antisnotabug | Recent Entries

My friends keep telling me I need to do some soul searching. But I don’t seem to have a soul to search. There was a period in my early 20s, when I still lived with my parents and then a significant period of time afterward, where I felt subhuman. Not to say I thought I was an animal or a monster or something fantastical like that. I just felt so monumentally broken. I felt empty. There was nothing I wanted to work towards, nothing I wanted to make of my life. I wanted to be happy, yes. But nothing made me happy. Then I got caught up in a lot of forward momentum in my mid-20s. It started with getting promoted at work, no longer working overnight. Then came getting an actual apartment with Erin. Then came a girlfriend, my first serious relationship. Then came another promotion, then deciding to go back to college to work towards a real career. Then my own apartment, something I wanted for so very long to establish my independence. Then a boyfriend, who really seemed to understand me in ways no one else did. Not to say things were perfect during that period. I lost friends. Me and that girlfriend had a lot of problems and an inevitable and painful breakup. Dominic got sick enough to be hospitalized for months straight, then re-intubated for the first time since he was 8 years old. I was still depressed all throughout this period, because depression doesn’t go away when things are going well. But I felt like a person again. The lows felt low, the highs felt high. I wasn’t satisfied, but it felt possible to one day be satisfied.

In retrospect, I should have realized on January 1st, 2019 that I was about to go through hell. I rung in the new year with my boyfriend at the time, Laurence. December 31st, we went to a comedy show together in fancy clothes and we ate leftovers of the dinner he cooked for me the night before. Midnight came, we kissed, and then we had a talk we had been pushing off for a while, about what needed to happen when he was due to move to the other side of the country in August for grad school. I wanted to do long distance, even suggested moving to Seattle with him, but he wanted to break up. We decided he was right and to stay together until August, but. Day one of 2019 was setting me up for heartbreak. It’s almost funny, how the year basically fired a warning shot. Almost.

Then, Dominic died. From then up to now has been the worst year and a half of my life, easy. It’s strange, because I have to admit that for the rest of 2019, I didn’t feel as low as I did at the beginning of the decade, still living at home. I never questioned my humanity during 2019. Oh no, I was acutely aware of how human I was, and how much pain I could feel. After my little brother died, my oldest brother was diagnosed with DID and then went missing. The already crumbling relationship I had with my family cracked irrevocably. Laurence was there for me after Dominic died, but then checked out so much that I sped up our break up date by a month. (Still not sure who actually did the breaking up, him or me. He was the one who left, but he would have held off until the very last moment, fond of inaction as he was, if I hadn’t forced the issue.) Even my college classes, always a source of joy and hope for the future, were God awful and pointless. I was nothing less than a total wreck, and I was more than ready to say goodbye to 2019 when the time came. I was determined to make 2020 a year of healing, and moving forward.

Cue the laugh track.

January and February were mainly respite, trying to breathe again. Then March. Everyone currently trying to survive this garbage fire of a year will agree that March is where it all started to go horribly wrong. But mostly, those people will be referring to COVID, which really surfaced in the US around mid-March. For me, it was again day one. My parents called me to tell me my second oldest brother was in the hospital with severe stomach pains, and they didn’t know why. Tony and I were typically the healthy siblings growing up, so something happening to him was particularly shocking. Eventually, the answer was found, and it was a bomb: Tony had colon cancer. Then it just became a ten-car pileup of awfulness. Tony needed to be operated on. Mom was sent to the hospital with pains of her own. Dad couldn’t be with either of them because the hospital had to close itself off from visitors due to the virus. Mom suddenly suffered a complete mental break without any warning, spending her time unconscious or totally delusional. Suddenly had to pack up my office and work from home. It was like a very condensed version of 2019 all in six weeks, as this sprawled into April. I turned 30 having no idea what was about to happen. (That’s probably true for everyone turning 30, but I think we can agree what I went through was next level.) Eventually, things with my family calmed down. Mom got better, the mental break magically healed for no reason. Tony got the tumor removed and sent home, although that situation is far from over. For the past few months, nothing has happened.

