i will be busy today. so leave me alone.
- laundry [now]
- interview/400 words for sidelines [due noon sunday.]
- study for logic exam [10.15am monday]
- study for psych exam [12.25pm monday]
- write history essay [3pm monday]
- study for stagecraft exam [9.30am tuesday]
- read my sister in this house and write first draft of essay for women who kill [2pm tuesday]
- finish FAFSA [asap]
- clean room [asap]
- collapse [asap]
- other assorted committments
i don't feel sad today. just empty. which is really not necessarily much better. almost scarier. cos it's almost that peaceful giving-up feeling, you know? it makes me nervous. it's how i would feel if i had actually made any plans. which [swear to god] i haven't. so maybe things will get better from here? maybe it's a calm before the storm, maybe it's the eye of the storm, maybe it's just a reprieve and maybe it's over.
my mother and i agree that if anything, the concerta is helping the effects of the depression. but i have things to do. and although i have no motivation, i'm going to avoid people today and get this done. i'm planning to hole up in the laundry room for the next three hours, where i can study in silence and solitude. at this moment, i feel that this is a good idea.
why am i always so adamant about being independent? most of the 20-odd ADHD books i've read say that this is standard for ADD people. we're so dependent on others [we're unable to take care of ourselves as well as most people] that when we can overcome this, it's an enormous victory. so it's a crushing blow whenever i find that i can't.
i'm excited about writing this story for the paper. it's about next week's 75th anniversary celebration at Homer Pittard Campus School across the street from the college. i love when i get to write interesting pieces. the only problems are that a) i've still been procrastinating, and i'll be finishing this too close to the deadline to feel comfortable. as usual. b) i'm not going to get an interview, unless the principal or Someone Important is in the building today (which is actually pretty likely, as the kickoff to their big celebration is monday), so it'll be harder (and less fun) to write. quotes make a story 10x better and more interesting. and i'm damned good w/ quotes, too, heh. (*arrogance*) oh, and c) being able to choose fun stories like this [and the one on mars, the HIV-related-research one, the water-recycling program story, and the others that i did last semester] will make it all the harder for me to adjust to being a real newspaper reporter, if i ever do end up there. i'd much much much rather write for magazines. queer ones- the advocate in particular. but i don't see how it's feasible. not that i won't try. i have this application for the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force Messenger-Anderson Journalism Internship/Scholarship Program [Scholarships of up to $10,000 to Be Awarded to Journalism Students] sitting right here next to me. i have less than two weeks to decide. i can go ahead and submit the application now, since i haven't changed my major from journalism to english. then maybe i can change it before next semester and no one will notice. heh. damn, if i'd actually gotten on the ball and taken that (unpaid) freelance position at Out and About Nashville [miz snodgrass' friend curtis (the one who interviewed me and scott for the paper, although that article never ran) left for military duty, and there was discussion of me doing a column as an openly queer student], then i'd be a lot more likely to be considered for this. and if i'd taken that (unpaid but nonetheless amazing) internship at Nashville Parent instead of choosing $7.50/hour working at the public library. or if i'd taken up nicole garton [the chick who did the Day of Silence story in The Tennessean- she was awesome, despite the fact that she misquoted me when i made it clear that she was not to use any quotes that implied that i had any sexuality one way or the other (i told her, "my sexual orientation, and that of any of the participants in this protest, is not the focus of this event. this is about activism, protest, and freedom." and she knew that i was not to be outed.) oops.]'s offer to give me a student editorial/reporter position in the Local section of the paper. but i turned it down.
i still don't know how serious i am, or ever will be, about journalism. i'm so good at it. it comes so naturally to me. but i hate it. it's total prostitution of creativity. i whore my words to an editor, just to sell ad space in a newspaper. yes, there's the fun of it- it's like a puzzle, to figure out the best way in which to report a story. it's like a game that i can get paid for. but if i have to write for a newspaper as a career, it will stifle me. kill me. but if i end up as a high school teacher, would that be any better? either way, i'd get paid shit. i think i could enjoy teaching. that's why i'm heading in that direction. i know i have the passion. it's what i want to do. but i know i'll end up so bitter and cynical, in dealing w/ the administration... etc...
it's bizarre. my mother finally cares about me. she tells me every single time that she calls that she loves me. and i still cannot say it in return. i don't know why. it just won't come. the night that i went home for xmas, i went into her room, crying, and thanked her for doing that. told her that i'm sorry that i don't seem to appreciate it, but i do. that it really means a lot to me. and it does. my mother and i have always been close. she told me once, the summer before i moved here, that i'm really her only "peer" that she has left to talk to. maybe she didn't want to say it, but we all know that she really has no friends. as much as we've fought over crazy stuff, i've been her only friend for the past several years. she continued to treat me like a child, even when i was seventeen, eighteen and mature enough for more independence than she allowed me. it was not until maybe thanksgiving that she began to treat me more like an adult. an equal. i will never claim that i am my mother's equal. but i will claim that i am not a child anymore. she finally treats me with respect. and i can finally see that she loves me. she listens to me now. the things that she says and does that really prove this to me may not seem that big of a deal to others. but just the way she reacted when i (finally) told her that i'd had sex- we were able to discuss it in an adult manner, as opposed to her trying to be a mother telling the daughter what to do and what not to do. it's almost scary, that my mother wants to be friends now, heh. "oh, good! now i can talk about my sex life!" i do feel sorry, though. she really doesn't have anyone else to talk to.
