The oddest thing just happened.

But I'll start at the beginning. 

I came home today, a wreck. The feeble foothold I had on a happier me was utterly crushed. There was, of course, no one to blame but myself, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that over the past few days, the triggers I had tucked away inside where I couldn't register them came trickling out and started to get me down. And today the straw that would inevitably brake me was placed gently on my back and shattered me completely.  It hurt so much.

It sounds weird, but in my mind's eye, I could see the pain. Hunched in the middle of my torso there was black mass eating its way through me. What I started doing at that point couldn't even be described as crying. It was more like hyperventilating - not unfamiliar to me, but it was something that hadn't happened in a very long time.  The pain grew so intense, I just didn't want to be living any more. I didn't want to kill myself or anything - I just didn't want to have existed in the first place. I started thinking back to my old methods of coping and thought maybe the pain could be eased (or at the very least, I could be distracted) by branding myself, as it had in my youth. Or better yet, maybe there was a way to dig this darkness out.

But I never got that far because, as I sat shaking with my head in my hands, something simply... snapped. Yes, snapping, that's what it felt like, or as though a switch had been flicked. Abruptly, the image of my agony disappeared and a stillness settled over my body. And I sat for what seemed like ages, staring a speck on a wall as I tried to process what was happening, before it registered: I was empty. There was no pain, there was no self-loathing, there was no sense of hopelessness. 

I felt nothing. 

I sat there for a while, insulating my precarious self with this this blissful nothingness wondering if I should be grateful that my mind took matters into its own hands and simply shut itself down before I did something stupid. Or should I start feeling concerned that what had actually happened was me legitimately loosing my mind? And furthermore, do I care?

I think for now I'll float in this emptiness until I'm capable deciding on any of the above.   

I think I broke something.

I don't know what the fuck is going on any more. That fleeting period of contentment has flown the coop, and I'm left feeling like something just crumbled inside. It's different than just sadness or anger. It's despair, complete and all-encompassing, that's settled on my shoulders and wrapped its self around me, squeezing tight. Or rather, it's like a riptide trying to pull me under. For the longest time, I resisted it, I refused to cave. And then, just like that, what strength I had seemed to snap and everything I was holding back came washing over me. I've been swallowed whole by it, and I feel like I'm drowning.

Can I tell you something? It's sick, but just listen: Despite all the brief moments of true happiness I've had over the last year, even knowing that I wasn't where I was supposed to be, I'd give anything to go back to being blissfully unaware. I would take being simply content rather than this despondency. 

...When did I become such a pussy??

Shrunken Body Syndrome

You ever get that strange feeling like you're too big for your body? It doesn't matter how you stretch or contort, you're just too vast to be contained in this shell. And  I'm not talking metaphorically, I mean you physically can't stand the discomfort. It happens to me every now and again, which only adds to my building frustration. It always dissipates for one reason or another - sometimes all it takes a career change or move, a fling or a trip. More often than not, I'll just settle back into routine and simply forget that anything happened.

I don't know, maybe I am crazy. But I do know that this feeling isn't linked to depression; it isn't marked by the usual hopelessness. All I can do while I search for a solution is try not to explode... god knows it won't be pretty if I do.

One of "those" days

This morning, I was having a bit of a confab with an old friend. I don't know how we got to this, but we started recounting awkward memories. 

"Oh, man - you remember when you biffed it outside of Swig's in from of every one? That was so fucking funny!" Said this old friend. And my first instinct, for virtually  no reason, was to counter with "Not as funny as how bad you're bombing life right now."

This is a clear indication that I should probably stay in bed today, because I've been awake for about 20 minutes and I already know it's going to be "one of those days". But my need to pay bills outweighs my desire to spare humanity my bitchiness. 

Wrong Side of the Bed

The insomnia is starting to have a reverse effect  on my emotional state. Whereas before, I was too tired to feel anything, now I'm going slightly insane.

It's actually quite astonishing to me that my mind, having only been awake for two and a half minutes, has the capability to go over every shitty detail of my life at light speed and render me immobilized. I knew this new-found positivity was precarious at best (at worst, an illusion) yet I am surprised that I'm having a nervous breakdown right now. I'm trying to hang on to that high of last night and focus only on what's going well - and there is lots to be happy about - but my brain has a mind of its own. 

