Feeling too un-creative for a subject.
Well, it's been a ridiculous amount of time since I've updated this. But oh well. I usually completely forget that I have a LJ at all.
I suppose this is a good of a time as any to really start journaling again. I honestly don't care if people read this or not - it's more about getting my feelings out in words rather than proclaiming my life story to strangers.
In any case. It has been an extraordinarly long week for me. Thanksgiving break was actually alright. I really like the food and family aspect of it. My family is really a lot of fun. We usually end up playing all sorts of fun and/or dorky games while munching on pie or leftovers. I have no idea what other families are like on Thanksgiving, but I'm willing to bet my family is more fun than most. Not to brag or anything.
Alright, well, so I've been dealing with depression for...awhile now. Which makes me kinda giggle as I write this in a LJ...cause don't most people who have LJs also have depression or are bipolar or just screwed up somehow? Yay for conforming.
Anyways. Depression. Honestly, I guess it's been...oh, a year and a half, maybe a bit more. Pretty much since my second semester of college. I didn't really realize I had depression until about a year ago though. Just a little slow on the uptake there.
I've really been thinking about this a lot, and I've come to a pretty solid conclusion as to why I got depressed in the first place. See, in high school, I was a 4.0 student...and I've been that way since my first day of kindergarten. So it turns out I placed most of my self-worth on my academics. Getting anything below a B+ was unacceptable. In my head, the only way I could be a good person was by getting good grades. It didn't really help that I wasn't very involved in many other things. I mean, yes, I did ski team, and softball for awhile, and yeah, I tended to do pretty great in ski team (I was MVP two years in a row on my high school team), but that's it. Many, my life was focused on school. My therapists have asked me what I did in my free time during high school...and I draw a blank. I was either skiing or doing homework.
So then I get to collge. I figure, hey, I'm in the top 10% of my high school, I'm a 4.0 student...college should be a breeze. Apparently not. My first semester, I get an A in biology (yay!), a B in Calc (ok...), a C in physics (eep), and an incomplete in my freshman writing class "What's in a Name" (fuck). The world hasn't ended, but I'm not parading my grades around.
Next semester, I fail physics and calc. Oh crap.
I swear my world came crashing down around me. I couldn't even comprehend what happened. I suppose most students take failing classes fairly badly. "Taking it badly" was an understatement for me. It is so hard to explain what this meant to me. Honestly, failing those classes meant that I failed at life. At being a person. I started to hate myself. I couldn't believe that I could screw up so badly.
So, I decided to push through life forcefully. I would make up both of the classes instantly, over the summer, and that was that. No questions. I managed to barely pass physics that following summer, and wasn't able to take the calc class I failed. I was slightly (very slightly) relieved.
Fall semester 2005 I did so badly I was forced to drop all of my classes.
This was when I realized I truly had something wrong going on in my head. I ended up going to a therapist for a while, who I wasn't especially fond of, and stayed home for awhile, in an attempt to fix my life. I was on a terrible downward spiral, but I tried to brave through it. I tried to smile and assure everyone around me that everything was ok, when it really wasn't.
I hated myself so so so much. I really can't explain it. I failed so many classes now. I convinced myself that I was a terrible person. I told myself over and over that if I didn't make it through college, I would end up flipping hamburgers in McDonalds for the rest of my life. That thought horrified me. People kept telling me how smart I was, and I couldn't believe them anymore. Maybe I was smart once, but now I was an idiot. I was nothing, I was worth nothing, I was totally and completely worthless.
I managed to pull myself through the spring semester 2006, dropping one class. Getting an A in German didn't make me feel better. I knew I would get an A - I took German for four years in high school, if I hadn't gotten an A, that just would have been stupid.