So I don’t know why I’m malfunctioning now.

Because now I feel closer to what I felt in my early 20s than I ever have in the ensuing decade. I feel empty again. I feel hopeless again. I’m not connecting to people like I used to. From around 2014 – 2018, I was getting my life together, moving upward. 2019 dropped a nuke on me, and then followed it up with an obscene number of bombs. But even getting tossed around in the never-ending blasts, that was still movement. Now, it’s all stopped. I’ve been forced to sit with myself. For how much I crave and need independence, it seems I do quite terribly isolated. Whatever was driving those few years has disappeared. Maybe it was Dominic. Maybe even after everything, there was always a part of me that hoped I could still fix the family if I got myself together. Maybe I wanted to prove my worth to Erin while we were living together, trying to make up for my messiness (literal and metaphorical) by being accomplished in other ways. Maybe having a romantic partner, both of whom happened to be extraordinarily intelligent, made me want to try and be someone worth their affection. I say this because when I search my soul for reasons to push forward, to find a new path, to exist, I come back wanting every time. I can only ever find something resembling motivation when someone else is involved. But I can’t say I’m selfless either. I want to fix everything for everyone I love, and in return I want them to know how much they need me. I want to be needed. I want to be necessary. I want to do worthwhile things and be worthy. But not on some grand scale; just for the people I love is enough.

Because that’s when I get to be happy, and feel satisfied: when I’ve earned it.

“Who would I be if my family could take care of themselves?”

Two nights ago, I couldn’t sleep. Facebook’s memory feature reminded me that on that day, two years ago, was the last time I’d ever see my little brother. I tried to will the thought out of my mind and go to sleep, but couldn’t. I cried for a while. And then I sat down at my computer and started to write the answer to this question. In the end, it was just a tirade about how my parents were bad at parenting, a place I could direct the anger I have for losing Dominic so early. Don’t think I actually answered the question.

Tonight, I was half asleep, my brain a jumbled mess of dozen of thoughts and half formed ideas. At some point, it occurred to me that the thoughts I was having involved me having accepted the idea that my oldest brother is dead. Jolted me out of my half-sleep state pretty quickly. I don’t think Nick is dead, except apparently there’s some part of me that does. I tried to will the thought out of my mind and sleep, couldn’t. Cried for a while. And now I’m back here. Because there’s a lot of ways I could answer this question, but in the end, there’s only one.

Like, I could say if my family had any shred of competency and could navigate the real world, I would be someone more confident. I didn’t get a lot of guidance out of them, either through them giving advice or watching the example they provided, so there was a lot I had to figure out on my own. Things I’m still figuring out, like how to cook, structure my finances, or find meaning in life. People can smell doubt on you, and that’s engraved in every fiber of my being.

I could say if my family wasn’t so hellbent on avoiding responsibility, I would be someone who can take on the world. I hate hard work. It either bores me to death, or terrifies me, or both. There’s a part of me that feels like I’ve done enough already to get to this point and survive and I shouldn’t have to do anymore. My reward should be kicking in now. That entitlement absolutely comes from my family, particularly the men. I tried to learn from it, to use it as an example of what not to be. I was only partially successful. I don’t use others like my parents and Nick did/do. Certainly not a thief like them. But there’s a reason I’m 30 and only in a studio, in a completely dead end job, not remotely satisfied with my life and who I am. I don’t know that an Antonelli has ever known satisfaction. The exception might be my aunt, and she had to cut everyone out first.

I could say if my family was able to make a life they were proud of, they wouldn’t have felt the need to punch down and make fun of me for things like my weight, sloppiness, and a perceived lack of common sense. Maybe I wouldn’t be so horribly insecure about my intelligence, and how my appearance and the appearance of my home relates to that.

But you know, there’s only so much I can blame on my family. There’s a point where I have to realize I am my own person, and these problems exist in my mind only. There should be a point where I can fix these, and stop being so damn sensitive.