It goes like this:

1. Oh great, I'm "awake". 
2. Have fun working on three hours sleep again, self.
3. Fuck me, I forgot about my job. Way to be over-worked and under-paid.
4. Now I have to get there and smile so I have the semblance of being a pleasant human being.
5. ... even though the office is filled with people I would happily push into traffic.
6. After that ordeal, I get to come home and have a nice evening of solitude in my shoebox apartment.
7. I can then reflect on the joys of being single.
8. I've been over this: just quit the job and get the fuck out of this city for a while.
9. No, can't do that because I have to be respectful of my friends and think of my future.
10. Fuck it then, just hide in bed.

Once I've come full circle, I have two choices: I could have a temper tantrum, but since throwing shit and stomping my feet is unbecoming of an adult, I give into the overwhelming urge to give zero fucks. 

Brain, what are you doing?

I thought we had deal: you were going to remain oblivious to all outside stressors in order for me to maintain what sanity I have left. You dropped the ball, Brain, and I am not impressed. I need you to be on your game so we can get through this shit together. I'm counting on you, ok?

You think we can do this? Good! Hands in: 1 - 2 - 3 - GO TEAM ME!

*cue inspirational music and movie montage of Brain and me winning at Life together*

Dear My Brain,

Further to my earlier post, written at the utterly insane hour of 3:30 am, I'd like to give a big shout-out to you, my sleep deprived homey, for taking initiative and getting started on that emotional shut-down today: 

In all seriousness, Brain, things could have turned extremely sour if I had had the mental faculties to process stressors today. I feel confident that with another night free of slumber, we can persevere through the impending shit show to come. I would like to express my deepest gratitude to you for allowing to me to see the day through with no physical or spiritual harm done. Your hard-won apathy has brought us to 9,308 murder-free days - let's hope for 9,308 more! 

Love, 

~Me

Welcome Back, Insomnia!

I've gone and screwed things up for myself again. Will I ever learn? The answer, of course, is a resounding "Nope, probably not."

The hard-sought happiness I've been building over the last few weeks is swiftly crumbling. Or was it only an illusion in the first place? I don't know, but it feels like everything I was scared of happening is threatening to happen. I'm throwing every tool I have at the impending funk in the hopes of negating it before it happens, but I worry it may not be enough. Maybe my brain is addled by the lack of sleep, but it's telling me that complete shutdown is in order - at least until the threat is over. 

I would seriously consider committing crimes if it meant I could sleep again.

Dick.

Logical Me and Emotion Self are having another discussion:

ES: You know, we could get a good chuck of change if we sold this crap.

LM: What are you on about?

ES: Look - TV, $250. Coffee table and matching TV stand, $100. Tablet, $300. Guitar, $150. Dinning room set, like, $75.

LM: Seriously, the fuck are you talking about? I hope you're not implying...

ES: Hell, yeah, I am! Sell all this material shit and you'll have $875ish.

LM: Yes, but -

ES: And then quit your job. You'll get 13.5 days vacation payed out on top of your pay cheque. Then that's about $3.100. 

LM: Yes, math is nice but - 

ES: Then all you have to do is tell the landlord you're packing up and and leaving. The damage deposit should come back almost in full. So we're up to about $3,800.

LM: And do what exactly? 

ES: Who the fuck cares? Bring your books and clothes and anything important back to mums and go somewhere. Any fucking where. Go to that commune in BC. Go live for a bit in Quebec again. See G-ma and Gil. See the oceans - both of them. Join Aya's circus. Finally go to Shambhala! (It's way cheaper than we expected!)

LM: And when that money runs out I, what? Just find a job for a few weeks? 

ES: Duh.

LM: But my friends. I can't just disappear! 

ES: I'm sure they'd understand. Oooo, or maybe they'll come with you! 

LM: Fat fucking chance my married ladies would go adventuring with me... but you do make a good point.

It's rarely safe when my emotions start making the decisions.

But it's always a lot of fun.

Are we there YET??

I feel kind of useless writing a post when I frankly have nothing I want to discuss. But writing had been helping me, and since I'm on such a good streak, I'll do whatever it takes to stay in this mindset.

In terms of my dilemma with what I should be doing with my life... Well I never thought it would be easy to reach my goal, but I certainly didn't think it was going to be that hard figure out what that goal was in the first place! I've been wracking my brain trying to think of the things I could do that I can enjoy thoroughly, that will make me feel that I am contributing something worthwhile to the world and, of course, pay the bills. It's proving much more difficult than I had thought possible! 

The office is becoming a place more and more frustrating to be. I used to love going into work and dropping (most) of my problems at the door so I could mindlessly immerse myself into my routine. Now, I drag my ass  to my desk and check the clock too often, silently praying that it's 3:30... to find that it's only noon. Being busy used to make my days fly by. Now, I'm still busy but the days feel like eternity.

