It's Not Funny Anymore

There's kind of a running joke among my social circle about my negativity, my less-than-positive overreactions to high-stress ( and even low-stress) situations, and my somewhat gloomy and cynical outlook on life. I frequently post things on my personal Facebook along the lines of, "It's 7pm and I'm just leaving work. *dies*" (I work a regular Mon-Fri 9-5 desk job, just for some point of reference), as well as the occasional, "Traffic is so bad I want to kill myself." Let's not forget the ever-famous: "I hate children."

I affectionately say I'm going to murder people when they annoy me - rarely to their faces... my first response when something gets all snafu'd is to say I want to kill myself. On the rare occasion that I don't add a "*dies*" or "*stabstabstab*" to a typed-out vent, there are many who chime in on comments and add it for me. Today I got a picture of Eeyore. That's fine. (I love Eeyore.)

What's not fine is the very real depression that I'm suffering through right now. I realized the other day it's been over 6 months. I think I've been very for-real depressed since about May. Sure, there have been a few weeks here and there where I've felt more up. There have probably even been a few manic periods where I was very, VERY UP to the point where it almost seemed fake... because it was, but not because I was doing it on purpose - because it was false euphoria brought on by my awesome brain chemistry. I've had exactly two people express their concern to me regarding my mental state. Neither of those people were my spouse or even family members... I'll take that back, I think my dad sees it a little. Whereas for some it might be jarring or even slightly embarrassing to have someone say to you, "I don't think you're okay. I'm worried about you." - for me, I am already very aware. My only response was/is, "I'm worried about me, too."

I think I've probably been saying for about 3 months that I need to go back to counseling/therapy. I haven't done it. I haven't even looked into it. I'm honestly not sure that I can afford it. I'm sure there are other expenses that I could cut out in order to make it work and make the difference - but the stress of having to sit down with my budget and find where to make those cuts is entirely too overwhelming right now. I feel like it's just easier to drink a little more, sleep a little more, and continue to blog about how making healthier food choices and exercising regularly is "helping".

The problem is, I'm not consistently making healthier food choices nor am I consistently exercising, so it's not helping. It might be better than nothing, but it's not fixing anything and I'm fucking lying to myself and to you if I say that it is.

I'm completely guilty of this, but when someone says they're unsure how they can make it through the next x amount of days/weeks/months/whatever without a serious emotional breakdown -- please don't tell them to "be more positive" or "start with a positive base" or "you're setting yourself up to fail if you already think you're failing". Listen, I love and respect my husband very much - he is a wonderful person. He is very supportive of me in many, many ways in everything that he says and does. But he's not good at this depression thing. I know I'm hard to live with right now. I know I'm not really a lot of fun to be around and that it's probably a real pain in the ass to share a home and work environment with me, to have to deal with my doom and gloom all day long every day - but it's not a fucking picnic for me either, okay? I don't think he "gets it". I need to be able to say to him, "I think the upcoming busy season may kill me." and I need him to understand that that is a very real concern - I need him to understand that it's not funny for me anymore. It's not just a dramatized overreaction. I don't need the criticism and the speech about being more positive and making it through. I need someone to help me, because I'm not entirely sure I'm in a mental place where I can help myself right now.

Fucked up confession: I've been wishing so hard lately that I'll go to sleep and not wake up that the night before Christmas Eve (Christmas Eve Eve, as my baby sister calls it) I started freaking out that I might actually die and that, please God, don't let me die, don't believe me when I ask to not wake up, because it's almost Christmas and I want to see my kids' reactions to their gifts and get to watch Christmas movies with them, etc, etc. I was really scared, you guys.

Reading back over that makes me really sad. I get so angry with myself because it's just not that bad. I have a good life. I have a good job, a nice home, a good marriage, beautiful and healthy children, a great relationship with my family, wonderful friends, and very few financial stresses or concerns. I try so hard to count all those blessings every day. Every night in bed as I wait to fall asleep, I think about all those wonderful and important things that I have... and there are still nights that I hope I won't wake up in the morning. There's something really, incredibly wrong with that. At some point along the last few years, I forgot how to rejoice in my life. I don't know how to get it back.

Something has to change. I can't live my life like this anymore. I keep feeling like I might know what to do to make it better, but it feels like those changes are so far out of what is realistic for my life and my family right now that I just need to suck it up and get happy. I just don't know how to suck it up and get happy. I do know that I can't just keep pushing along acting like everything is going to magically be okay one day, not changing anything about my life, doing the same things day in and day out and thinking I'm going to get different emotional results.

Step 1: call a damn therapist by January 1st.