Nobody loves me, it's true...
Dec. 21st, 2016 06:02 am![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
prolixfootleIt is the middle of the night and I’m awake, so what better to do that post a rambley ramble? And it is likely to be quite rambley… and possibly not get posted at all.
Today on FB I was witty and urbane, which is in direct opposition to how I actually feel. I ‘Liked’, I made comments both facetious and solemn. I whipped up some doggerel and offered support where I could. This is the way it goes most days.
As you may or may not know, I am a chronic depressive. I rarely mention it (except here, where the crickets are soothing), as it makes me feel uncomfortable and weak, regardless of the prescribed dogma. I was officially diagnosed nearly twenty years ago though it probably had been going on for quite some time before that. I’ve been through several ‘specialists’ over the years, and tried various medications, none of which worked for me, and which actually, over time, made things worse. I’ve also never actually found a therapist that truly helped, including the one I’m currently seeing (generally I’ve found that people you pay to care usually don’t). Also, various diagnoses have been bandied around over the years, most of which included ‘depression’ somewhere in their descriptor.
One thing that has been almost universally agreed upon is that I am what is called a ‘high functioning’ depressive, which means that I’m very good at hiding the way I truly feel. Actually, very, VERY good, if I do say so myself. Usually, unless I actually tell someone how I’m actually feeling (like now), they wouldn’t guess. And I rarely mention it to anyone, because (as my thinking goes, properly or not) everyone has their own problems to deal with, and they really don’t need the extra burden of feeling obliged to try and drag you out of whatever hell you’re currently in, and really don’t want the responsibility. Not everyone, mind, but a lot. Appropriately or not, I find that the posting of ‘Suicide Prevention Hotline’ numbers is evidence of this. Most (but again, not all, and I’m certainly not directing this at anyone in particular, please don’t think that, I’m speaking of society at large) don’t say. “If you’re in crisis call me.” Instead they say, “If you’re in crisis, call this number and talk to a random stranger.” And perhaps that’s a better way of dealing with things, to have an uninvolved, outside view. I don’t know.
So I deal with things as best I can. Keep calm and carry on, etc., etc.. But that’s made more difficult when you’re having trouble sleeping, and when you do sleep, you have… really unpleasant nightmares.
(Where was I going with that? Not sure… apparently the train of thought derailed somewhere in that last paragraph. A toxic chemical spill ensued, and the town had to be evacuated. Apparently.)
Next thread, I guess. Onward, ho!
Things are pretty bleak these days, here in the Rural Wastelands. Being terminated for being ill was, and continues to be, a canker on my soul. I was raised to believe that you needed to be a productive, functioning member of society, you needed to meet you obligations and responsibilities, and if you weren’t you were less that worthless. This… how do I explain it? It’s not something I believe – I know people can fall on hard times, and I never begrudge them any assistance they need to survive. Except when it comes to me. Then its ‘Yes, ma’am! Yes sir! I am worthless scum and undeserving of any aid or succor!’ And before you say it, I know it’s an irrational dichotomy. I’ve been told repeatedly. And I still can’t reconcile it.
So, that whole fiasco has darkened the mood considerably. Added to that is the whole having to apply for disability assistance (see above). And being told in no uncertain terms that I’ll probably never be able to hold a job because of my illness just compounds the bleakness.
(The reasoning, if you’re interested, is that my illness is not well controlled, and stress causes increases in flares. Any new situation is going to produce stress, so it’s unlikely that I would be able to navigate a 90 day probationary period, let alone the full year to achieve protection under FMLA, without having to take a random amount of sick time. And no company, once they find out, wants to keep that kind of liability around.)
(I could give recent examples of exactly how increased stress affects things, but that would be gross and tasteless, even according to my lax standards.)
And then there is the money. Or, rather, the almost complete lack of it. Who know that unemployment payed less than a third of your former salary?
And the lawsuit, which seems to be going nowhere.
And the current political climate, which is definitely NOT going nowhere.
And the parents, who are going in the wrong direction. Fast.
It all just seems… overwhelming. And I have to say this at least once, somewhere. People will always tell you to hang in there, things will get better. Well, I have to politely disagree. Decades of experience have shown me that that platitude can be completely wrong. Sometimes things just go from bad to the point where you think they can’t possibly get any worse. Until they do.