I find I have to remind myself constantly that I am still (relatively) young and have plenty of time to reorganize my life. This because I'm starting to feel as though every minute I spend in this stagnant state I've unknowingly been in for years is a complete waste of my time. And now that I have this fire inside, this momentum I need to move forward, I worry it won't last and I'll settle back into a state of apathy. 

Humans have a habit of getting comfortable and staying where they feel safe and secure. It's a cycle I've found myself falling into a number of times, just like everybody else on the planet. But I actually thrive on change. I relish the opportunity to do all sorts of strange things not every one would be comfortable with. This is why I have never held a job position for more than three years. It's the reason I want to throw myself into the wide world, experience and learn every thing I can. 

The best I can do to satisfy my needs at the moment is taking small pleasure in long car rides and losing myself in books.

It may be wishful thinking but I must obtain the elusive win!

Oh, Life, you sly bastard

"I've been in dire straits before, but this is crazy. Thank God for modern medicine: if wasn't for the drugs, I'd be having the full-blown panic attack I've been keeping at bay the last three days."

Scratch that. 

That was yesterday. 

Shit's cool now.

Why do I doubt that there are forces - including my own often-forgotten tenacity - helping me get to the end of my journey? One day, I'm going to remember right off the hop that every thing I need will provided to me in time. That way, when I'm struggling financially (because, let's face it, it will keep on happening until I learn to handle my money), emotionally (yay, hormones!) and spiritually (seriously, what is my purpose?),  I'll be able to reflect on how the Universe has never yet let me down, thereby negating stress and dismay before it even happens.

Easier said than done? Not really, I just have to accept what is and deal with it as it comes. After all, things are only as bad as I make them out to be. So if I stop looking at these bumps as problems, they cease to be problems. They simply become another lesson learned on my journey.

Also, it helps to have a mom who, although lacking in affection and other such "mom-skills", always has and continues to take of her kids when they need it. 

I totally knew I wasn't going to have to live off of half a bag of frozen peas until the 15th... 

I can do this, yes? No. Wait... yes.

Ok, some how I managed to get through the day. By some stroke of luck, I didn't lose my job or ruin any relationships. I should feel accomplished for having displayed any strength at all when, frankly, I would have liked to just off myself in order to not have to go through this downward spiral again, right? Wrong. Instead, I just feel embarrassed by what a complete fucking moron I must have looked like today. 

I know, I know - can't help the way I feel, don't beat myself over it, only making things worse, blahblah whatever the fuck. I really am trying to take the tools Elle has given me and use them to beat this funk. But the lack of control over my self feels like a weakness on my part, and I abhor weakness. If I thought I could manage it, I would force myself to get better just prove I could do it (because there's not much I enjoy more than proving someone wrong), but there's no way of knowing how I'm going to feel in two fucking hours, so chances are I'll start and then give up because "it's all so pointless". Or I'll snap out this and forget there's anything to be down about till next time. Who knows? It all depends on what life and my brain throw at me next.

You see what I have to deal with? I'll be fine, amazing even, and one little thing will get me down. If I don't pick myself up right away, other little triggers will start to pile on, like a ball of shit being rolled around by a dung beetle*. Eventually I will start feel so down that I begin to resent myself, and that's where the self-loathing kicks in. Inevitably, something good will happen - like hanging out with a friend, reciting all the lines from nostalgia-inducing 80's movie ("FIGHT THE SADNESS, ARTAX!"), or pissing my pants laughing over an internet meme - that I forget there's anything wrong. And thus we come full circle. 

" I am an educated white female living in the third best rated city in Canada. I have all of my appendages plus (as a bonus) huge tits, manageable hair, great legs and bangin' eyebrows. I am laden with skills both necessary (cooking, sewing, hygiene, shoelace-tying) and inane (butter-churning, mirror-writing, song-memorizing) and I am sponge for random facts. My need to absorb new information constantly means that I am rarely bored. I live all on my own, which I understand is something many people are incapable of doing for various reasons.  I have lots of gadgets on which to read books and listen to music (which are essential to me) and I managed to score all the furniture after my first serious breakup. I have good relationship with my sister and some of the best friends any one could ask for."

So these are the things I need to focus on, although it's exhausting to put that much effort into positive thinking when half of my mind seems to be fighting against it. I'm told that eventually it'll become second nature to look on the bright side automatically, like remembering to put on deodorant every morning. I sure as shit hope so, because I like depression as much as I like B.O..

Which is not at all.

*(I realize that I could have just as easily gone with the snowball analogy, but that's just the kind of day I've been having.)

