Like A Soul Breaking

Chris Cornell of Soundgarden, Audioslave, Temple of the Dog, etc. He died yesterday. Committed suicide by hanging himself in a Detroit hotel room. I can't stop crying.

I grieve the loss of such a talented and meaningful musician, I am saddened and surprised at the realization that he was depressed and had been suicidal for a while, and I also can't help but mourn the death of the grunge music that was such a huge part of my teen years. It's just a sad fucking day in general.

Speaking of depression- I am in full-fledged depressed mode right now and have been for months. I (as usual) have no idea what is triggering it, but I have tried everything to make it go away and it's sticking around. The shitty part is that I can't talk about it. Everyone is either sick of hearing about it, or they don't know what to say. And honestly, talking about it doesn't even help anymore. That's something that scares me, if I'm to tell the truth. I've always been able to get past my depression by feeling free to talk about it. But I don't feel free anymore. I feel shushed. I feel shamed for even having feelings of that nature because it's seen these days as "attention seeking" or like I'm being a downer. Knowing this makes me want to keep it all inside because there's no use in letting it out. And keeping it in can be dangerous.

Did Chris Cornell keep it all in? Did he feel like death was his only way to be free of the dark feelings that plagued him? Did he finally give up on talking them away, drinking them away, snorting or shooting them away? Is death the final phase of this kind of depression? Is it inevitable? I look at all the people in history who couldn't fight it, and I wonder...is this my fate too?

"He hurt so bad, like a soul breaking, but he never said nothing to me." - Say Hello To Heaven, Temple of the Dog

Sick To Death

My life is so boring.

There was a time when that's all I wanted- a mundane, predictable, stable life. I grew up with zero stability, 100% chaos. Parties my mother would throw that lasted til dawn the next day (even though I had to try to sleep through it because of school the next day), domestic violence (seeing step-dad choke mom, mom throws the phone to me, I start to call cops, then step-dad comes after me), mom's bipolar bad moods, etc. I dreamed of growing up and living a life more ordinary.

Now I have it. I got what I wanted, albeit through a cruel twist. My health sucks. Because of that, I am stuck here, day in and day out, doing the same thing. Get up, do what chores my body will allow, spend some time online, walk if I am able and the weather is nice, shower, eat, maybe watch some tv, maybe talk to the bf online, then go to bed.

I'm so sick of this.

Lost

The more I contemplate my life, the more lost I am.

Why did these things happen to me? How am I supposed to fix them without resources or help? Am I just going to fall through the cracks? How can I take back control of my life when I am too sick to even be self-sufficient?

Everything I have attempted in life to improve my circumstances has failed. I went to school. Twice. Graduated from one, and they lost my records in a move (incredulously), so there is no proof that I even graduated except for the one slip of paper from the school that announced where the graduation ceremony was to be held. And that doesn't even hold up if you really think about it. Not to mention that school wasn't even accredited, which I had no idea of at the time, and no one cared enough about me to check it out either (like my fucking mother, who should've been looking out for things like this- you know, shit that parents are SUPPOSED TO DO?).

I've worked many jobs- some I wasn't cut out to do (through no fault of my own- I tried and my illnesses made it impossible), and some I absolutely was born to do, but of COURSE, they were yanked out from under me (like the book store I loved working at, that went out of business and left me jobless). My family all deserted me a long time ago, no help there. My "friends" all fucked off, too. People accuse me of "pushing them away", well, hell yes, I'm going to push you out of my life if you are bringing negativity to it!!! You can't keep screwing me over time and time again and then cry and resent me when I finally cut you out! You don't get to be the victim there!!

Then I get sick. Really sick. On top of the illnesses I already had. Fibromyalgia is an ass-kicker, and there's no cure. You can learn to live with it and manage it as best you can, but make no mistake- this illness is CHRONIC and it does what it wants. You may be well enough to go out one day, but then fibro will make you pay for it for the rest of the week. You're its bitch, for sure. And the real kicker? It's invisible and can't be proven with any medical tests, so basically you're walking around in pain all the time but have no way to show people you're legitimately sick and not just lazy or overreacting. So sure, go ahead, fibro, add insult to injury.

