Just another day

It’s Saturday night, almost midnight. I just started drinking some red wine and am eating chocolate almond cookies which are saturated with sugar and butter. They are delicious! I have been in bed all day. For over 18 hours. It’s a pretty typical Saturday for me. I just tell myself, I can’t cope. I don’t want to deal with life. And sleeping is the way I check out.

I am looking forward to meeting the new psychiatrist on Tuesday. It couldn’t be coming soon enough. The fact that he practises psychotherapy is just so wonderful. I know people can go broke, spending on their mental health care. It has happened to me.

I keep thinking, who is going to want to be with a person like me? Like me! Anhedonia is the term a psychiatrist used to describe me last week. I don’t find joy in the things I used to do. I used to have hobbies and interests and now none of it interests me. Does eating cookies count as a hobby?

After two months of not being able to study, I finally caved and got myself a private tutor for the quantitative (math) section of the exam I’m supposed to be taking. If I don’t do this exam I feel like I’ll be stuck in my non-career forever and that depresses me.

How is it that my roommate, who will soon no longer be my roommate and which I am sad about, has energy to live? She works out at the gym, swims, plays volleyball, now has a boyfriend, hangs out at the beach, goes to church, gets up early on weekends. She only seems to need about 7 hours of sleep a night. Not 18 like me.

I think this is going to be a short post. I am feeling depressed. I have not re-traumatized myself again by reading old journals. All I want to do is to see my therapist. I have waited three long weeks while he took time off. And I’m finally going to see him again, just four more days. I feel as if 50 minutes a week really isn’t enough time, but then again, therapy is challenging and exhausting, and I find myself thankful every time the session is over, even though I don’t like leaving his actual office. His office is calming, and peaceful. It is decorated with earthy tones and sparse and simple. It feels very comforting. When I miss him I look at photos of his office that I’ve taken, or listen to recorded sessions. I don’t tell him that I’m recording them, I just turn on the recorder on my phone. It’s just for me.

My mum asked me today if I would be willing to move into my grandfather’s house if he were to die. It would be to take care of my aunt, who is unable to work or support herself and who has schizoaffective disorder. She has lived with it all of her life. In my grandfather’s trust, he has my mother as the primary successor trustee, and also in charge of her younger sister’s care. It’s a great burden for anyone to take on. We all just want to be taking care of ourselves. Taking on an extra burden is… beyond the scope of what I want to have to deal with. I want to live my own life, have a husband, have my own family. It might be selfish but it’s also normal to have those desires.

I’ve been reaching out on Twitter. There’s a community called SickNotWeak and it’s for mental health. I’ve been talking to people and it has been helping. I want to get my story out there. I want others to know what I go through, and that’s it’s hard. It’s my story and no one else’s. It doesn’t mean that other people don’t have it hard. But I want to make a difference, someday, somehow.

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