The problem is, I’m a project that requires a hell of a lot of work, and I’m tired. Of course I am, I can’t sleep. I apparently have a running commentary in the back of my mind of what’s going on with my family at any given second. Sometimes I’ll be cooking, and then have to wonder if my mom is going to die soon with her kidney condition. I’ll be walking around the city, then have to do a double take because I think I just saw Nick. I see something about sports, I think about my dad squandering money. A friend will ask about Tony, and I have to debate whether or not I tell them he has cancer. There’s never anything good going on with my family anymore. No promotions, no charming outings, nothing that other families have. The best I can usually do is “Oh, x is not in the hospital right now, that’s good.” (‘X’ because it could literally be any one of them: mom with her kidneys, Tony with his cancer, dad with his 3 heart attacks and insistence on still smoking.) I put more than a second of thought into them, and immediately I’m miserable too. Because I love them, I don’t want them to be so unhappy. And I can’t fix it. I can’t get Nick home. I can’t bring Dominic back. I can’t cure Tony, and I can’t give my parents a boatload of money to get their lives back. But all of these, in one way or another, leads back to the fact that my family can’t take care of itself. Nick never got the help he needed, mom and dad ran down south to avoid taxes and brought all of their misery on themselves. The only thing I can’t blame them for is Tony’s cancer, and even then, I most certainly can blame them for not getting Tony health insurance. If my family could take care of themselves, more than anything, I would still be someone with problems, but I would be someone who could sleep. I would be someone who wasn’t constantly worried, and didn’t feel constantly guilty. I would be someone who wasn’t so goddamn broken.

Things are still rough.

They are still fucking rough.

I'm overwhelmed, at this point. There's all this shit I need to change, yeah? And I can't, it's too much, it's way too fucking much. I feel like I maybe at some point had an accomplishable list and somewhere, I let it get out of control. Not sure when. I guess depression stopped me from trying. And now I'm drowning and the idea of starting on one thing, the smallest thing, is nearly enough to send me into a panic attack. Dishes and clothes are piling up. Haven't gone food shopping. Falling behind on homework (two weeks before finals, A GREAT TIME TO DO IT). Haven't started changing my diet. Fell off exercising. Money is getting a little tight (that's always a December/Christmas thing though, December is the fucking worst). There's so much to do and I can't do it all.

I don't know where to start. I don't know how to ask for help.

Things have been rough.

Things have been really fucking rough.

I'm backsliding, in terms of depression, in a way that I never really expected to. And maybe that was stupid. As I am reminded time and time again, it never really goes away. You just have it forever and that's your cross to bear. I keep fixing things around me. I got a well-enough paying job. I'm in school. I have a boyfriend now. I have the apartment. I have the apartment, the Goddamn dream. And yet, here I am, again, crying and miserable and not taking care of myself and forcing myself out of bed every day even though all I want to do is curl up and hide under the covers. And I think I know why.

Well, part of it is just life sucking ass. The job is still fucking hideous and attempting to kill my spirit one day at a time, things with Dominic are still terrible and that's a huge source of anxiety and misery. I'm tired all the time because I run around so much, I have next to no time to do things for myself. I'm still struggling to have interests if I do have the time. Writing just... doesn't appeal to me anymore, I don't think. Maybe that's temporary. I kinda hope so.

But none of that is really new, is it? I've hated my job for years. Dominic will be forever. The flame for writing has been steadily dimming for quite a while now, even as I struggled to admit that to people who I've invested RP time with. It's just for the past... I dunno, maybe handful of months, these various burdens have gotten harder to carry. And I think... I think it's because that for the time being, I've ran out of things around me that need fixing. Sure, I could get another job. But really, I'm working towards a career in ASL and interpreting, and I'm doing all I can for that right now. I need the degree first. I need to learn, which is what I'm doing. Other than that, I've handled every external thing eating away at me. I've gained true independence with the apartment. I conquered my driving fear by getting my license (even if I'm too broke for a car). I'm, beyond my wildest dreams, a semi-successful adult.