The worst part of all of this is that I feel it is making me lose my faith. I'm a Christian, I follow the teachings of Christ (not necessarily the Bible) and I do my best to live in accordance to that. But the shitshow that has been my entire life has caused me to wonder if there even is a point to any of it. Why should I keep praying and being a good person? Who is it helping? Not me, that's for sure. Why should I keep believing, when I am seemingly forgotten by God?

I am so fucking lost.

Solitude

It's 2 o'clock on Thanksgiving Day, and I am alone.

The sky outside my window is oyster gray, and the autumn leaves are pops of orange, gold, and red against it. It is quiet because I have no tv or music playing. It is warm because the oven was used for baking a vanilla creme cake earlier, which sets on my kitchen table now, cooling and waiting for the creme and the chocolate glaze. There is a vegan turkey roasting in the oven now, and when that is done, in will go a sweet potato and an apple- both rubbed in coconut oil and sprinkled with cinnamon. I will then saute some julienne sliced green beans in butter and garlic. This will be my meal on the day of thanks.

I am thankful for quiet, solitary moments like this, when I can relax and be my whole self because no one is watching, no one is judging. No one will comment on my plain black clothing, or my messy hair, or my face that is bare without makeup. No one is here to criticize my cooking or judge me silently when I lounge on the couch reading The Bell Jar with freshly painted toe nails.

I am alone. And when I am alone, I am free.

Back From Hiatus

It's been a while since I blogged. Well, it happens. Sometimes I'll not be in the mood for like 6 months.

I feel darker in mood lately, so the goth side of me is emerging again. Which means naturally, the makeup gets darker, more dramatic, and the clothes are all black. Not everyone agrees that this is a "good look" for me. Do I give a shit? Nope. This is MY life, and I am living it for me. There is very little in my life that I can control right now, but how I dress is one of them, and I am taking full advantage of that. Don't like it? Don't look at me.

My meds haven't done me any favors, so I'm slowly tapering myself off of them. The therapy is shit. I only go because I have to, as per my lawyer. So right now, any "help" I get is inside myself. Which ain't shit. I'm just done with pretending that everything is okay. NOTHING is okay. I'M not okay. It's all FUCKED.

I voted early. It was a fucking madhouse and showed me that my social anxiety has worsened greatly. I could barely breathe, all I wanted to do was RUN out of there. But I made myself do it. For God and Country, as they say. Here's to hoping the country doesn't go to shit after election day.

HATE

I fucking hate myself.

I hate how I look, obviously. Anyone who knows me knows that. I'm too tall for a girl, too fat, and my fat doesn't even go to the right places. You know what places I speak of. My face is asymmetrical, my voice is croaky, I have too much fucking DARK body/facial hair, my head hair is frizzy and falls out like a Golden Retriever's. There is literally nothing I like about my appearance.

Then there is the stuff I've been told about myself over the years by various people, the non-physical stuff: I need to "grow a brain", I'm lazy, I'm stupid, I am boring, too deep, too sensitive, I talk too fucking much, I'm too moody, I have too many issues, I'm overwhelming to be with, I'm too caught up in idealism and dreams, and I am judgmental.

And the stuff I have noticed about myself that no one else has pointed out yet: I feel insecure about blondes and natural redheads. I feel insecure and even somewhat jealous of women who are confident enough to show off their bodies or be flirtatious. I'm staying in a relationship with a man who deserves better than me, therefore ruining his life while he doesn't even realize it. I am a hypocrite about my depression- I advise depressed people about their lives and their illness while I am unable to talk my own self out of my depression. I am a hypocrite when it comes to charity work- I want to help, but because of how much it hurts my heart to see people/animals suffer, I choose not to.

I hate myself. Why does a person who has all the aforementioned issues deserve to live?

Well Screw You Too, Endocrine System.

Only yours truly can bust her butt doing cardio (walking on an incline) and not only NOT lose weight, but instead, end up GAINING 3 pounds!

I'm not giving up. I like exercising, and it makes me feel better, even if it does nothing for my appearance. I like the walks because the scenery is pretty, the street smells like pine and honeysuckle, and I can be alone with my thoughts. I will keep walking, further and further, and I will get my body into the best shape possible. Even if it means I'll stay fat (this part is just really unfortunate).