Anyway. I think I’m done rambling for now. And please remember, it is just rambling. Please, no freak outs or crisis calls or what have you. I just needed to vent a bit. Thank you for listening.
Today on FB I was witty and urbane, which is in direct opposition to how I actually feel. I ‘Liked’, I made comments both facetious and solemn. I whipped up some doggerel and offered support where I could. This is the way it goes most days.
As you may or may not know, I am a chronic depressive. I rarely mention it (except here, where the crickets are soothing), as it makes me feel uncomfortable and weak, regardless of the prescribed dogma. I was officially diagnosed nearly twenty years ago though it probably had been going on for quite some time before that. I’ve been through several ‘specialists’ over the years, and tried various medications, none of which worked for me, and which actually, over time, made things worse. I’ve also never actually found a therapist that truly helped, including the one I’m currently seeing (generally I’ve found that people you pay to care usually don’t). Also, various diagnoses have been bandied around over the years, most of which included ‘depression’ somewhere in their descriptor.
One thing that has been almost universally agreed upon is that I am what is called a ‘high functioning’ depressive, which means that I’m very good at hiding the way I truly feel. Actually, very, VERY good, if I do say so myself. Usually, unless I actually tell someone how I’m actually feeling (like now), they wouldn’t guess. And I rarely mention it to anyone, because (as my thinking goes, properly or not) everyone has their own problems to deal with, and they really don’t need the extra burden of feeling obliged to try and drag you out of whatever hell you’re currently in, and really don’t want the responsibility. Not everyone, mind, but a lot. Appropriately or not, I find that the posting of ‘Suicide Prevention Hotline’ numbers is evidence of this. Most (but again, not all, and I’m certainly not directing this at anyone in particular, please don’t think that, I’m speaking of society at large) don’t say. “If you’re in crisis call me.” Instead they say, “If you’re in crisis, call this number and talk to a random stranger.” And perhaps that’s a better way of dealing with things, to have an uninvolved, outside view. I don’t know.
So I deal with things as best I can. Keep calm and carry on, etc., etc.. But that’s made more difficult when you’re having trouble sleeping, and when you do sleep, you have… really unpleasant nightmares.
(Where was I going with that? Not sure… apparently the train of thought derailed somewhere in that last paragraph. A toxic chemical spill ensued, and the town had to be evacuated. Apparently.)
Next thread, I guess. Onward, ho!
Things are pretty bleak these days, here in the Rural Wastelands. Being terminated for being ill was, and continues to be, a canker on my soul. I was raised to believe that you needed to be a productive, functioning member of society, you needed to meet you obligations and responsibilities, and if you weren’t you were less that worthless. This… how do I explain it? It’s not something I believe – I know people can fall on hard times, and I never begrudge them any assistance they need to survive. Except when it comes to me. Then its ‘Yes, ma’am! Yes sir! I am worthless scum and undeserving of any aid or succor!’ And before you say it, I know it’s an irrational dichotomy. I’ve been told repeatedly. And I still can’t reconcile it.
So, that whole fiasco has darkened the mood considerably. Added to that is the whole having to apply for disability assistance (see above). And being told in no uncertain terms that I’ll probably never be able to hold a job because of my illness just compounds the bleakness.
(The reasoning, if you’re interested, is that my illness is not well controlled, and stress causes increases in flares. Any new situation is going to produce stress, so it’s unlikely that I would be able to navigate a 90 day probationary period, let alone the full year to achieve protection under FMLA, without having to take a random amount of sick time. And no company, once they find out, wants to keep that kind of liability around.)
(I could give recent examples of exactly how increased stress affects things, but that would be gross and tasteless, even according to my lax standards.)
And then there is the money. Or, rather, the almost complete lack of it. Who know that unemployment payed less than a third of your former salary?
And the lawsuit, which seems to be going nowhere.
And the current political climate, which is definitely NOT going nowhere.
And the parents, who are going in the wrong direction. Fast.
It all just seems… overwhelming. And I have to say this at least once, somewhere. People will always tell you to hang in there, things will get better. Well, I have to politely disagree. Decades of experience have shown me that that platitude can be completely wrong. Sometimes things just go from bad to the point where you think they can’t possibly get any worse. Until they do.
Anyway. I think I’m done rambling for now. And please remember, it is just rambling. Please, no freak outs or crisis calls or what have you. I just needed to vent a bit. Thank you for listening.