So now, I have to turn inward. I have nowhere else to better myself, nowhere else to run. I have to get a proper hold of my depression, which I've never done. I have to resolve and control my rampant insecurities about my intelligence and being worthy of the time of the people who care about me. I have to really and truly figure out how to deal with my family in a way that allows them to be somewhat in my life without sacrificing my happiness and sanity. I have to address my weight, my eating habits and lack of exercise habits.

And this is where it all comes apart.

I had no idea how truly little I've done for myself since the first time I decided to address my issues, four or five years ago when I first went to therapy. I had no idea how much I clung to unhealthy habits, until I observed and actually tried to change them for the first time. There's an unexplainable fear that accompanies each attempt to change how I eat, or try to dismiss an illegitimate thought internally without blurting it out and looking for validation. It's actual fear, there's no other word for it. I still don't know why I'm afraid. I guess I should have known, but the God's honest truth is I didn't know how much of a mess I actually am until now. That's almost hilarious. How could I, someone who lives for self depreciation, miss how much of a disaster I am?

There's also... another problem. For all the excitement and pride I have for living on my own... I'm lonely. I don't think I've ever been this lonely in my life. Ironic, eh, with the boyfriend having. But he's even busier than I am, getting his life together, and he lives far away enough that we have to plan everything super in advance and that hasn't been working out lately. Two of my best friends had huge, dramatic life changes happen weeks apart and now they're equally inaccessible to me. (I've had more face time with the girl who lives in Japan than the girl who lives in the same city as me but had a baby.) My other friends just seem to lack time, I keep trying to arrange things and I keep getting turned down or put off. The amount of isolation I feel is brutal. And I don't think there's anything to be done about that. I think it's just being an adult.

So I'm here, alone with my real faults for the first time. I don't know what to do. I think this is a fight I'm going to lose.

I want to write today. It's been a while since I've been here. As is always the case, a lot has changed. I am now living on my own.

I'm living on my own.

I fucking did it. This, this exact moment of time I am living right now, is what I've been aiming for since... God, since I was a teenager, at least. Probably longer. Probably forever, in some ways. Not to say that my roommate situations weren't wonderful. How many people can say they got to live with both of their best friends? I'm so happy about that. I learned a whole lot about myself, as each situation came with its own set of challenges. I wouldn't change either of them for anything.

But this is different. How many entries in here have I talked about wanting real independence? How many times have I talked about wanting to take care of myself, with zero help? I'm so fucking happy! I come home and I can do whatever I want in my home. This space is nobody else's but mine. The bills are mine. Maybe that's weird to get excited about but I am! This is all in my hands and that feels so... good. It's a comfort. I was so scared when Erin first left, that weird nebulous period prior to moving into the place I have now. But this is so worth it. I'm arranging my things how I was in my space. I'm bringing guys over and it's whatever. (Okay, singular guy, but you know what I mean.) I'm taking myself to and from places and not asking anyone's help. I don't need anyone's help! And that's just the living situation. That's not even counting school. That's not counting the work I've been doing to better myself mentally. I'm really out here doing things for myself.

And like, it's not perfect. The commute from work to home is still fucking killer. Work itself is still awful. I'm really missing my friends right now and that's hurting my spirit. My family... well, that's never particularly great, is it? At least the immediate family. But. But. It's been recently called to my attention that I have a thing of focusing on the bad and not allowing the good to come in. So I'm trying not to do that. In this moment, it's working.

And here we are again. It's been a minute since I've been here. And again, so much has happened. Life never stops happening, does it? If I sound bitter about that... well, it's because I kinda fucking am. Which is super ungrateful, I am fully aware. In the last two months, I got my driver's license, a promotion at work (finally!!!!), and started going back to school. I should be so happy at this point, right?

... right???

