I drift through the days, counting. I count the hours until the next meal, class or nap. I count the days until the next trip to town, the weeks until I am home, the months until I turn twenty-one, the money in my wallet, the crackers left in my room. How much longer until something else happens?
Sometimes one thing that frequently makes me happy will be completely joyless and painfully uninteresting on another day. Which is a hindrance for trying to create a life that allows me to follow my bliss in my work.
These thoughts are dark. The shame is so big that it tries to stop me from talking about the thoughts, which prevents me from processing the pain.
My motivation ebbs and flows. Real dedication to work towards contentment and health comes through on an unpredictable stream. It’s rarely strong and often is barely a trickle, but it is just enough to keep me going.
One thing about trauma in PTSD is that it starts to show itself when you’re safe(r) than before. Our brains are working on overdrive trying to protect us and to handle all the threats and to keep us alive after the earth shattering trauma(s) we lived through. We feel scared because we know how bad…
I’m in Cozumel. It’s my first time here. I’m lying on a towel in my black and white retro high waisted bikini–lathered in sunscreen, of course–already dry from a long swim in the ocean.
Now that I’m here, I really want a drink, but Alejandro won’t let me. I’m so nervous and anxious. Lost. My thoughts are circling, and I can’t stop the spiraling repetitiveness of my obsessions. I’m afraid.
I second guess everything that I choose to do. No matter what it is. Why can’t I chill out and just do something? I’m just trying to understand anxiety.
What I’m here to say is that “feeling depressed” is a different beast than “having depression.” Depression is a diagnosable medical condition and a disorder in the DSM-V. It affects many more aspects of life than just emotional. Some symptoms can severely impact the quality of life for people with it.
My depression is really bad lately. I find everything meaningless. I don’t even feel happy in a quiet bit of nature. I hate having depression.
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112 & 999
112, 999, 110
112, 911, 999, 111, & 000
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