The song says'Killing Me Softly'
The song in my head is 'Killing Me Slowly'.
To those of you who still bother with LJ.
Don't feel obliged to read this because I know. No one wants to know about a person with depression because we are, well, depressing so scroll past to avoid what you don't want to read but I felt a need to put into words somewhere. I think I'm doing this more to get things straight in my head than anything else.
Nearly a year and a half ago I was diagnosed as being/having Attention Differential [AD(D) or Attention Deficit (Disorder) to those who haven't read my then shrink's paper]. It seems I may be Borderline Asperger's as well. My depression is not getting better, my anxieties are getting worse. The meds I take for the depression may be affecting certain bits of my brain that have helped me balloon up to my max weight ever [contributing to my gross state of physical unfitness] and I can't get meds for my AD because my shrink retired and there is a shortage of them here [shrinks] in Canberra so getting a new 'script is not likely for some time. I need to get a bloodtest to confirm the hormonal effects of the anti-depressants but that would mean leaving the house during business hours when I was awake to do so and after not having eaten for 12 hours.
I've managed to all but entirely shut myself off from the world. The internet has always only ever really been a way to keep a tenuous hold at best to the links with people I know but even that is fading. I've never been really comfortable with trying to communicate via email, facecrack or any other social media of their types and what comfort I had with using the phone is long gone. I am not looking after myself at all, partially due to the above and partially due to my living conditions. I stay in my part of the house to avoid encounters with my landlord so my visits to the kitchen tend to be as fleeting as possible not allowing for any time to really cook anything, even if I could be 'bothered' to do so. Not being awake during the day so much limits how often I can do my laundry [only having a clothesline for drying] and I've gotten afraid to do housework because of the allergy agony I will go through if I do, which, of course, just exacerbates things. I rarely shower and my hair only gets washed when I go into the city [and then not everytime] because I can't do it properly myself even with it being short because of my arms which makes being allergic to dander fun because hey, we humans get it too so, yes, I am allergic to myself.
Getting out of the house has become a laugh, even getting out of bed can be a trial somedays. I manage about three times a fortnight to go to the local shops for milk and sundries and have to really force myself in to Civic every three to four weeks to check my PO box and pick-up the stuff I've bought online that I most probably shouldn't have. Then again, if I don't buy stuff for myself... There is no-one else in my life to do nice things for me but me really.
Pathetic much yet? No, I don't 'reach out' for help because I can't. I don't like to impose myself on people at the best of times and I certainly am not going through the 'best' times now nor have I been for sometime. I don't expect I ever will. This is really the closest I'll get to 'reaching out', trying to explain why I'm such a pain to be around. Everyone has their own lives to live, their own problems to solve and no one needs to add me to their burden. My old doc may have been right when she said that I need someone to look after me butt that takes money these days. Always has really. Companions of old were usually paid too but I was born to the level of society that that only just may have been fortunate to have become a companion and would never have had one.
Everything about my life seems to have been too early or too late and living in a shell within a shell within shells hasn't helped, even if some of those shells I couldn't put a name to/had/have no idea what to do about them to break them or at least rub them clear enough to see through. I gave up on hope a long time ago because it was too disappointing for me and now I've given up on having a life that is anymore than just existing because that's all there is left for me now. All I have to look forward to is not waking up one day. I'll reach my half-century mark next year. Both of my great-grandmothers died, naturally, at 93. How many more years must I endure? How many more years must I be a burden on all around me? I'm pretty sure I've past the time when I may have been able to take my own life with any degree of swiftness but I think my sub-conscious has taken over and is killing me slowly.
To those of you who still bother with LJ.
Don't feel obliged to read this because I know. No one wants to know about a person with depression because we are, well, depressing so scroll past to avoid what you don't want to read but I felt a need to put into words somewhere. I think I'm doing this more to get things straight in my head than anything else.
Nearly a year and a half ago I was diagnosed as being/having Attention Differential [AD(D) or Attention Deficit (Disorder) to those who haven't read my then shrink's paper]. It seems I may be Borderline Asperger's as well. My depression is not getting better, my anxieties are getting worse. The meds I take for the depression may be affecting certain bits of my brain that have helped me balloon up to my max weight ever [contributing to my gross state of physical unfitness] and I can't get meds for my AD because my shrink retired and there is a shortage of them here [shrinks] in Canberra so getting a new 'script is not likely for some time. I need to get a bloodtest to confirm the hormonal effects of the anti-depressants but that would mean leaving the house during business hours when I was awake to do so and after not having eaten for 12 hours.
I've managed to all but entirely shut myself off from the world. The internet has always only ever really been a way to keep a tenuous hold at best to the links with people I know but even that is fading. I've never been really comfortable with trying to communicate via email, facecrack or any other social media of their types and what comfort I had with using the phone is long gone. I am not looking after myself at all, partially due to the above and partially due to my living conditions. I stay in my part of the house to avoid encounters with my landlord so my visits to the kitchen tend to be as fleeting as possible not allowing for any time to really cook anything, even if I could be 'bothered' to do so. Not being awake during the day so much limits how often I can do my laundry [only having a clothesline for drying] and I've gotten afraid to do housework because of the allergy agony I will go through if I do, which, of course, just exacerbates things. I rarely shower and my hair only gets washed when I go into the city [and then not everytime] because I can't do it properly myself even with it being short because of my arms which makes being allergic to dander fun because hey, we humans get it too so, yes, I am allergic to myself.
Getting out of the house has become a laugh, even getting out of bed can be a trial somedays. I manage about three times a fortnight to go to the local shops for milk and sundries and have to really force myself in to Civic every three to four weeks to check my PO box and pick-up the stuff I've bought online that I most probably shouldn't have. Then again, if I don't buy stuff for myself... There is no-one else in my life to do nice things for me but me really.
Pathetic much yet? No, I don't 'reach out' for help because I can't. I don't like to impose myself on people at the best of times and I certainly am not going through the 'best' times now nor have I been for sometime. I don't expect I ever will. This is really the closest I'll get to 'reaching out', trying to explain why I'm such a pain to be around. Everyone has their own lives to live, their own problems to solve and no one needs to add me to their burden. My old doc may have been right when she said that I need someone to look after me butt that takes money these days. Always has really. Companions of old were usually paid too but I was born to the level of society that that only just may have been fortunate to have become a companion and would never have had one.
Everything about my life seems to have been too early or too late and living in a shell within a shell within shells hasn't helped, even if some of those shells I couldn't put a name to/had/have no idea what to do about them to break them or at least rub them clear enough to see through. I gave up on hope a long time ago because it was too disappointing for me and now I've given up on having a life that is anymore than just existing because that's all there is left for me now. All I have to look forward to is not waking up one day. I'll reach my half-century mark next year. Both of my great-grandmothers died, naturally, at 93. How many more years must I endure? How many more years must I be a burden on all around me? I'm pretty sure I've past the time when I may have been able to take my own life with any degree of swiftness but I think my sub-conscious has taken over and is killing me slowly.