The Unintentional Masochist (That's Me! *ting*)

What is it with our love/hate relationship with pain and drama? Are we, the unbalanced, in such need of extremes in order to feel anything at all that we find ourselves making obviously poor choices? Or are we so desperate to feel good that we'll risk our precarious hearts for the briefest moment of happiness? We see these choices being presented to us, and still we seem to go out of our way to fuck things up.

Example (in which Logical Me and Emotional Self have another conversation in my head):

Emotional Self: "Oh, this feels good... like, really good! How can I get more of this?"

Logical Me: "Um, we've definitely been here before. Don't you think you should consider all the possible outcomes before something bad happens? Again? There is a huge potential for pain right here."

ES: "Fuck that - I'm having fun! Besides, maybe fifteenth time's the charm!"

LM: "Yeeeeah, I would really take a moment to step back and think here."

ES: "Nah, it's probs all going to work out for the best. LOL, you worry too much! It's all about positive intention, baby!"

LM: "And pain in T minus 4... 3... 2... 1..."

ES: "OWWWWMYGOD! WHY DID YOU LET ME DO THAT?"

And Logical Me just crosses her arms and shakes her head as she tells Emotional Self "I fucking told you so."

On the other hand, I can't help but think that if I take too much time to consider the possible outcomes, I may let great opportunities slip right by. This renders the epiphany I had about going after your desires basically invalid. I might be miserable if I don't go after what I desire, and might likewise be miserable if what I desire doesn't pan out. Hmmm. This is quite a dilemma. A cyclical, maddening dilemma....

But also occurs to me that this dilemma may well be the mysterious and elusive formula I've been seeking so long. The key to becoming a real-live adult (or at least a functioning human being):

I have to be both cautious enough to pick the right desires and brave enough to chase them. I have to get my heart and mind in sync, to work together for the greater good of "Me".

BOOM. Mind blown.

Now, how the fuck do I do it?

Why, body chemistry? WHY??

Puddles of tears collected in my glasses. Drops of running mascara now stain my carpet...

No, it is not my lame attempt at poetry - this legit just happened to me. I made the huge of mistake of watching a heart-wrenching movie tonight because I am evidently an masochist on top of being clinically depressed and (despite all my efforts to overcome the  affliction) I have a set of fucking ovaries that screw me every month. 

I really should have thought a little harder before stumbling upon Seeking a Friend for the End of the World on TV. By the end of it, I was rocking back and forth on my floor blubbering "That's just so fucking beautiful! I remember when some one used to love me!" 

I've had a good run feeling great about being single, you know? Getting to rediscover my self as a solo unit, doing what I want to do rather than what we want to do, not feeling bad about shameless flirting. Besides the overwhelming frustration caused by the lack of sex that has left me feeling pretty "I-want-to-punch-someone-y", it's all very magical and liberating and blah blah blah sisters with no misters unite.

But what about the companionship, always having some one who cares who'll drop everything to be there for you when you need them, and vise versa? What about never being bored and having great sex with your best friend whenever you want it? Waking up next to some you love every morning and seeing them brightens your whole day because you know you get to see them as you fall asleep? I want that again. 

I feel like a little kid with kick-ass toy made of moonbeams and fairy dust, the greatest toy she could have hoped for, and she is having so much fun. But then she sees some one else on the playground with an even more kick-ass toy. It's shiny and new, made of T-Rexs and unicorn farts. She stares agog at this glorious new plaything and thinks to herself "I want thaaaaaat..." as she wipes the drool from her chin.

So the kid in me looks down at her own toy and wonders if she should just keep the one she already has. It's not a bad toy, and after all moonbeams are friggin rad... BUT NOT AS FUCKING RAD AS A T-REX  PLUS UNICORN FARTS! So does she stick to what she's had all along and have the same old fun? Or does she  bribe the other kid with Tamagotchis and Orbitz and take what she wants? Sounds like a fair trade it ask me...

Well that's enough of that metaphore now, I think. On to another amusing conversation with Buddy which, despite the mild blow to my self-confidence, I found pretty damn funny:

 "... so basically the name every ball used in sports is the 'sports name' plus 'ball.'" Buddy told me was we were on a smoke break. (Don't ask how we got to ball talk... I have no idea)

"Yeah, except for Quidditch. None of them are called Quidditch balls," I nerdily pointed out. "Do you beat the Bludger?"

"Oh, I'd say I'm a fair beater," he said roguishly.

"I'd have to say I'm great chaser, if you catch my drift." 

"But how," Buddy asked me in mock innocence, "can you be a 'great' Chaser if you never catch the Snitch?" 

"Ow... I don't think I like that one." 

