It has occurred to me that my life has been pretty quiet recently
There is “tinder-boy-number-one”
Who is leaving flowers and my door and opening doors on dates
There is “tinder-boy-number-two”
Who I haven’t actually met yet but seems nice enough
There is “my-ex-boyfriends-best-friends’-friend”
Who I could never (and still can’t) take seriously when he says he’s serious
And then there’s “EB-games-boy”
Who makes me laugh so much but I worry I’m not going to be the girl friend he has pictured in his mind. Plus lets not forget that he has managed to make an entire shops worth of girls hate me without me even having the pleasure of pissing them off myself. And he is also the only living human being I have ever had romantic interest in to turn me down MORE THAN ONCE. Never mind the fact he managed to make me feel like a big sister baby sitter as well as the most unattractive person to cross this planet in the space of one night and 200 dollars worth of ice hockey ticket.
And then there is just all the problems that come along with my life
But on the plus I have my own cook book
And all of these
How to Paint An Acoustic Guitar (because lets be honest I’m never going to play mine)
Pumpkin Pancakes (16 of these babies is less than 250 calories although after adding cream and syrup that might change but the thought was there….while it lasted)
How To Pack A Jar Salad (because I’m really really really trying to tone up and loose the puppy fat because it’s no longer cute when you’re almost 22)
also has anyone else seen the deep fried tequila shots post?
I lost it.
My mum arrived home *imagine me placing a hypothetical finger gun to my head and pulling the hypothetical finger trigger and my brains hypothetically splattering across the life I had while she was away* does any one else fear their mothers judgement more than look forward to her return?
She frustrates the CRAP out of me.
On the plus she buys me all the glorious gourmet foods I can’t afford
LIKE BLACK RICE
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE????!!???!?!?!?
And I actually made some of these ~ being the Black Rice and Asparagus and the “sticky” black rice pudding which wasn’t quite so sticky and more just coconut flavoured rice. But it looked pretty sexy and if you check out my Insta tacos_nickleface you’ll see all my glorious creations (including this mornings miracle)
I also spent sunday night at the concert of THIS SEXY HUNK OF A MAN with my best friend and “the-guy-I-wish-would-notice-me” (and yes that is another boy) but what this concert made me realised was how far I’ve come and how bad 18 year old drivers are when it comes to aquaplaning and driving in the dark.
Depression is a very difficult thing to explain to people who don’t have it; partly because it’s different for everyone, but also because it describes an absence rather than a sensation. A common misconception is that depression is simply ‘feeling blue all the time’. It’s not, although it often leads to being down more often, and more severely. Williams said it best when he called it the “lower power”, the little voice inside that sees a bottle of Jack Daniels and goes “hey, just a taste”. In 2006, he described it to ABC News: “You’re standing at a precipice and you look down, there’s a voice and it’s a little quiet voice, that goes: ‘Jump’”.
He was right. Depression is not a feeling, of sadness or anything else; it is the sickly white glow of a laptop screen in the middle of the day. It is the hideous, blissful buzzing that fills the brain when hours of relentless scrolling through Facebook posts, Twitter feeds, news articles — something, anything — finally do their job and you slip into a waking trance, a self-administered anaesthetic. It is the telltale reek of a room that has been lived in too long; the hothouse fug of old sweat and unwashed sheets, and plates of food beside the bed. It is the grinning desperation behind the sixth beer. It is a sickly pressure under your ribcage that you can touch with your hands and feel the contours of, like an organ gone bad.
If the condition itself is difficult to describe, the effects are often all too tangible. Nine months ago, when I first walked into a doctor’s office and admitted I have depression, I was a wreck. I had been on a steady downward spiral for about three or four years that, on paper, reads like a mid-life crisis come twenty years too early. I had failed around a year’s worth of university subjects, lost two jobs, and almost gone bankrupt. I would spend weeks at a time not leaving the house and, as far as was possible, my room. I would often go days without changing clothes, or having a shower, or brushing my teeth. I retreated from my parents and my friends, and invented elaborate stories to hide my circumstances from them.” Read more
I think it is incredibly sad that it take a famous actor to die for the world to suddenly reawaken to the damage of depression. People so often glance over the idea, they nod and agree when it’s brought up in a discussion, but people are often reluctant to acknowledge the existence and the impact depression has. I was one of those people, and even when I was spiralling down faster than I knew how to process I refused to accept the thought that I could be depressed.
I made excuses.
I avoided the thoughts and blamed anyone and everyone I could.
I ran away from the oppressive darkness that forever loomed at the back of my mind.
And I lost all of the people in my life.
I failed three semesters of uni.
I cheated on boyfriends.
I didn’t care.
I couldn’t care. I was numb inside. I could see life pass me by, watch the colours fade to greys and let everything rot and decay around me, without really accepting it was happening. It’s been a slowly downwards descending cycle where I’ve dug myself into a hole then scrabbled to stay grasping at the edges. It got to the point where getting out of bed in the morning was more than a struggle it was a genuine quest through a prickly fairytale forest. It’s like when you’re drunk but you don’t want to be drunk but your too drunk to do anything about it and just keep stumbling around and messing things up even though you know you don’t want to be there. It’s destroyed me. And it frustrates me.
I didn’t want to admit to my parents or my friends that I thought I might be depressed I was terrified that they would judge me, shun me, and treat me like I was going to break at the drop of a hat. I let this fear fuel my spiral and when everything came crashing down I tried more than once to let go.
I over dosed.
More than once.
And after every painful reawakening I was glad of the painful breathes I was struggling to pull in.
I’m admitting this here. Because I fear what will happen still if I admit it to those closer to me.
I love them, and I fear telling them will tear them apart.