Well, surprise, I am not. And it's confusing and demoralizing and humiliating. What is wrong with me? In terms of... I guess my station in life (excuse me while I suddenly turn into a Jane Austen character), I've been doing nothing but advancing. I'm farther than I was a year ago, and where I was a year ago was farther than two years ago, which was further than three years ago, and so on, and so on. This is what I've been fighting more so much since I was a teenager who wanted nothing more than to be independent and out of the chaotic environment I was raised in. Maybe that's part of why I'm so bitter about all this right now. Life hasn't stopped being chaotic. And I mean, does it ever, really? That's just what life kinda is. And the chaos in my life right now is infinitely preferable over what I was dealing with 10 years ago. But... fuck, man, I wanna rest. I want my brain to rest, for once. I want my life to settle down. I'm so fucking over chaos and the anxiety that comes with it.

There's so much I can't stop thinking about, none of it good. (Why don't we ever focus on good things?) Let's try and apply some order to the dumpster fire that is my brain:

- I'm gaining so much weight and while I've never particularly happy with my body, this is the first time I feel uncomfortable in it. I hate dressing in the morning. looking at recent pictures is upsetting. mirrors make me feel like garbage. but you know. still eating like a garbage disposal because the idea of not eating even when I'm only marginally hungry is so anxiety inducing. yay for exposure to multiple food insecure households, I guess

- Dominic. my little brother, who I love so damn much, who I haven't seen or heard from in two years. whose health is slowly deteriorating living in that fucking shithole my parents call a home in South Carolina. I can't do anything to make his situation right right now and it's slowly driving me insane. my ASL class is hands down my favorite class, but it's also so fucking hard to endure. the things we learn about Deaf culture, and the dire importance of having communication accessible to you... I think me and my family did more damage to Dom than his being born premature ever did. and every day I don't get him out of there is another day of damage. and it's my fault. now I hear every one of you saying "Ant, you can't blame yourself, it's your parents" and yeah, I know, but I'm not fucking helping, am I? I always felt some degree of guilt, but ever since I took this class, it's been unbearable. but, this goes so beyond my guilt, which I can't seem to make anyone get? like, who cares what I'm feeling and what my motivations are, there's an innocent, good kid who needs help. no one else is going to.

- my interpersonal communication class can go fuck itself. I mean, that's nothing compared to everything else, but it's worth mentioning, because it's stupid and terrible and stressing me out. my professor is primo hipster White Feminist and I get chastised every time I have an opinion. she makes me feel like a judgmental asshole and... I dunno, maybe I am a judgmental asshole. maybe that's okay? you can't stay in the middle anymore with how the world is, you have to choose a God damn stance. I feel pretty good about my stances. also there's a white boy who wants to tongue kiss the Unibomber and a mother who doesn't want to let her 8 year old daughter play basketball because she's afraid it'll turn her into a lesbian but apparently these are perfectly legitimate stances to have and I. AM. OVER. IT.

- my best friend is in a world of pain right now. and I can only do so much to help. Erin, I know you're gonna read this, so... please don't feel bad. I know I can't fix everything. this is your battle to fight and you're gonna win it. but. I can't help but worry. that's just how I am. and I am pretty worried right now. watching a friend I love so dearly be hurt so bad... it sucks. brains suck and mental illness is stupid and I hate it.

- speaking of, actually. lately, I've been afraid to take my medication. I'm becoming more and more convinced that it's been affecting me negatively and I haven't even noticed until now. my creativity is gone. my sex drive is gone. these are classic signs how did I not put that together? maybe I wanted to be hopeful, I don't know. but I've been neglecting them and I swear, things have been changing. but you know, also in bad ways. my medication gives me a stability, I can't deny that. but I think I'm giving up a lot more than I bargained for and this had been exactly what I was afraid of before I took the plunge and started taking them in the first place. I don't know what to do. not being creative has been killing me slowly, I can't not have that, I can't. but I don't know if I can have one without the other.

