to be. It's not fun. It's not a game. It's just...pain, in every sense of the word. I don't understand why some people go around bragging about it. By doing that, those people are only trivializing the suffering of people who really are hurting, and it's making it hard for those people to get the help they need. However, I do think that every suicide threat should be taken seriously.
Since I am unable to seek treatment from a psychiatrist at the moment, I'm left with self-diagnosis and self-therapy. It's really the only effort I can make to help myself get better. And honestly, I believe it's working. At least a little bit.
Many people dismiss self-diagnosis and self-therapy as laughable things that don't work. This is because often times, people self-diagnose incorrectly and then somehow end up causing a problem about it. But when done in a proper way, self-diagnosis is actually a really helpful tool, especially when one finally gets the chance to speak to a professional: the patient can simply say "I believe I'm dealing with ____" and the professional can have a springboard of where to start.
As for self-therapy, I know it might seem silly to some people, but I believe that my hobbies, particularly writing and knitting, are really helping to relieve my anxiety in a healthier, more productive way. It gives me something real to focus on, rather than imaginary fears that most likely will not happen.
I've started doing breathing exercises, and they've started working for me when I'm in an especially panicked mood.
I've been advised by someone with a psych degree to also study meditation and certain Buddhist philosophies, which I will certainly do when I have the time.
All in all, the whole self-help concept is really helpful for those who feel like they're trapped with no means of getting better on their own. Self-help is also the number-one remedy for anxiety disorders, anyway, even if you do get help from a psychologist/psychiatrist. :P
Why is that? Because anxiety almost always relates to the way you view and interpret things. This is something that only you can truly understand, and therefore only you can really be the cure for yourself.
I hope I've been motivational and perhaps even inspirational to those out there who might be hurting without speaking a word. Please consider these things, even if for a second. I wish the best of luck to all of those anonymous eyes behind the screens reading this post.
I'm Dawnne.
We've met by now, hopefully. And if we have not, let me start off by saying that I'm a very nervous person.
This post is about what I refer to as my psychological struggle and how I've dealt with it over the years. I'm dedicating this post to my friend who is currently going through something similar, and who I sincerely hope will benefit from learning about this the way I have.
I've been dealing with depression for nearly a decade now. A long time. Especially when you consider I'm not even 18 yet (2 months, people). When I was in elementary school, of course, I didn't understand that I was experiencing depression; I simply thought it was in my personality to be quieter and more secluded from the rest of children my age. I didn't have many friends growing up--none that really stuck with me for a while, anyway. I was simply never a popular person, and I think that's okay.
Regardless of my popularity, I always struggled with self-esteem. I never thought I was especially pretty, or incredibly smart, and that I was slightly weird. Later I realized that it wasn't exactly that I wasn't pretty or smart, it was that other people were prettier and smarter. That was probably the first time that I realized my biggest fear in life: not being good enough.
Today I finished public school forever. No going back. I'm probably never going to see half of them again. Which is good, in my opinion. Maybe I'll finally stop comparing myself to them.
The depression I experience comes in waves. I'll be fine for months on end, without experiencing hardly any negative emotions, but then dive into a very bad, dark place in which I contemplate suicide and wish to die...and that can go on for just as long. The thing about my depressions is that I pretend they don't exist. I don't want people to know how badly I'm hurting, because then they'll feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for me? Fuck, I don't want pity. I want help.
The anxiety problems didn't come in until about 2 years ago. It started with something simple: balancing work and school. This was the first year when I had a part-time job along with going to school. I handled this surprisingly well. I experienced hardly any trouble. In fact, I was surprised by myself.
And then it hit me. Suddenly I was paranoid and worried about everything. I thought one small thing would lead to eventual devastation. It didn't take long before these kinds of thoughts infiltrated every square inch of my mind. I started doing things out of fear instead of doing them out of habit. I hate change. I can't stand it when something is different from the way I got used to it.
This is about the time that I started into psychology. I studied GAD (generalized anxiety disorder) as a class project, and realized how shockingly alike I was to this disorder. In fact, to this day, the only symptoms I do not experience on an almost-daily basis are the eating and sleeping habits. Before this time, I had never considered that I might be an anxious person. I knew I had problems with depression, but I knew those were different things.
Later, I noticed I also experience several obsessive-compulsive symptoms. Not all of them, like with GAD, but OCD was also likely for me.