I chase boys and they constantly elude me, is what my dear friend is (needlessly) trying to remind me. 

Even though he got the players jobs mixed up. Seekers catch the golden snitch and Chasers chase the quaffles... some "nerd" he turned out to be. Seriously. Get your shit together, man.

Back on Track... ish

Pretty amazing what a slumber party can do for your mood. I love my Cuppy-Cake and her Hubby-Boo, and I feel fucking fantastic.

Now, when I feel slightly more alert, I will be sure to write an actual post...

Ok, I am feeling much more alert, and not nearly so high as I was before. This shitty feeling is caused by two things and, on top of being a little crazy, I am apparently also a masochist.

At the risk of sounding really hoakey, I have a serious problem with empathy - meaning that peoples emotions affect me on a very visceral level. It's something I've always been aware of but up until recently I had no idea how negative an impact it could have. Don't get me wrong, having compassion can be an amazing thing. Being able to put yourself in someone else's shoes can lend great perspective. And getting a sense of another's happiness can lift your own spirits. But on the other hand, feeling someone's despair and grief so clearly that you can't tell if it's your own emotions you're feeling can be unbearable.

So when someone I care about very deeply is in pain, it can hit me like a ton of bricks. I know that I can't carry burdens for them, but I wish with all my heart I could.

On a completely different note, I tend to let myself get confused in my feelings towards people. I wish I could say after ten years I've learned a thing or two, but I have had no such luck. And now I'm in a weird place where it kills me to be see a loved one in distress - almost as much as it kills me that I can't be enough for them. It's a helplessness coming in from two sides, and I stand the chance of being completely consumed if I can't be strong.

So, here's an epiphany: it's my turn to be strong for no one but myself. It's time to care about me as much, if not more, than every body else. 

YAY WORK!

Yesterday, I told the roomie that I needed sleep badly - work is crazy at the end of the month, and my paperwork was about to bend me over my desk and screw me. If I didn't get any sleep again, I would be fucked, so please be quiet...

At the time, I was exaggerating. Today, work actually bent me over and screwed me. If it was at all enjoyable, it would have been an orgasmic marathon. But it was not enjoyable. I turned my mountain of paperwork into a fortress of files on my desk to (unsuccessfully) hide behind. I got frazzled fast - I was putting my pens into my coffee mug full of coffee and got all droppy-handsish. At one point, I thought I knew what it must feel like to be autistic. There were six voices around me all going at once and something shiny on my desk distracting me. It all got so overwhelming, I just shook my head crazily and walked away without a word. 

I thought I looked like a spaz, but one of my co-workers came up to me and asked "How do you stay so calm??"

"I'm on meds, " I responded, deadpan.

"Well, so am I, " she said, looking exasperated, "but they're not working like yours."

"I'm actually crying on the inside," I confided.

"Oh, ok - that's better. I knew it wasn't just me."

The kicker is it's still not quite the end of the month, and I have to do it all over again tomorrow.

*(I should clarify that I actually do love my job: the end-of-month madness makes me appreciate the next three weeks so much more.)

**(And wine. Wine is so much better when you work that hard for it.)

How Funks Work (and why I think I may be insane)

There is a pattern to how these bastards work. I can see them coming from a mile away, but I just can't seem to dodge them. It goes a little something like this:

Emotional Self: That thing I wanted to happen... it didn't happen.

Logical Me: Yeah. Well, that's how it goes sometimes.

ES: But why?

LM: You can't always get you want. If we all got what we wanted all the time, the world would be a fucked up place: we'd all be millionaire bombshell hotties with wicked magical powers and unicorns for steeds. Dinosaurs would run rampant... it'd be pandemonium, and it just can't be.

ES: I bet it was me.

LM: Wait, what?

ES: I bet it was me. I bet there's something inherently wrong with me that decided the outcome of this thing I wanted to happen but didn't.

LM: I don't... I don't understand.

ES: Yeah. Like I'm probably not good enough for (insert boy's name, job position, amount of money needed, ect). I fucking suck, therefore my life is crap. I fucking fail at life!

LM: Oh, fuck me! Are we doing this again? REALLY?

It's like I'm a car and inside there is a sane adult and an angst-ridden teenager. Logical Me is trying her best to steer me in direction of sanity, but Emotional Self keeps grabbing at the steering wheel, trying to lead me down the road of funk. And the two of them are arguing the whole time (and if you've ever tried to reason with a child, you know it's pretty damn frustrating) until Logical Me throws her hands up and says "Fuck it. I'm done with this shit." Then we're off to the Town of Self-Loathing and Depression.