I’m really depressed this morning. I’ve been doing better, but today I had a panic attack trying to make myself get ready for work, and then a few sobbing despair fits, and then another oanic attack because my tablet chimed. Nothing mire than that for the second one: just a chime b/c of my reminder to call in refills, but it left me hyperventilating.
I feel completely overwhelmed and helpless by the political situation, the rise in hate crimes; POTUS 45’s proposed budget, the AHCA’s potential impact…. everything. I’ve been indulging in pretty hardcore escapism since our cat passed away, so maybe it was just everything catching up by surprise. Or maybe building up? More police violence, only now it isn’t being reported as widely b/c of the Republican shitshow. More transwomen being attacked, but for some reason the poloticians in power still insist that we are the aggressors; that we are perverts and pedophiles. More laws being passed that make it criminal for us to use a public restroom.
I was always given a narrative of individual action. So even though I kniow that I can only exact chqnge by acting in support of a larger movement, it feels like I’m doing nothing — which makes it feel like nothing is being done, and it will all just keep getting worse. I know that’s not how reality works, but I struggle to hold onto that knowledge when I’m despairing.
i feel like so very little of my life and my actions matter.
I’ve been struggling with ideation of self harm. I haven’t done anything, but this morning — and a few other times in the past few months, but this morning was really bad — I’ve had to struggle to keep my promise to Jae that I won’t actively hurt myself. This morning I couldn’t get the idea of cutting out of my head. Ironically, given MNML, blood freaks me out. I’ve never deliberately cut myself, even when I was actively using self harm as a stress relief. I think that it’s a bad sign that I’ve been thinking about it now. I have therapy on Friday, so I’m going to talk about it, and self harm, and coping mechanisms then. But I’m more thqn a little freaked that I was trying to convince mysekf to get ready for wirk, and part of me responded with: or I could just get that ceramic paring knife we never use and slice up my thighs so I have a real pain to deal with instead of this “I’m depressed” bullshit.
Mind you: I know it isn’t bullshit. Depression and despair spirals are an extremely serious problem that many people suffer with, and that are still delegitimized by ableist narratives. But depression-brain doesn’t tell me the truth when it’s trying to convince me to do things.
Work is becoming this sort of hell on earth for me. It isn’t even the labor itaself, which can get a little meditative in it’s simpke repetitiveness if I just keep my mind from, you know, thinking about anything for the nine hours a day that I’m there.
It’s the rest of it. The corporate culture. All the struggling I’ve had with getting a job title that matches my responcibilities. All the empty cubicles (I’ve now been kept on through tthree bulk layoffs.) The crap policies about pay, raises, and promotion. (I’ve had a manager tell me to my face thqat I’m underpqid, which is why I still have a job when everyone was being laid off and why the layoffs didn’t happen sooner. I’ve also had a manager tell me that my mwrit raise qwas being reduced because I was alrewady earning more than the average for a person in my position.) It’s the exploitation, and the uncaringness, and the certainty that I am contributing to some CEO’s overinflated salary — and the feeling of bei g a cog in an unfeeling, abusive machine. It’s the feeling trapped, b/c we need the insurance. If I fall off insurance now, will I even be eligible to resume treatment for my tumor in the future, or will it be a “pre-existing condition” thanks to TriumpCare? Not to even mention Jae’s medical bills, or my anxiety meds and doctor’s visits (visits I haven’t been making for a while, anyway, so oh well).
I used to at least entertain the idea that I coukld get on the ACA if I ever had the oprotunity to worjk for myself. Now? Looks like writing will never be more than a hobby and I can’t afford to ever be jobless or I’ll lose what nedical treatment I can get, now. (insurance has nevwer been willing to cover my estrogen. I’ve aklways had to remind the pharmacy that I bought into their afforedable medications plan, b/c whenever the prescription needs renewed I’m told it’s on hold b/c the insurance company is contesting it.)
I’m stuck working in a situation I’ve become opposed to on moral grounds, and it is grinding me down. And I still feel mlike I have to write, or sell android apps, or something because this shit job that I’m giving up my happiness for doesn’t pay enough to cover rent, groceries, healthcare and our cat dying. Like: if it weren’t for donations and my girlfriend helping us out, we wouldn’t have been able to even try getting Hiatus Kitty any kind of treatment — we would’ve just had to wait for her to starve to death at home. Even before that, we were going paycheck to paycheck.
I feel like I’m selling my life for health insurance. I’m giving up what energy I have in order to get money for medications so we can keep living a life that’s miserable because all i have energy to do is work that makes me miserable so that I can afford medications to keep living a life thqt makes me miserable… ad nauseum.
I wonder at times if it’s even worth it. If it wqs just me, I might make the call to give it up. If I leave th tumor untreated, I’ll jist be more exhausted for certain — it may not turn into anything life threatening. Or it might. Roll the fucking dice. But it isn’t just me, and if I were that exhausted again I’d just be living life for the sake of living life. Same as now. Hiw is that worth it? At least this way some of the shittiness has a purpose beyond keeping me fed.
but I’m still just…. it’s despair. every day i have to go into work i’m acknowledging that i’ve given up on my dreams and passions, because I won’t have the energy to do anything else with my day, and I’ll be emotionalky shattered by the weekend to the point that Im just trying to pull myself together enough to start the cycke ovwr again on monday — assuming I’m not working the weekend to make up hours because I’ve had a collapse like this and called in, or had to go home for a family emergency, or had to schedule off for another doctor’s apointment.
so thats where i’m at right now. I’ve writen half a chapter since the last one went up. fuck, im crying about that now. i used to wruite so much and niw i can’t even
what is thew fucking point?