With all of this going on inside my head, it drove me to eventual insanity. I practically begged my mom to take me to a psychiatrist so I could be evaluated by a professional, but each time it was always the same thing: "You're just being a teenager, everyone goes through this." "Are you on your period? It's probably your hormones." "I worry about things, too, you know. It's part of growing up." "You have it so much better than a lot of other people. What could you be so upset about?" (this one pissed me off the most)
And eventually I got this: "The insurance won't pay for a psychiatrist, anyway."
That really struck something with me. It hurt. Unbelievably bad. My mom cared more about money than she did my mental health.
I got so sick of being misunderstood and so tired of my mom trivializing what I was feeling, and how she made it all seem like it wasn't real or that it was normal...I knew it wasn't normal. It can't be. Regardless, I plunged into a frightening depression in which I attempted to kill myself, but failed. I was quiet for a while and didn't mention it to anyone, even though there was one person who I was sure knew about it. He never said anything, though. I'm sure he was never even worried, like he thought I was joking or that I wouldn't actually do it (watch me try). The fact that no one knew I was hurting, or cared that I had tried to kill myself only made me feel worse, if that was possible.
I don't know what it was that finally brought me out of that depression, but whatever it was, I'm glad it happened. Who knows what might've happened if I didn't get better. I might have attempted suicide again and perhaps succeeded this time.
After recovering, I realized that my anxiety and depression are something that's just simply part of my life, regardless of what caused it or why I have it. Even if I "cure" it, it won't go away completely and forever. I think this realization really helped me take a big step to recovery. Acceptance. I accepted that it exists. And because of that, I feel like I'm resisting it less, causing less of a strain.
For anyone who believes they are suffering from a mental disorder such as anxiety or depression, I encourage you to consider how much it impacts your life. After that, understand that this might be a permanent condition that might go away for a while and come back sometimes. It's not what attention-starved 13-year-olds on the internet glorify it to be. It's not fun. It's not a game. It's just...pain, in every sense of the word. I don't understand why some people go around bragging about it. By doing that, those people are only trivializing the suffering of people who really are hurting, and it's making it hard for those people to get the help they need. However, I do think that every suicide threat should be taken seriously.
Since I am unable to seek treatment from a psychiatrist at the moment, I'm left with self-diagnosis and self-therapy. It's really the only effort I can make to help myself get better. And honestly, I believe it's working. At least a little bit.
Many people dismiss self-diagnosis and self-therapy as laughable things that don't work. This is because often times, people self-diagnose incorrectly and then somehow end up causing a problem about it. But when done in a proper way, self-diagnosis is actually a really helpful tool, especially when one finally gets the chance to speak to a professional: the patient can simply say "I believe I'm dealing with ____" and the professional can have a springboard of where to start.
As for self-therapy, I know it might seem silly to some people, but I believe that my hobbies, particularly writing and knitting, are really helping to relieve my anxiety in a healthier, more productive way. It gives me something real to focus on, rather than imaginary fears that most likely will not happen.
I've started doing breathing exercises, and they've started working for me when I'm in an especially panicked mood.
I've been advised by someone with a psych degree to also study meditation and certain Buddhist philosophies, which I will certainly do when I have the time.
All in all, the whole self-help concept is really helpful for those who feel like they're trapped with no means of getting better on their own. Self-help is also the number-one remedy for anxiety disorders, anyway, even if you do get help from a psychologist/psychiatrist. :P
Why is that? Because anxiety almost always relates to the way you view and interpret things. This is something that only you can truly understand, and therefore only you can really be the cure for yourself.
I hope I've been motivational and perhaps even inspirational to those out there who might be hurting without speaking a word. Please consider these things, even if for a second. I wish the best of luck to all of those anonymous eyes behind the screens reading this post.
Apr 12, 2011
Excerpt.
So, um. I'm writing fiction again.
I never knew what to do with myself. Proof for this remains inscribed in several years’ collective utterings in a diary I kept secret between my bed mattress and the dusty wall. Among moments of shame captured in scribblings of barely-legible handwriting, it appeared obvious to any reader that I might have been completely insane at one point in my life. However, I stood to prove a point against such rumors.
It was not insanity that broke me in my sixteenth year of life, but instead it was a moment of realization—an epiphany—which I soon understood to be the true source of my downfall. A realization which any human being could hope to never encounter. What was this awakening? Simple.
I am nothing.