Now, here I am. I spent the beginning of this semester in high hopes, having just switched my major to Comp Sci, thinking I was more suited to it. I fell more and more behind in my classes. I couldn't focus anymore, I could barely get myself to leave my room. I couldn't get to sleep at night, and when I did, I tossed and turned and woke up often. I forgot to eat sometimes, eating about one meal or part of one meal a day. I hid in my room. I stopped going to class. I hated myself even more. I told myself how worthless I was, how I was such a failure, why couldn't I just passing my fucking classes? Why couldn't I focus? What was wrong with me? I did try to get help. I went to a university councelor, who sent me to a pyschiatrist, who put me on meds. I took them for a month with no effect. I continued to isolate myself from the world.
And then Luke broke up with me. I was depending a lot on him for moral support, and I guess it just got to be too much for him. So then I was even more alone.
Then, just a few nights ago, I found out Luke had been on a date with another girl. I wasn't supposed to find this out, but I did, and now I guess I wish I hadn't. It was sort of a last straw. I felt worthless, and then, in my mind, knowing the one person I truly loved already had found someone to replace me just made my world world break. I convinced myself that I wasn't worth anything at that point. I didn't deserve to live anymore.
So I started planning to kill myself. My mind was just racing...coming up with ideas. I wanted a painless death though. None of this wrist slitting or hanging or jumping off a building stuff. I discovered that mixing bleach and Windex makes chlorine fumes...which are toxic and deadly. I pulled the bleach and Windex out of my cupboard, but couldn't get myself to mix it. Honestly, I was more worried that I would hurt my neighbors than I was about my own safety. I didn't want other people getting hurt just because I wanted to die. So then I tried taping my nose and mouth with packaging tape...which didn't work, because I would panic and just rip it off. I decided that I needed to be breathing when I died...so I could go get a helium tank the next day. Helium, if inhaled, causes you to pass out within a few minutes, then the air sacs in your lungs explode and you die instantly, drowning in your own blood. It was at that point where some small part of my brain started thinking rationally again, and I became scared, so I called my aunt. I couldn't get through, so I hung up, and lost that rational part of me, and said fuck it, I'm just gonna go jump off the bridge. As I was opening my door, my aunt called me back, I answered it, and she told me she would come pick me up in a few minutes. I instantly started sobbing and didn't stop for the next hour or so.
My aunt picked me up, and I told her what was going on. It turns out that my aunt is a therapist, so she knew exactly what to do in this kind of situation. She took me to the hospital, where I spent the next half hour being questioned on all sorts of things that I can't really remember right now, as I was sobbing, and not really thinking too clearly. I was put in a room after some gruff woman came and took all of my stuff, including my shoes, and then sat around for awhile with my aunt, alternately sobbing and talking with her. Some people came and went and talked with me, and my aunt informed me that my family was on the way to see me. The hospital psychologist wanted to have me be an inpatient there for awhile, but my parents decided it would be best if I went to the UW hospital instead.
So, after my parents arrived, and after we picked up my fish, we drove back to Madison. I got no sleep that night, but neither did my family. I checked in at UW where they took away some of my stuff and then put me in a nice clean hospital room in the psych ward.
I spent 2 and a half days there. There isn't much to say about my stay. I got to talk to more people about my issues, got put on some different meds, and spent my time in groups, doing things like learning about coping skills or coloring pictures. I felt like I was 5 years old. I was probably the least messed up person there as well. One guy in particular told me about the many methods he has attempted to kill himself. It was like a frickin depression convention. Along with pretty much any other mental disorder you can name.
Now I'm at home. My meds make me tired, dizzy, and shaky, but hopefully I'll get over that. I still don't really love myself...It's really hard. All I can think about is how much depression has screwed up my life. I've lost 2 years of college and a boyfriend because of it. It's a little difficult to feel good about yourself with that on your mind.
But I'm working at it. I really am. I'll be staying home for quite awhile. I'm most likely not going back to the U of M, but I'll probably still go back to college sometime. I hate myself a lot...but if anyone can stop and give me a smile or a hug sometime, that really does help. It really helps to know that there are people out there that care about me, because when I get so into my self hatred, I forget about the people that love me. Just...try to understand that I'm pretty broken right now, but I'm working on putting myself back together.