- work... work's been weird. it's not the worst thing going on in my life right now, which is really, really weird. but it's still pretty stressful. everyone in my new department keeps expecting me to pick everything up so quickly because of my old department and I'm not, I need time, and I need to ask questions, and I can feel their impatience seeping in and I STARTED TWO WEEKS AGO, LET ME LIVE.

- like everyone in my family is dying? that's a hyperbole, but only a slight one. pop just had his 3rd heart attack, mom is in and out of the hospital basically weekly at this point with her kidneys and dialysis, Dominic is permanently back on oxygen, Nick has hepatitis C and is basically deteriorating (or maybe he's just back on heroin, no one can tell!!!). so many of these people I have poor relationships with and it's just constantly in the back of my head that maybe I should patch things up with them while I still can but patching things up with my parents or Nick basically just opens the door to them taking advantage of me again and shit. it's so fucking complicated.

I need a break. and I can't have one, I do not have the time or the opportunity. so I guess I'll just. be over here. withering.

cool.

I am a functioning adult. I know right, I don't believe it either. But at the end of the day, I am. I live in an apartment. A decent one, even! I am surviving in a major city. I am holding down a job. I maintain strong relationships with my friends. I am making strides to improve my functionality in adult society. I can navigate the public transportation system and find my way in the world. (Maybe that's weird to point out but jfc I know a lot of people who can't so I'm counting it.) I pay bills and feed myself and vote. I'm doing it. I'm being what I've always wanted to be, a grown up who makes my own choices and takes care of my own damn self.

I kind of hate that.

Because when I was kid, dreaming about living in my own space and making my own money and doing whatever I wanted because no one could judge me for it, I never considered the fact that I could also be dealing with rampant depression and anxiety. I mean, I had shades of those even as a kid, but I didn't really know at the time. I thought depression was cutting yourself and I thought anxiety was... you know, actually, I wasn't even aware anxiety was a thing. I assumed that once I was doing all that adult stuff, I'd be happy. I would have found my meaning. And I'm not, and I haven't. I understand part of that is just growing up and realizing that things don't usually play out the way you think they will. But that isn't the whole thing.

There's another part. There's a part where... that became everything to me. Everything. I think somewhere, me the human being got set aside for me the Adult. My depression was at its worst when I dropped out of college, and I was living at home with no income. I felt like a failure and a fucking joke. It was the worst feeling in the world for me. It was consuming. I couldn't fight it, so I learned to live with it. The world won't stop for me, so I figured out ways to keep going, even though I didn't want to, and I had no faith in the idea that my work would actually get me somewhere. I had to try, right? Or else I might as well be dead, and while I'm terrified of failure, the only thing that scares me more is being dead. So I did it anyway. I applied to jobs and went to interviews when I thought it was pointless, and later I went to work even though I was making such a small amount of money that it made no difference. I learned how to not need hope.

I'm really unhappy right now. Not depressed, at least not like I was then. Now there's a new beast sitting on my chest, and it doesn't have a name. It's composed of knives and tightly wound wires, ready to snap at a moment's notice with little to no provocation. It's like a sharp, high violin note is being played right next to my ear, and the note refuses to end. And these feelings, they do not matter, because they do not stop me. I can pull myself out of bed to go to work. I can sleep for around 6 hours a night. I can eat. I can do what I need to function, and for me the Adult, that's what matters. The rest of it is luxury, meant for stronger, smarter people. As long as I can keep fooling people into thinking I'm a functional specimen, than I'm doing what I need to do. Sometimes, I wish I would break. I wish some part of the machine would fall off with a clatter and then, then, I could rebuild from the ground up. But that won't happen. I'm not built to let that happen. I don't know how to fix me the human being.

So it's been a while since I've journalled publically. It's nice to do. Private journalling has developed into me hyperfocusing on one thing where public forces me to do more of a broad take. To take stock, I guess.

Life is... I actually don't know what life is anymore. Ups and downs are coming so rapidly. More ups in the last two years, which I'm grateful for. But I would really, really love to feel... relaxed, for once. But I don't see that coming anytime soon. Specifically, in the next four years.