Those three words would soon spread like weeds to every vacated corner of my mind, and then, set ablaze one day, would grow to be the most incriminating evidence against my sanity.
Apr 1, 2011
Why you always runnin' in place?
April is a liberating time.
I've never explained it here, but I truly despise the month of March. It is simply the worst month in the calendar. Everything bad happens in March. March is a living hell for me every year. It's always something different. This year it was a suicide note and an unfinished attempt. And yet no one is worried about me. No one thinks there's anything wrong with me. No, I'm wrong about that--It's that no one thinks I'm worth saving.
I isolated myself for nearly the entirety of the month of March, and the most of a reaction I got was a shrugged shoulder. Wow. I really matter to people so much, don't I? Enough that they sit on the other side of the room when they know I'm depressed and need a friend. Enough that no one checks up on me. Enough that the only people who make eye contact with me are teachers and managers, who are paid to interact with me.
I don't really have a specific purpose to this blog post, it's more of a place to vent my thoughts in a place where I know no one will read them.
Understand that I've been dreaming about senior prom since I was in middle school. I've always imagined getting all dressed up in the perfect dress and just having the best night out with friends of my high school career. The one thing I didn't expect was that I wouldn't have a date. Right now is a very critical time for prom plans--I need to find a dress, first of all. And if I don't even have a date, well then.
My options are either to stay home and wallow in my misery, or go alone and wallow in my isolation and have no one even notice that I exist. At this point, staying home and missing out on the once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity-that-I've-been-dreaming-about-for-years sounds a lot better than going alone and leaving after 20 minutes and crying the entire way home.
Everything has been ruined.
I just...want one last good memory to share...before I never see them again...
Everyone thinks the things I worry about are trivial. They tell me things like "It's not that big of a deal, I'm sure going by yourself will still be fun." You. Don't. Understand. I know myself much better than you ever have, and I know that if I don't have a date for prom, it will fucking ruin the rest of my senior year (Which is only six weeks now, by the way). I'm excluded enough as it is. This will only reinforce the fact that I'm a loner and no one wants me around.
This whole "anxiety" thing isn't fun. It's not a game I play for attention. I legitimately worry about these things, even if I KNOW they're not that important. I become obsessed, and if things don't turn out right, I panic.
I always have all these romantic ideas of what my future holds, and then it doesn't happen. Nothing ever happens. It always happens to someone else. I'm not allowed to be happy. I'm not allowed to be loved. I'm apparently not INTERESTING enough to be loved. I'm a stick-in-the-mud with one too many complaints about the cards she was dealt from the beginning. No one likes that type of person. Everyone keeps saying "just wait, it'll get better," and I'm so fucking sick of waiting. Is it too fucking much to ask? When will it be my time? When will I finally be happy? I'll tell you when: Never. Because some people were just meant to be unhappy right from the start, and I guess I'm just one of those people because my happiness is always temporary. Always.
The day everyone finally understands what I'm saying will be the same day that I kill myself. But no one will take the time to listen and figure that out before it's too late. Not that it matters. You know, dying really is a trivial thing, isn't it? I mean, the only thing that happens to you is that you stay dead for eternity with no reversal option. No big deal, right? So, you know, it doesn't matter if you're too late.
I'm not wanted here. I have to scream for attention, and even then, half the time, I'm overlooked. I'm invisible. Insignificant. I don't exist. I could disappear off the face of the Earth and not a single person would go looking for me. Especially not the one person who I want to look for me.
I've never explained it here, but I truly despise the month of March. It is simply the worst month in the calendar. Everything bad happens in March. March is a living hell for me every year. It's always something different. This year it was a suicide note and an unfinished attempt. And yet no one is worried about me. No one thinks there's anything wrong with me. No, I'm wrong about that--It's that no one thinks I'm worth saving.
I isolated myself for nearly the entirety of the month of March, and the most of a reaction I got was a shrugged shoulder. Wow. I really matter to people so much, don't I? Enough that they sit on the other side of the room when they know I'm depressed and need a friend. Enough that no one checks up on me. Enough that the only people who make eye contact with me are teachers and managers, who are paid to interact with me.
I don't really have a specific purpose to this blog post, it's more of a place to vent my thoughts in a place where I know no one will read them.
