You say I can’t, Mildred, you say I can’t. So that’s what I have to do because you have never been right, not once. You’ve been everything else but right.
So I have missed writing here terribly, but I’ve been so mildly depressed, like low-level, low-key, not thinking about it depressed, that rending my soul here felt…unpleasant. It felt like I should be ashamed for not having done it and been doing it and
My face is terribly broken out. (Lots of terriblies to come, but I don’t mind) I don’t have a reason, it’s been going on for a couple months. I am probably going to die. It means something that I am too unmoored and petrified to ever, ever consult with anyone ever, ever, ever about. But tra la la, we’re going to drink a bit more water and try and stop eating like we have millions of dollars and 30 minutes to taste test every chain restaurant in America. We’re going to try. I make no promises in this uncertain life.
My boyfriend is not my boyfriend except he has not told me this. He has not told me that he is, either. He has just gotten his own depressed and it plays out in ways that make me feel shitty – but even when he asks me if anything he’s doing is bothering me, I say no, so nobody will ever get anything out of this.
I have tried to engage an online therapist, but it’s all by text for an hour on Saturdays and essentially is someone in their office somewhere in the US trying to pull apart a post like this to tell me what’s the trouble. And that means I try to be witty and grandiose about my problems while they ask me if I’ve always been this way, like, ALWAYS? Yes, I say, when
That sounds painful, they say. That sounds hard. And if I can stop for a moment to breathe sans bullshit, I am appreciative, deeply appreciative for someone just to validate that my choices have generated a life that is not a bed of roses. My choices, my circumstances, I live in fear of a boatload of things that wil never come to pass, and some things I bring upon myself because I fear them too much to do anything about them.
She wants me to work on 10 minutes of mindfulness/meditation. I feel constantly so cued-up, so racing (because I live primarily on salt licks) that sitting without thought has seemed as impossible as anything else. Others have suggested getting out and walking. Walking, it’s been told to me, for 30 minutes might replace and anti-depressant. Given that I have no intention of ever getting to where they would give me an anti-depressant, it might be nice to take a walk. It might help. But I say that and all there is inside is the kind of resistance that can topple kings and tyrants. I wish I knew how to get it on my side.