I look forward to the day when I can love myself again.
I suppose this is a good of a time as any to really start journaling again. I honestly don't care if people read this or not - it's more about getting my feelings out in words rather than proclaiming my life story to strangers.
In any case. It has been an extraordinarly long week for me. Thanksgiving break was actually alright. I really like the food and family aspect of it. My family is really a lot of fun. We usually end up playing all sorts of fun and/or dorky games while munching on pie or leftovers. I have no idea what other families are like on Thanksgiving, but I'm willing to bet my family is more fun than most. Not to brag or anything.
Alright, well, so I've been dealing with depression for...awhile now. Which makes me kinda giggle as I write this in a LJ...cause don't most people who have LJs also have depression or are bipolar or just screwed up somehow? Yay for conforming.
Anyways. Depression. Honestly, I guess it's been...oh, a year and a half, maybe a bit more. Pretty much since my second semester of college. I didn't really realize I had depression until about a year ago though. Just a little slow on the uptake there.
I've really been thinking about this a lot, and I've come to a pretty solid conclusion as to why I got depressed in the first place. See, in high school, I was a 4.0 student...and I've been that way since my first day of kindergarten. So it turns out I placed most of my self-worth on my academics. Getting anything below a B+ was unacceptable. In my head, the only way I could be a good person was by getting good grades. It didn't really help that I wasn't very involved in many other things. I mean, yes, I did ski team, and softball for awhile, and yeah, I tended to do pretty great in ski team (I was MVP two years in a row on my high school team), but that's it. Many, my life was focused on school. My therapists have asked me what I did in my free time during high school...and I draw a blank. I was either skiing or doing homework.
So then I get to collge. I figure, hey, I'm in the top 10% of my high school, I'm a 4.0 student...college should be a breeze. Apparently not. My first semester, I get an A in biology (yay!), a B in Calc (ok...), a C in physics (eep), and an incomplete in my freshman writing class "What's in a Name" (fuck). The world hasn't ended, but I'm not parading my grades around.
Next semester, I fail physics and calc. Oh crap.
I swear my world came crashing down around me. I couldn't even comprehend what happened. I suppose most students take failing classes fairly badly. "Taking it badly" was an understatement for me. It is so hard to explain what this meant to me. Honestly, failing those classes meant that I failed at life. At being a person. I started to hate myself. I couldn't believe that I could screw up so badly.
So, I decided to push through life forcefully. I would make up both of the classes instantly, over the summer, and that was that. No questions. I managed to barely pass physics that following summer, and wasn't able to take the calc class I failed. I was slightly (very slightly) relieved.
Fall semester 2005 I did so badly I was forced to drop all of my classes.
This was when I realized I truly had something wrong going on in my head. I ended up going to a therapist for a while, who I wasn't especially fond of, and stayed home for awhile, in an attempt to fix my life. I was on a terrible downward spiral, but I tried to brave through it. I tried to smile and assure everyone around me that everything was ok, when it really wasn't.
I hated myself so so so much. I really can't explain it. I failed so many classes now. I convinced myself that I was a terrible person. I told myself over and over that if I didn't make it through college, I would end up flipping hamburgers in McDonalds for the rest of my life. That thought horrified me. People kept telling me how smart I was, and I couldn't believe them anymore. Maybe I was smart once, but now I was an idiot. I was nothing, I was worth nothing, I was totally and completely worthless.
I managed to pull myself through the spring semester 2006, dropping one class. Getting an A in German didn't make me feel better. I knew I would get an A - I took German for four years in high school, if I hadn't gotten an A, that just would have been stupid.
