8/13/07
I read today that people eat because they can't find a way to express themselves. It's one of the causes of emotional eating. So maybe writing will help.
I talked to my parents today and they're having a hard day. My mom's spinal tap went fine but now, half a week later, she's having trouble moving around, hip pain, and achiness. She sounds really tired or out of it. She confused me for my brothers and talked about me in the third person ("I really wish your brother would get his ass in gear, sometimes I think he's paralyzed"). It's the cognitive loss that's the most painful. I don't know how to deal with this anymore, especially from up here. We had some hope recently that some of the drugs for Parkinsons might help her (even if the docs aren't positive that it's Parkinsons) and I thought that might be true but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I'm just not around enough to see it. It's a fucked up thing, the fact that I'm a few hours away living a life that sucks while I should be home, helping them out. I can't imagine they would just leave ME high and dry if something like this happened, and yet that's all I can do for them.
I can't even talk to Brian about it anymore. He's tired of being my support system. I'm getting more and more depressed up here and he's the only one around that I can talk to about it, but it's just not fair for him. We've been talking lately about maybe I should go into a more intensive emotional care unit. Basically, inpatient. My depression is just taking over my life. I'm able to function in the work sphere but everything else is just fucked. So I'm going to consider it. I was originally going to bring my parents into the decision, but since this last call I think it might be too much for them. It sucks because it means my support network is basically Brian, Nicole, and my brothers, and everybody of course has their own stuff going on. I think at this point I need to get a support network of professionals, if I can't have friends in the Princeton area.
I've been trying to get the nursing thing underway, to get a new job, to lose weight. And yet I'm still living with this depression that is extremely comparable to what I faced almost exactly 10 years ago in my first semester in college. And it's really sad to think that after 10 years I'm that same person, but I do feel that way. Is it going to be necessary that every 10 years I just lose it and have to drop everything and get my head back together? I guess worse things could happen. It has made me realize that maybe I'm not meant to live the life that everyone else leads. I look at our neighbors here, a nice attractive rich straight couple with their cute baby and I feel like I can't even make it through a week without wanting to say fuck it, and I begin to feel like maybe more that my life will never be this big successful venture like I had hoped. Maybe I will be someone who has a small life made up of vignettes, rather than trying to be someone with a happy life. I want all the normal things but I just don't think I'm made for them. I was designed, in a fucked up way, for something else. So maybe I need to come to grips with that and stop hating myself for not being what I think I should be. Maybe I need to stop being so responsible for the world and start being responsible to me.
So I'm looking into options for care. And I'm not telling my parents, which for me is a big big deal. I guess maybe I can figure out a plan and THEN tell them. I suck at secrets. And they're my parents, some of my best friends.
As my mantra seems to be now: I don't know.
I talked to my parents today and they're having a hard day. My mom's spinal tap went fine but now, half a week later, she's having trouble moving around, hip pain, and achiness. She sounds really tired or out of it. She confused me for my brothers and talked about me in the third person ("I really wish your brother would get his ass in gear, sometimes I think he's paralyzed"). It's the cognitive loss that's the most painful. I don't know how to deal with this anymore, especially from up here. We had some hope recently that some of the drugs for Parkinsons might help her (even if the docs aren't positive that it's Parkinsons) and I thought that might be true but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I'm just not around enough to see it. It's a fucked up thing, the fact that I'm a few hours away living a life that sucks while I should be home, helping them out. I can't imagine they would just leave ME high and dry if something like this happened, and yet that's all I can do for them.
I can't even talk to Brian about it anymore. He's tired of being my support system. I'm getting more and more depressed up here and he's the only one around that I can talk to about it, but it's just not fair for him. We've been talking lately about maybe I should go into a more intensive emotional care unit. Basically, inpatient. My depression is just taking over my life. I'm able to function in the work sphere but everything else is just fucked. So I'm going to consider it. I was originally going to bring my parents into the decision, but since this last call I think it might be too much for them. It sucks because it means my support network is basically Brian, Nicole, and my brothers, and everybody of course has their own stuff going on. I think at this point I need to get a support network of professionals, if I can't have friends in the Princeton area.
I've been trying to get the nursing thing underway, to get a new job, to lose weight. And yet I'm still living with this depression that is extremely comparable to what I faced almost exactly 10 years ago in my first semester in college. And it's really sad to think that after 10 years I'm that same person, but I do feel that way. Is it going to be necessary that every 10 years I just lose it and have to drop everything and get my head back together? I guess worse things could happen. It has made me realize that maybe I'm not meant to live the life that everyone else leads. I look at our neighbors here, a nice attractive rich straight couple with their cute baby and I feel like I can't even make it through a week without wanting to say fuck it, and I begin to feel like maybe more that my life will never be this big successful venture like I had hoped. Maybe I will be someone who has a small life made up of vignettes, rather than trying to be someone with a happy life. I want all the normal things but I just don't think I'm made for them. I was designed, in a fucked up way, for something else. So maybe I need to come to grips with that and stop hating myself for not being what I think I should be. Maybe I need to stop being so responsible for the world and start being responsible to me.
So I'm looking into options for care. And I'm not telling my parents, which for me is a big big deal. I guess maybe I can figure out a plan and THEN tell them. I suck at secrets. And they're my parents, some of my best friends.
As my mantra seems to be now: I don't know.