another day older, and deeper in debt.

[erika]

So two and a half weeks ago, on a Wednesday when I was at work, I came back five minutes late from lunch and thought fuck it.

I was going to get in trouble for it, you see, and the trouble I was going to get in meant that if I was late one more time, or if I took any time off that wasn't vacation (i.e. if I got sick at work)—I would be on a written warning.

I looked at my computer and at my desk and at the walls of my cubicle—none of it really mine—and thought I hate it here. I hate the way this place is killing me.

So I walked out.

And I haven't gone back.

---

I didn't quit; I'm going on disability. A job, any job maybe, but that job particularly was just too stressful. Someone turned the volume on my anxiety up to eleven.

Now that I'm home, I have trouble accomplishing the simplest of tasks. I had trouble doing it at work, too, but it's even more noticeable when you have a fucking panic attack over the idea of doing dishes.*

My therapist says, start a routine, don't beat yourself up, blah blah blah. My psychiatrist says, we may have reached the limits of what my prescription pad can do for you. They say, you'll have to try harder, Erika, you have to get better, Erika.

Tell me how, goddamnit, don't give me endless platitudes, phony phrases linking up into complete and utter clarity, but only until I leave your office.

---

I don't talk to Chance for a day and a half on Friday because he doesn't realize I love Vanilla Coke. I see it on the shelves and I ran over and hugged it and he made fun of me, and I turned it around and ignored him completely.

I drove my mother's car to the bar where an acquintance works, and had a drink and thought and tried to calm down.

It didn't work, but slowly, over the course of the next 24 hours, I came to my senses. Particularly when, on Saturday night, he refused to sleep in the same bed—not out of meanness, just a general sense that I would prefer to be alone.

I wouldn't. So we made up.

---

And I do this over and over again. I walked a balance beam in gymnastics class when I was 7. I wish I'd continued, wish I'd practiced further because now I'm somersaulting, cartwheeling, dancing on a balance beam while juggling balls in the air and I mess up so fucking frequently.

Everyone else seems to do it at ease, like they continued until it was second nature, they took the classes I missed (how to deal with your emotions 101, How not to be a Psycho: 252, Advanced Interpersonal Dynamics: Keeping Friendships: 495). They missed the classes I took: all the way from Basic Distorted Thinking: Yes, Virginia, There Is No God: 101 to How to lose everything without really trying: 346, finally ending with Suicidal Ideation: How You and Your Thoughts Can Destroy What's Left of Your Life! (advanced, postgrad).

Take me back to the shop, get me a different brand of thought.

---

I try anyway. Maybe I'll even get somewhere.

(The most important thing is hope, right? That's what they all tell me. Personally I'd settle for motivation and a million dollars, but that's me.)

*(There weren't even that many dishes!
I don't think it matters, really, to my anxiety
but it was only half a sinkful.)

not to mention when my psychiatrist said
what he said, I wanted to throw something at him
HERE. you take my anxiety, then, you take my chronic depression
give me fucking electroshock therapy, SOMETHING
but don't tell me it's done,
don't tell me medication can't help me anymore
because half the time NOTHING ELSE CAN.

Comments

[viridian.livejournal.com]

I don't have any advice, but it's good to read something from you again.

[miabella.livejournal.com]

this totally resonates with me. i wish you well, and i hope that you can find your way to where you want to be. (i hope the same thing for myself, actually... but first i have to figure out where that is.)

[alchemi.livejournal.com]

During my deepest low of depression, when I could barely get myself out of bed to eat for about three weeks straight (and I love to eat), the thing that was causing me the most anxiety was NOT the critical first year law school courses I was missing, or how my fiancee seemed to always be sick, it was THE FUCKING DISHES I had to wash.

So I feel for you.

[iko.livejournal.com]

*hug*
I used to work at a job like that... then I got made redundant and it was like a weight off my shoulders. I then spent about 6 months trying to find my inspiration again, because it was sucked out of me the three years I worked where I did.

What's bad is that what I do for a living is my hobby in college. I took what I did for fun and made a profit from it. A good profit too. But that job sucked the life force out of me and I no longer loved doing it. I considered a career change, go into teaching or something. ANYTHING.

And for six months, I took the time to find my center again. I did it part time, relaxed, took on new hobbies. Now, four years later, I'm back doing what I love and I really do love it. I vowed never to work at a place that did that again, life is just too short and I'm too good to be subjected to such a dump.

[cleversimon.livejournal.com]

They discontinued Vanilla Coke roundabout these parts. If I saw it on the shelves I wouldn't run up and hug someone, I would start handing out oral sex to passersby.

[erika]

Thank you. It's good to hear that.

[erika]

I think maybe I focus on small things so I don't go crazy, but yeah.

[erika]

I could send you some, but it would have high fructose corn syrup instead of sugar.

wherein the author answers like she is sleep deprived, for lo, she is

[erika]

I know where it is (going to school) I just don't know how to get there... but I'm sorry this entry resonates with you, I wish it didn't resonate with ANYONE.

I think I will find my way. Eventually. I hope. I really believe you will too; somehow it's so much easier to see other people's good sides, y'know?

[juuro.livejournal.com]

One depressing thing about chronic depression is how much bloody work it sometimes is to convince even health care professionals of the need to address the condition.

Then one day you might arrive.

[erika]

The worst part is that they're the ones telling me that I need to have faith in myself, that the voice telling me I'm not going to get better is just my depression and I need to override it...

and then they fucking say shit which boils down to "well, maybe we should stop trying new medication despite the fact that the one you're on DOESN'T ACTUALLY WORK THAT WELL."

It's like they expect me to say, "oh, well, despite the fact that I'm at 50% of what could barely be considered normal function, I'm okay with that! I'll learn to work around it!" instead of saying "treat me more aggressively, damnit!"

[cleversimon.livejournal.com]

I appreciate the offer, but I fear my Canadian constitution wouldn't be up for the blast of concentrated evil.

[erika]

True. True.

Do you drink Coke Zero? They have vanilla coke zero. It's like diet, only without the rinse-your-mouth-out-with-urine aftertaste.

[cleversimon.livejournal.com]

I don't drink Coke Zero. I actually like Diet Coke. I drink it by the fucking gallon.

[erika]

Have you ever had Coke Zero?

[erika]

By which I mean "I will buy you Vanilla Coke Zero if you would like, but if you hate Coke Zero there's not much point."

[cleversimon.livejournal.com]

I don't hate Coke Zero, but I vastly prefer Diet Coke to it.

[elfbabe.livejournal.com]

Hey, remember when I mailed you that Canadian Vanilla Coke? That was neat.

[erika]

Dude, not only do I remember, I have PICTURES.

[erika]

I re-red this because I like the hope in it.