Understand that I've been dreaming about senior prom since I was in middle school. I've always imagined getting all dressed up in the perfect dress and just having the best night out with friends of my high school career. The one thing I didn't expect was that I wouldn't have a date. Right now is a very critical time for prom plans--I need to find a dress, first of all. And if I don't even have a date, well then.
My options are either to stay home and wallow in my misery, or go alone and wallow in my isolation and have no one even notice that I exist. At this point, staying home and missing out on the once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity-that-I've-been-dreaming-about-for-years sounds a lot better than going alone and leaving after 20 minutes and crying the entire way home.
Everything has been ruined.
I just...want one last good memory to share...before I never see them again...
Everyone thinks the things I worry about are trivial. They tell me things like "It's not that big of a deal, I'm sure going by yourself will still be fun." You. Don't. Understand. I know myself much better than you ever have, and I know that if I don't have a date for prom, it will fucking ruin the rest of my senior year (Which is only six weeks now, by the way). I'm excluded enough as it is. This will only reinforce the fact that I'm a loner and no one wants me around.
This whole "anxiety" thing isn't fun. It's not a game I play for attention. I legitimately worry about these things, even if I KNOW they're not that important. I become obsessed, and if things don't turn out right, I panic.
I always have all these romantic ideas of what my future holds, and then it doesn't happen. Nothing ever happens. It always happens to someone else. I'm not allowed to be happy. I'm not allowed to be loved. I'm apparently not INTERESTING enough to be loved. I'm a stick-in-the-mud with one too many complaints about the cards she was dealt from the beginning. No one likes that type of person. Everyone keeps saying "just wait, it'll get better," and I'm so fucking sick of waiting. Is it too fucking much to ask? When will it be my time? When will I finally be happy? I'll tell you when: Never. Because some people were just meant to be unhappy right from the start, and I guess I'm just one of those people because my happiness is always temporary. Always.
The day everyone finally understands what I'm saying will be the same day that I kill myself. But no one will take the time to listen and figure that out before it's too late. Not that it matters. You know, dying really is a trivial thing, isn't it? I mean, the only thing that happens to you is that you stay dead for eternity with no reversal option. No big deal, right? So, you know, it doesn't matter if you're too late.
I'm not wanted here. I have to scream for attention, and even then, half the time, I'm overlooked. I'm invisible. Insignificant. I don't exist. I could disappear off the face of the Earth and not a single person would go looking for me. Especially not the one person who I want to look for me.
Mar 17, 2011
KnitPicks
My first-ever KnitPicks order came in today! I wasn't expecting it to arrive for another week or something. It was shipped on Tuesday and it takes 5-14 days for the cheapest shipping. I checked to make sure I didn't accidentally order the 2 or 3-day shipping (it costs a lot more and I was going to be mad with myself if I did), but I didn't. They just shipped it quickly. And to think I considered paying extra for something that would have arrived on the same date.
I got some sock yarn (because for some reason I need more yarn. Right.), a pair of US 7 straights, and a shitload of point protectors. I. Love. These. Point. Protectors.
I've seen other point protectors in stores, but I've been looking specifically for these kind: the cylindrical ones with a rounded edge. I have a pair of pink ones just like these that were given to me as a gift, but I could never find another pair just like them, until I came across KnitPicks. I nearly did a backflip.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 1, 2011
September.
So here I stand, staring down
the edge of September and
watching where old loyalties lie.
What step I take next will
Determine how I fall and if
I'm caught in mid-air. I've
returned to an utter state of
confusion with a dazed dose
Of insanity. The lines that
draw me start to fade with
a fleeting glimpse of what
was once my future.
The cries that escape my
throat do not voice the way
I am truly falling apart
within this old shell of a heart.
Toe-curls and nervous
lip-bites don't give away
the panic ensuing, rising
like a thermometer in here.
So here I stand, staring down
the edge of September and
watching where old loyalties lie.
I can't find myself anymore.
the edge of September and
watching where old loyalties lie.
What step I take next will
Determine how I fall and if
I'm caught in mid-air. I've
returned to an utter state of
confusion with a dazed dose
Of insanity. The lines that
draw me start to fade with
a fleeting glimpse of what
was once my future.
The cries that escape my
throat do not voice the way
I am truly falling apart
within this old shell of a heart.
Toe-curls and nervous
lip-bites don't give away
the panic ensuing, rising
like a thermometer in here.
So here I stand, staring down
the edge of September and
watching where old loyalties lie.
I can't find myself anymore.
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