I am so. Fucking. Scared. My mind can't help but focus on the catatrophic things that could happen with an unstable leader at the helm of the US. I can't even begin to process what I can do, and I have no faith in the thought that I could make a difference anyway. I can barely focus on stuff happening at my country's level for fears of what could happen globally. It's exhausting and I can't sleep.

But in an unexpected turn of events, fear is for once working in my favor, at least a bit. I got my permit, and took my first driving lesson last week. It was terrifying. But not as terrifying as the thought of being stranded with no escape. In related news, working on getting my passport too. I can just... see running become a necessity, and I want to be equipped.

I'm just miserable and afraid right now. For the first time in my life, I am so close to where I've always wanted to be. I'm self sustaining. I have an apartment. I have a steady job. I just need a little more, you know? A little more ability to take care of myself, and then I'm there. I'm so close. And now, any second, it could all be taken away from me.

Also work is still shit and I had to break up with the first girl I ever loved (not so much making deets public on that but don't worry I'm a fucking mess) and 2017 can jump up my ass, in personal terms it's starting much worse than 2016.

I ended up reading a bunch of the old entries on here and. Wow. I really should journal more. Because sometimes, it escapes me how much life has changed in the last few years. Reading entries from four years ago, holy shit, so much has changed. I'm sort of gobsmacked right now.

Like, I was always aware of how much my situation changed. This time two years ago, I was living with my parents minimum wage, part time job. This time last year, I was crashing with a friend and working overnight. Now, I am in an apartment, promoted into a real position at decent hours. It's kind of incredible. ... Actually, putting it in that perspective only makes me realize more everything that I've done. And I'm really lucky. My disadvantages were plenty, but I powered through.

I guess I didn't realize how much I changed emotionally. Two years ago, I wanted to die. I was (mildly) hurting myself. I let my family take advantage of me. I shirked the thoughts of therapy or medication. Last year, some of that got better, but some of it didn't. I'm still not happy with where I am. With who I am. I'm still lost. I still rip myself apart when things go wrong. I still need balance and direction.

But seriously, holy shit, look how far I've come!

Despite my complicated relationship with writing, I've written more in this past year than probably the prior two combined. I've taken multiple stands against my family's manipulations, and I've established to them that I am my own person, with my own life I need to live. I'm taking care of myself! Er... not perfectly, of course. But I'm paying rent and bills and I'm getting myself to and from work everyday (even though I hate it) and there is no arguing that I am an adult. Which I've always wanted to be. I always wanted independence. I always wanted to be able to take care of myself, to not have to rely on anyone to provide for me. And I am. Depression can't take that away. No matter how hard it tries.

I'm just... proud of myself right now. It's a rare feeling these days. And it won't last. I'm never really satisfied with what I've done, there's always more. But for right now, this is enough. I'm doing okay. My friends are with me. I escaped Lawncrest twice now. I'm still in Philly, where I want to be. I've seen shows on Broadway. I'm... free. It's good.

Sidebar: Reading those old entries, and writing this one, I noticed a trend of a big lift in my spirits right around what would be my uncle's birthday. (It's tomorrow. He would've been 50 this year.) It's probably a coincidence, or maybe the date makes me retrospective, but... I dunno. Maybe there's something to it.

I feel good today. Not really sure why. I mean, I'm getting out of the house for the weekend and that's always a good thing. That helps. But right now I just feel... okay. Like I, as a person, am okay.

That feeling has been astonishingly rare over the past few years, particularly these last two.

I think I have to admit I'm facing depression now. I've used the word before to describe my current state, but I never really liked labeling myself with it. I can't have that, right? There are people out there with more reason to be depressed than me. I haven't hurt myself. So I can't be depressed. But that second thing isn't quite true. I mean, I haven't really hurt myself physically, beyond the rare moment of weakness where I'll bang my head against the wall or scratch at my skin until I realize I'm doing something bad and force myself to stop. But like I said, that's rare. I'm more prone to hurting myself mentally. I sometimes think about killing myself. (Don't freak out, I'm not going to. I don't even really want to. But my thoughts get beyond my grasp and scare me.) I'll tell myself awful things. Sometimes about other people, but 99% of the time about myself. I'll say them over and over until I have to believe them. You're worthless. You're unloved. You don't deserve love. You don't deserve anything.

