How Can This Mean Anything to Me…

… if I really don’t feel anything at all?

It’ll be a couple of months before I see my psychiatrist again. I’m wondering if I should make an appointment because as of late I’ve just been having this overwhelming feeling of apathy. I looked up what I was feeling and it seems that I’m struggling with what is called “anhedonia.” Most people think depression is just moping around, feeling like Eeyore, but this is something different. It’s just a complete and total lack of enjoyment.

As I may have mentioned or hinted at in my last post, I have always loved reading, but right now I can’t sit still long enough to read. I used to love going for walks. I’ve mentioned that I can’t drive anymore, but I would still enjoy going for rides to town or taking a trip to a friend’s house. Not anymore. I just want to feel some kind of pleasure. Hell, if I’m being totally honest, masturbation isn’t even fun anymore.

Life has just become banal. I hate waking up. I hate getting online and checking in with friends. I hate going out to try to meet new friends. I used to go to the bar to chit-chat with the bartenders and others, but I don’t want to do that anymore, either. On top of the depression I don’t feel anything but boredom and ennui.

I wake up and step outside and see the world around me and just think “Fuck. There’s absolutely nothing to look forward to today. I’m going to do absolutely nothing except go back inside, maybe eat something, and I’m going right back to bed.” I feel bad for my dogs, honestly. I know they want to go and do and go for a walk and I have to muster up enough energy to take them for their walk. That’s one thing that bothers me the most. I’m unable to take my dogs for their walk so I know they’re getting bored, but they also don’t understand that I’m just not feeling up to it.

I’d let them run loose if I could, but one doesn’t get along with other dogs and I fear she’s going to attack someone’s dog as they are taking it for a walk. I pretty much just walk mine to keep one of them under control so there’s no lawsuit involved. I get awakened by them in the morning and I just think, “Leave me alone. You don’t understand. I don’t want to walk. I don’t want to leave this bed. Just let me sleep until tomorrow, let me sleep until the day after tomorrow and the day after that.”

All I want is sleep. My dreams are more fun than my reality. I had a dream last night that I was flying. That dream was interrupted by the dogs wanting to go out, but it was too dark for me to walk them and I didn’t want to let them roam free because who knows when they would come back? I feel like I’ve posted about this before, but I can’t keep track of anything. I’m having deja vu right now. I guess that happens when every day is exactly the same as the last.

Sometimes showering is a chore. It sounds gross, but I go for a few days without showering and have to muster up enough energy to turn the fucking shower on in the first place. Things that used to make me laugh no longer do: funny movies, stand-up comedians, memes, etc. None of them do me any good and I hate it.

Music doesn’t even hold the same effect as it once did. I’m tired of listening to music. I’ve heard it all before. I have a couple of concerts coming up that I’ll be attending and I’m worried that I’m going to feel this way when the concert date arrives.

Fuck it. I’m going to go smoke pot to escape what I’m feeling (or in this case not feeling) right now.

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Boredom’s Not a Burden Anyone Should Bear

I wake up every day just like everyone else does that hasn’t passed away the night before, but here recently I’ve done nothing but wake up stressed and anxious. I go to bed stressed and anxious. I have had to take my anxiety meds more and more as of late, which I don’t like. I feel like my skin is crawling most days. I feel like crawling out of my skin. I can’t sit still, I toss and turn in bed, trying to find the most comfortable position. When I do find a position that’s comfortable it doesn’t last long. I have to switch from my left side to my right and then I’m on my back once again with my hands over my chest, fingers interlocked. I was told by a friend of mine when we shared a hotel room together one night that I look like a corpse when I sleep. At least the dead sleep soundly.

New Year’s Eve was an enjoyable night for me. I got to spend it with friends I don’t get to see very often. However, I’m unable to stay up as late as I once was. I think I finally crashed on my friends’ couch around two in the morning. I remember the times before when I was able to stay awake, drink, smoke pot, and talk about virtually anything until nearly six in the morning. Two in the morning is late for me now. I find myself going to bed around 8pm or so these days, sometimes even sooner than that. I’m not even tired when I go to bed. I just have nothing else to do.