Now, here I am. I spent the beginning of this semester in high hopes, having just switched my major to Comp Sci, thinking I was more suited to it. I fell more and more behind in my classes. I couldn't focus anymore, I could barely get myself to leave my room. I couldn't get to sleep at night, and when I did, I tossed and turned and woke up often. I forgot to eat sometimes, eating about one meal or part of one meal a day. I hid in my room. I stopped going to class. I hated myself even more. I told myself how worthless I was, how I was such a failure, why couldn't I just passing my fucking classes? Why couldn't I focus? What was wrong with me? I did try to get help. I went to a university councelor, who sent me to a pyschiatrist, who put me on meds. I took them for a month with no effect. I continued to isolate myself from the world.
And then Luke broke up with me. I was depending a lot on him for moral support, and I guess it just got to be too much for him. So then I was even more alone.
Then, just a few nights ago, I found out Luke had been on a date with another girl. I wasn't supposed to find this out, but I did, and now I guess I wish I hadn't. It was sort of a last straw. I felt worthless, and then, in my mind, knowing the one person I truly loved already had found someone to replace me just made my world world break. I convinced myself that I wasn't worth anything at that point. I didn't deserve to live anymore.
So I started planning to kill myself. My mind was just racing...coming up with ideas. I wanted a painless death though. None of this wrist slitting or hanging or jumping off a building stuff. I discovered that mixing bleach and Windex makes chlorine fumes...which are toxic and deadly. I pulled the bleach and Windex out of my cupboard, but couldn't get myself to mix it. Honestly, I was more worried that I would hurt my neighbors than I was about my own safety. I didn't want other people getting hurt just because I wanted to die. So then I tried taping my nose and mouth with packaging tape...which didn't work, because I would panic and just rip it off. I decided that I needed to be breathing when I died...so I could go get a helium tank the next day. Helium, if inhaled, causes you to pass out within a few minutes, then the air sacs in your lungs explode and you die instantly, drowning in your own blood. It was at that point where some small part of my brain started thinking rationally again, and I became scared, so I called my aunt. I couldn't get through, so I hung up, and lost that rational part of me, and said fuck it, I'm just gonna go jump off the bridge. As I was opening my door, my aunt called me back, I answered it, and she told me she would come pick me up in a few minutes. I instantly started sobbing and didn't stop for the next hour or so.
My aunt picked me up, and I told her what was going on. It turns out that my aunt is a therapist, so she knew exactly what to do in this kind of situation. She took me to the hospital, where I spent the next half hour being questioned on all sorts of things that I can't really remember right now, as I was sobbing, and not really thinking too clearly. I was put in a room after some gruff woman came and took all of my stuff, including my shoes, and then sat around for awhile with my aunt, alternately sobbing and talking with her. Some people came and went and talked with me, and my aunt informed me that my family was on the way to see me. The hospital psychologist wanted to have me be an inpatient there for awhile, but my parents decided it would be best if I went to the UW hospital instead.
So, after my parents arrived, and after we picked up my fish, we drove back to Madison. I got no sleep that night, but neither did my family. I checked in at UW where they took away some of my stuff and then put me in a nice clean hospital room in the psych ward.
I spent 2 and a half days there. There isn't much to say about my stay. I got to talk to more people about my issues, got put on some different meds, and spent my time in groups, doing things like learning about coping skills or coloring pictures. I felt like I was 5 years old. I was probably the least messed up person there as well. One guy in particular told me about the many methods he has attempted to kill himself. It was like a frickin depression convention. Along with pretty much any other mental disorder you can name.
Now I'm at home. My meds make me tired, dizzy, and shaky, but hopefully I'll get over that. I still don't really love myself...It's really hard. All I can think about is how much depression has screwed up my life. I've lost 2 years of college and a boyfriend because of it. It's a little difficult to feel good about yourself with that on your mind.
But I'm working at it. I really am. I'll be staying home for quite awhile. I'm most likely not going back to the U of M, but I'll probably still go back to college sometime. I hate myself a lot...but if anyone can stop and give me a smile or a hug sometime, that really does help. It really helps to know that there are people out there that care about me, because when I get so into my self hatred, I forget about the people that love me. Just...try to understand that I'm pretty broken right now, but I'm working on putting myself back together.
I look forward to the day when I can love myself again.