Life hasn't been easy. I've lost two very important members of my family in two years. I've had scares about losing the rest of them multiple times, which is pretty stressful. In the last two months alone, my dad had a heart attack and my aunt had a double embolism. I had to drop out of school, something I don't think I'll ever quite get over. My family's been suffering money problems so dire that losing the house has been a possibility and our food situation is shaky at best. I've been through the exhaustive grind of job hunting, which has only just eased in these last couple months. And even adjusting to the new job is hard, between how long the commute is and the fact that it's overnight. It's been really fucking hard. And I make things worse for myself because every time a bad thing happens, I'll convince myself that it's my fault and I deserve it.

I also create problems that don't exist. I have a really hard time reaching out to people. I've been raised on this idea of self-sufficiency, but the people who taught it to me expect every one who isn't them to go to ridiculous lengths to make their lives easier. So I've learned to push myself far beyond my limit. The idea of not wanting to burden anyone is so ingrained in my bones that every time I think I am (which is just about always), I panic and try to fix the problem. Only the problem isn't there to begin with, so I just make one. There's a lot of that with me, my worrying making me into a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's an awful cycle.

I don't want to blame my parents. Even after everything, I don't want to pin this on them. But... I kind of can't avoid putting a good amount of it on them. A huge amount of the stress in my life comes from the fact that I'm still dependent on them and they can't handle money for shit. I sometimes wonder if they're facing depression too. Even if that's true, that isn't what made them toxic to begin with, it just aggravates their initial desire to be inert. I believe I'm worthless because they treat the task of raising and helping me like it's an almighty chore. They'll put things they want before feeding me sometimes. They'll sigh over-dramatically and bitch when I ask for a favor. They make it clear that I shouldn't go to them for anything. Mom often defends dad by admitting his childish behavior but then adding, "But he'll do the favor. Isn't that enough?" For a very long time, I thought she was right. It took me 24 years to realize that no, it's not, because he nor she have any right to make their children feel like shit for asking them to be parents. Maybe I'd be more inclined to sympathize if they haven't stolen from everyone under the sun, including me. They burn bridges by being completely selfish and then later are surprised when they don't have any friends left. I can't comprehend that they don't understand how awful they are to people. To me.

So yeah, that's been an issue. Then there's other stuff, like my former drug addict brother. The point is, I'm in a really bad place right now. Unfortunately, recognizing my bad thought cycles doesn't make it any easier to break them. This moment I'm having right now of being okay is going to go away. I can only try and hold onto it as long as I can. I know I have to take some blame. I did inherit some laziness from them and there are times when I don't fight the depression as hard as I could. There's a strange kind of comfort that can come from hating yourself and I do give in. I'll look for things to be mad about that are far from a big deal. But I'm gonna try and be better. Slow process probably, but. Better than nothing.

I hope this makes sense. I'm still bad at talking about this. But this is one of the steps I want to take towards being better: talking about it. For a while now, I've only really been confiding in one person. And she's been better to me than I could ever hope for. I really don't know where I'd be without Erin and thinking about that is kinda scary. But that's not fair, not to her and I'm starting to think not to me either. So this is me talking to you. This is me telling you I have a problem, a very big one that sometimes I'm scared I won't beat. If I sent you this, it means I care about you and want to let you in. I'm not trying to frighten you. I'm not going to do anything bad to myself. I just need to face that this is in my life and stop hiding it from people I love.

So. Uh. Yeah. That's me lately. Not to say there hasn't been good stuff! If I sent you this, then you've helped me keep going without realizing it. But yeah. I'm not in a good place. At the very least, for this very second, I'm okay. And I'm going to keep chasing okay until I can reach good.

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