I have new books to read to keep me busy right now. I am able to get through several pages some days and others I can’t finish a paragraph before that feeling of wanting to break out of my skin happens once more. I don’t want to be dependent on meds, but they’re the only way I’m able to feel some sense of normalcy. I’m stuck between wanting to do something and wanting to do nothing at all.

Why aren’t we able to just sit and be bored? Why can’t I just lie in bed and be happy that there’s nothing to do, nowhere to go, no obligations to meet? It’s hard for me to go out anymore. I just can’t bring myself to be around other people. New Year’s Eve was an exception. I had a great time with my friends, but there was still that part of me beforehand that was wondering if I was going to change my mind and just stay home and ring in the new year in a slumber. I’m wondering if my meds need to be changed again, but my psychiatrist said she doesn’t like to switch or alter meds during the holiday season. Who knows? Maybe if she went against what she likes doing with her patients then I’d be OK right now.

Then again, maybe I’ll never be OK. The suicidal thoughts aren’t as bad as they once were, but they’re still there. They happen mostly at night, but not always. Sometimes during the day since it’s just me here with nothing to occupy my time and the anxiety that hits me out of nowhere that I just want an out. Yet I press on. I think I’ll press on right now by taking a nap.

Fuck. I’ve only been awake for four hours and I’m already wanting a nap and fantasizing even more about tonight when I get to sleep for 10-12 long hours only to repeat the entire routine all over again the next day.

Bullshit 2020

You never want to tell another person you’re feeling suicidal. You don’t know what that person is going to do. They may call emergency services, which I’ve had happen before. I’ve been honest with my psychiatrist and have told her the times I’ve felt suicidal. She understands that that comes with the territory of depression and bipolar disorder. I’m not actively seeking to kill myself. Today I’ve just felt a little off and not myself.

I hate how my moods fluctuate so much. It’s been this way for me for as long as I can remember. Right now I’m lying in bed and just wanting to not feel. I don’t want to be here anymore. This feeling may pass tomorrow, it may continue into next week. My brain’s just all fucked up. I just know that right here and right now that I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to face tomorrow. I don’t know what to do about it, either. I never know what to do about it.

I take that back. I sleep. I sleep as long as I possibly can. I slept for a total of 16 hours today and I’m still tired. I plan on turning in soon and I don’t plan on waking up to do anything tomorrow except let the dogs out when they start whining that they’re ready to go out. I remember when my dog, Denver, who passed away over a year ago now would let me know he was ready for his walk I’d get up with a grunt and go, “OK, boy. Hang on and let me get my shoes on and we’ll go.” Now with the two I have I just let them out the door and let them do whatever because I can’t muster up any energy. It seems like the older I get, the worse things get.

I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to socialize with others. When I agree to socialize with other people on a certain day and that day comes I start to wish and hope for them to cancel whatever plans we have already made.

Eyes closed, unconscious, dead to the world. That’s how I’d like to be right now. Instead I am in bed, typing this shit out, wishing for this life to be over because I’ve seen enough of it and what it has to offer (which isn’t much as far as I’ve been able to see.) Whatever happiness comes my way doesn’t stay for long and slips from my fingers within a short amount of time and it gets tiring. Happiness is such a tease.

People think that the new year is going to bring with it new opportunities, but it never does. It’s the same shit but with a different number attached to it. Bullshit 2019 will turn into Bullshit 2020 which will turn into Bullshit 2021 and so forth and so on. It’s ritualistic if you think about it. We all do the same thing over and over again and think nothing of it, and this is what we’re supposed to be happy about. Why?

Ramblings After My Psychiatrist Visit

I saw my psychiatrist yesterday and laid everything on the table that had been bothering me. I was honest, which I never have been in the past with any psychologist or psychiatrist I’ve had … not fully anyway. I have to fill out a little questionnaire every time I’m sitting in the waiting room as I wait for her to call me into her office. “On a scale of 0 – 3, how are you feeling today?”

“On a scale of 0 – 3, how hard was it getting out of bed for you?”

Things of that nature. Three being the most difficult. I answered three on everything except the suicide question because I know from past experiences that when you’re feeling suicidal, you never want to tell someone you’re feeling suicidal. I wouldn’t even tell any of you I’m feeling suicidal. One day you just won’t hear from me anymore. Deal? Deal.