but what's of more interest is her reaction to me being depressed this time. i remember the first time i told her that i thought i was depressed and needed help- i was twelve (go figure- heh.) and she didn't listen. the next year, someone at the school told her that i needed counseling. so we tried that. my mother didn't think it helped and angrily pulled me out, right after i was prescribed paxil (i think. it was 7thgrade and those days are fuzzy). never got the prescription filled. it wasn't discussed again. a few times over the next couple of years i was so depressed that i told her i thought i needed treatment. [i never told her how bad it was, and always insinuated that i was fine, just a little upset. heh. and those were the times when i tried to kill myself.] but she never seemed to take me seriously. there was always an excuse- "your pediatrician has to refer you somewhere, and we have to find someone who takes tenncare." or "you have to make the calls yourself" [which i had no idea how to do at fourteen, y'know? and ofcourse, there's my mortal terror of cold-calling anyone that i don't know extremely well.] and so on. the next time it was actually seriously discussed was when i was fifteen and the art teacher at hume-fogg conferred w/ other teachers there who had noticed cuts on my arms and wrists, and so she had a conference w/ my mother or something. this coincided w/ me coming out to the church youth minister [my church-of-christ youthgroup was a big part of my life for so many years, and i was scared they'd kick me out for good], and so my mother decided (w/ pressure from the school again) that counseling might not be a bad idea. her excuse for it was "you need to talk to someone about being gay, and i can't answer your questions, so you can talk to them." which made no sense whatsoever. i didn't utilise this opportunity and was never very forthcoming w/ the therapist, so that went nowhere.
she continued to not take me seriously. i was not half as important as her own depression, or even my father's. maybe she didn't believe me. maybe she was in denial. she tells me now that she always took me seriously, but that it never seemed that serious to her. which may be true. she had no idea how bad it ever got. i lied about that to her. i was so prideful about taking care of myself that i didn't want to be weak and ask for help. i've always been that way w/ everything. i hardly ever ask for help w/ anything. but yeh, it got better pretty much on its own. it was an underlying depressed feeling that was there every hour of every day, for a solid block of my life from age eleven, and finally dissipated maybe the spring of 11th grade. then, it wasn't there all the time. it just resurfaced for a few weeks at a time, every now and then. before, it was always in the back of my mind, even when i was happy for a while. it was still there, underneath. and it would drop down and attack me, then slip back into the shadows. but two years ago, it got better. i had switched schools, made an enormous change in my life, and i felt different. there were bad times, yes. but overall, it was better. it wasn't there all the time. and that's what mattered. i still had my little wristslitting incident that spring, but after that, it just got better. i stopped cutting myself and generally stopped feeling suicidal. the fall of 12thgrade, i thought i was heading for a nervous breakdown, w/ all the college stuff and worries abt. graduating. we were abt. to get evicted and granny was sick, etc.... but it still wasn't as bad at it had been before. i was fine. and the spring of 12th, it was all perfectly fine. i was happier than i'd been since i was a little kid. that's lasted pretty much until this winter. i was stressed last semester, yes, but i wasn't depressed. not like i had been before. not like this. and yes, i noticed at the beginning of december- before any of this mess w/ sarah- that something wasn't right w/ me. so don't you dare tell me, "oh, you're depressed over that?? she's not worth it! stop whining!" hell no. it's a combination of things.
more than anything, i'm furious that i'm this weak. that i can't handle it alone again. i'm mad that it's happening again. i thought i was strong enough to handle it on my own. like before. but i can't. i'm not. so i'm so angry at myself because i'm weak. it's stupid, i know. but still. i've prided myself on my strength for so long. and now i'm scared. it's been two years. i've forgotten how it feels. how to deal w/ this.
but this time, my mother cares. we've talked about things now. i told her the truth over thanksgiving and xmas. that i'd tried to kill myself when i was younger. that i'd always felt she didn't care. apparently she always felt that it wasn't as serious as it was. heh. i can be so good at covering things up when i want to. and she did have a lot to deal with. also, she has very little faith in antidepressants and/or therapy. she and my father have pretty much tried everything there is. and she's told me so many horror stories... told me that nothing works. that nothing is worth the side effects. that's part of what scared me off medications, period. cos i've been hearing this stuff since i was little. but she's supporting me now. and she thinks that i really should try medication now. as always, i'm skeptical. she's worried, though. it's a good feeling to know that. my sister keeps IMing me, saying "Mom is worred abot u" and my mother keeps calling, asking how i am... i keep having to cover things up and gloss them over, cos i'm sick of being accused of "doing it for attention." on one hand, yes, it feels good to have my mother's attention, finally. but on the other hand... i just want to sink into a hold and have people stop paying me any attention. "leave me alone so i can be sad by myself but if yr gonna bother me than atleast gimme a fuckin' hug."
today feels like a sunday. cos yesterday, i did nothing. cute. i gave myself a 3day weekend.
it always amuses me when two people sign on at the same time. "hmmn... maybe they are the same person?"
i used to just read my friendspage. and skip those whose posts did not interest me. but now i actually read people's journals.
i'm unraveling. yet i think i'll be ok. in time. maybe.
i'm so stubborn. "no! i'm gonna fix myself! go 'way!"
off to make my clothes clean.