Holiday summary

Christmas eve went surprisingly well. Judging by the day before, I was too afraid to even think about how it would be. That day was a complete disaster, as every part of the family was upset with someone else. I even cried uncontrollably, like weeps, which I don't do unless I feel I'm at a place where nothing can make things right again. It's funny, though, that my family, who can cause me such anguish, are also the ones who make me feel like everything is right again, if only for a while. I love that about them.

The days after have not been that great. There were two family parties I didn't attend, even though my dad was hosting them. I just can't handle people right now. I feel like a failure, and I can't go through more questions about school and my life. It hurts too much. I just don't want them to look at me. The last party I felt really bad about, and I sent my dad a text early morning asking whether he hated me. I know he'll always say he loves me, but I can't understand that. When I think about myself, all I feel is hate.

Right now I'm faced with a dilemma. I've been "invited" to a party on new years eve(today), but I don't know if I should go. It's something I've wanted to do, but not in this...state. Technically, I don't think it's an invitation if it's not the person hosting inviting you, but they couldn't kick me out. They just never think to invite me. But the thing is, I don't know whether I can go out. I always feel so miserable afterwards. I truly don't know if I can handle another period of serious depression. I need to hold on to some kind of happiness, however small and temporary it may be. Is it better to start the new year feeling miserable or nothing at all?

Shit, and then there's my birthday...

Low point

I realize I haven't written anything for a while. To be honest, I just haven't felt much since last time. I feel numb. This is because I haven't done anything. If I don't go out and meet my fears, I don't have to be sad. I don't have to be anything. When I go out, I am a failure. I haven't succeeded in anything, and life is passing me by. I won't be able to go back to school with my absence, and really, what's the use of even trying again? It's too fucking depressing trying to finish my second year for the third time.

I don't see my body when I'm alone. It doesn't exist. I don't acknowledge it. If I lived alone, I probably wouldn't even shower. When I am faced with it, I feel horrible. But it is what it is because I ignore it like I ignore all my problems.

Where is my life going? I am heading straight to the grave. I joke to my parents that I'll probably never move out on my own, but be institutionalized instead. The joke is the closest to the truth I've gotten with my parents.

I had a meeting with a pscyhologist last tuesday. She seemed worried. She makes me promise I'll contact her if I feel like I might do something, but the truth is, I probably won't. She also makes me fill out something called BDI, or Beck Depression Inventory. I think I scored a 34, which I guess is a personal record. People always ask what's happened that makes me worse than I was before. Nothing happened, I was just in a situation where I couldn't suppress my life.

I feel like I should call someone right now. I'd like to call my dad, but it's the middle of the night and it's so close to christmas. I don't want to ruin the one time of the year when my parents are in the same room for more than one hour. My dad's been through so much, why do I have to break his heart? So I'll stay quiet. I owe him that.

Unfortunate

I came very close to doing something...terminal last night. It wasn't because of the party itself, or my friends. Nothing has changed, I've just been reminded of the things I try so hard to suppress. It takes me a few days to recuperate.

Watching my friends' love lives flourish feels like a knife in the side. Of course I'm happy for them, but I feel like such a failure. And yes, I'm jealous. They've bared their souls and found someone who likes what they see. Personally, I haven't shown anyone the real me, because I don't think anyone could ever love me. So instead I disguise myself with stupid incessant joking. But now, not even do they not know me, I don't know me.

Truth

I feel like a clown. I thought I could pretend to be like them. Wrong. I was sad at the start of the night, and then again at the end. Who am I trying to kid? I try so hard to be carefree, I get burnt out. After all that pretending, he still wants her. And I still sit alone.
I never want to slash the knife more than when I've just seen all I can't have.

Oh, and I broke a beer bottle on my one good pair of shoes.

Mama do

Somehow my mother is simultaneously painfully festive and dreadfully depressing. Seasonal change means it's time for the traditional changing of curtains. From white to red, then purple, yellow, and then back to white. Whenever she does anything domestic, I try to stay away. It's too depressing watching her dust the same spot every week. Like I needed a reminder that everything is hopeless and there is no point of doing anything, because it won't last.

I tried talking with her. Since I am essentially a broken person, I rely on my parents for satisfying my social needs. If I want to see a movie? My dad. Need someone to talk to? Dad. But unfortunately he doesn't live with us, and he is less than welcome. It's actually really sad watching my mom hide in the washing room the few times he comes over.

This means that when I feel the need to share something, she is the natural choice. Why do I forget every time how much I end up regretting it? Usually that happens when she uses vulnerable information to mock/nag me. Or when I try to share something real, as I would have with my dad, were he there. It's hard to explain what she does, but I always feel betrayed.

Yes, I realize I make cynical remarks about a lot of things. That's just my humor, and incidentally, my sister's, too. We like being snarky, that's just what we do. In fact, that's the only time I really talk to my sister. We've had a serious conversation maybe three or four times, and we still didn't talk all that much. But this is who we are. We're damaged.

My mother, on the other hand, likes everything to be correct and cozy. She only likes humor no one could ever find offensive, and she would rather do small talk than have real conversations. But really, one can only talk about knitting quilts for so long. Or, that's what I thought. She's very good at the kind of conversations where I can't pay attention if I try, and there is nothing I can think of saying, so I only nod or say yes or no a couple of times. Really, before my parents split and I went to his family's gatherings without her, I had barely talked to any of my relatives. Really talk.

So, I am once again sitting at the table, asking what she thinks are unnecessary questions. "If you had to choose between being brilliant or being happy, what would you choose?" - Okay, that one was kind of stupid, since I already knew the answer. As I dream of making a difference, making a mark, she doesn't want to be seen at all. Literally, she even refuses to pose for pictures. "If you know what you know now, would you still have married dad?" - No answer, only objections. "Are you happy?" - This is a question my mother does not understand. When I was a kid and complained about being bored, she would say I had to get used to it, because "that's life". No wonder I get depressed.

But now she tells me that my talk makes her depressed. That she has gotten over her "depression period", but I'm making her feel worse. Nothing like ruining your parents' lives. Really, she tells me to expect a boring life, and I'm depressing her? That's almost insulting.

If my mother saw this, she would be horrified. Not of what I just wrote, but that other people might see it. This is what I'm working with, people.