If you’ve been following my blog then you’ll know things haven’t been going as smoothly as I’d like. I told her this much. She asked what had been going on. I sat back and took a deep breath and was forthright. “I just wake up every day and think that I’m done with this whole thing,” as I motioned with my arms. “This whole life bullshit. I’m done. I’ve had enough. I’m not going to kill myself when I get home. I’m not going to kill myself tomorrow or next week. I’m just done with life and what it has to offer. I’m not impressed. I get the gist. We wake up to do the same thing day in and day out, especially me. Nothing ever changes. Everything stays the same. The only thing that changes for me is what kind of confrontation I’m going to have with my grandmother that day because she doesn’t know what reality is anymore.”

It’s nearly impossible for me to get out of bed most days. I have to drag myself out of bed. The first time I do it is to just take a piss, but then I climb right back in and go back to sleep. All I’m doing is looking for an escape, and I told her that much. I just want out. I don’t know what it is to be happy and I’m not sure if I’ve ever known that. She asked if I could go back and change anything at all what would I have changed to set things on a different course to happiness. “I would have told my parents to use a rubber because I sure as shit didn’t ask to be brought into this world.” I think that’s where the problem starts. Too often we have people bringing in other people who are full of emotional and mental issues that they were born with and that could have been prevented by just not being here in the first place. Now we’re stuck here unless we decide to check ourselves out or someone or something does it for us. At this moment in time I lack the constitution for suicide, but in a few years’ time … who knows?

Anhedonia is a real bitch. I was thinking that was I was walking my dog an hour ago. I miss my old dog Denver. I miss how he’d wake me up, excited and ready to go for walks. I miss everything about that dog. I have a dog now that I ended up with just because I have a soft spot for dogs in general and she was being treated poorly by her owner. She’s the opposite of me. She loves people, but doesn’t like other dogs. I love dogs, but don’t like other people. I can’t introduce her to other dogs and hope they’ll enjoy each other’s company because she wants to be a cunt. I was walking her earlier and just thinking, “I just wish I could get rid of you.” I felt terrible for thinking that, but at times I’d like to take her to a no-kill animal shelter, but then I’d feel like an asshole and I’d feel that way for the rest of my life because I’d just be one more person in that dog’s life that gave up on her. It’s just not the same with her as it was with Denver. I want Denver back, but that’s not going to happen. His ashes are going to continue to sit in the urn in the living room and all I have are memories.

That’s something else people say that doesn’t help ever. “At least you have all those good memories with him.” Those good memories just start to remind me of what a great dog I had and how he’s no longer here anymore. Memories aren’t always a good thing. They’re rarely a good thing because they remind you of a point in your life when things were better and then you shake your head and realize you’re no longer in that moment anymore. It has passed and it’s never coming back, but you have to keep going on without it.

Am I making progress with my therapy? I don’t know. It’s nice to have someone to talk to and I’m glad I was able to get my meds refilled. I’ve been without them for a while now so I’ll get them refilled at some point today and get back to you once they’ve worked their way back into my system. At this point, right here, right now, I just want to be in a coma for a few months. I want complete and total silence and darkness. I don’t want to be conscious or think about anything. I started to ask my doctor to prescribe me some kind of drug – any kind of drug – to just make me feel … nothing.

Things Are Great … Until I Wake Up

I’ve shrunk back into my shell as of late. I don’t want to talk to anyone or go anywhere. I don’t think a lot of people get that. They say they understand, but I don’t believe they do. “I understand. Do you want to talk about it?” isn’t understanding. I just want to be left alone. I haven’t been online or answering texts or anything of the like because I just don’t want to.

The depression has set back in again on top of the stress of looking after my grandmother, which gets worse with each passing day. I have to make sure she’s not wandering outside, which I just caught her trying to do. It’s hard to find time to take a shower because in those few moments that I’m in the shower I don’t know if she’s going to slip out the backdoor and try to go on one of her little adventures to God knows where.

The only solace I seem to get is from sleeping every chance I get. I go to bed earlier and earlier just so I can ignore the world, ignore her. I look forward to her bedtime because it means she’s not going to hurt herself in some shape, form, or fashion. It’s nice when she keeps herself busy by sweeping or something of that nature. She does that for a good 45 minutes to an hour, but once that’s been done she’s looking for something else to get into. I said before that I swore I’d never have children, but taking care of her is just like taking care of one. We’ve even discussed putting locks on the cabinets because she’s been caught twice trying to drink dish detergent.

I see my psychiatrist tomorrow so I suppose I’m going to have to tell her all about how my moods have plummeted since the last visit. I have been without my meds for a few weeks so I don’t know if that has something to do with it, or maybe I just want to feel numb to all of this. I want to sit down and space out and not really be here. I don’t want to be in my head, either. I just want to be far away mentally. Maybe hypnosis would help? I don’t know if I really believe in hypnosis. I just want to be happy, or content at the very least. I don’t want to struggle day-to-day with all of these intrusive thoughts that I have. I don’t want to worry anymore about what tomorrow is going to bring.

I just want to check out. I want to call it quits. I know I can’t, but how I do think about it daily. Like I said, the only solace I get is when I’m sleeping. I remember something a friend of mine said a while back when I asked how he was doing: “Everything was going great until I woke up.” I know how that feels all too well. We laughed at the comment back then, but as the days pass by it’s not so funny to me anymore when it’s my reality.

When you’re torn between not wanting to wake up and not wanting to die, either … what do you do?

Dead Before 40

I don’t know how to describe what I feel. I’ve been told that I write well, but when it comes to writing what I feel and how I react to certain situations I’m not sure how they come across to other people. I’m bipolar. My manic episodes aren’t what you think of as manic. I don’t go on these huge spending sprees or let loose and go crazy. I’m kind of simplistic manic. I’m calm and collected. It’s “hypomania.” I’m not full on manic at all. My sister is full on manic. My dad was full on manic. I don’t get those symptoms. I just feel a little better than usual. My mood is elevated more than normal. I’m not sure how to describe it.

I’m up for doing adventurous things, but nothing too risky. If someone says “Hey, want to climb a mountain today?” Fuck yeah! Let’s do that! I can carry on with my daily life when the hypomania comes along. It’s when the depression comes along that I don’t feel like myself. The depression is what gets to me. I’m just now coming out of a depressive episode which has lasted for about two months now.

I explained my moods to my psychiatrist. I go from feeling normal, which is like getting to the top of the rollercoaster, but then it plummets tremendously and I don’t know what to do with myself. I relate it back to my dog, Denver. Denver was my best friend. I had him for 14 years. He was a puppy when I first got him. I’d take him for walks every single day, twice a day. I enjoyed my walks with him. However long he wanted to walk, that’s how long we walked. I’d let him sniff whatever he wanted and just let him go about his merry way. That was me when I was feeling normal. When my depression crept in I knew things were different. I’d try to pull him back toward the house. I’d get impatient. I wanted him to do his business and let’s get back so I could just go back to bed.

Now that Denver is dead I don’t feel the need to get up for anything anymore. I sleep all day. I look at my phone and see messages from friends and I just have no desire to reply to them. There’s nothing I have to say and nothing they can say that can make things any better. I want life to just stop. I want a pause. I want an end. I want an out. I truly don’t know how to describe what I feel. I think the best way to put it is that I don’t want to feel anything at all. I don’t want to hurt. I don’t want to feel like shit about shit that I can’t control.

I think about things from my past that have been said and done and I ruminate over them and obsess over them, wishing I could take shit back. Do people that I hurt remember that I hurt them? I’ve said some stupid shit in my 32 years on this planet to people. Do people think back on stupid shit I said to them and have a good laugh about it? We all like to think that we don’t care what others think about us, but deep down I think we really do. I know I do and I have no reason to give a shit. Why should I give a fuck what I said to some asshole in kindergarten? I do, though. I give a fuck and I wonder if they think back on what I said and have a good laugh about it.

I like to think there’s an unspoken rule that things that happen or things that are said when we’re drunk don’t get mentioned when we’re all sober the next day. I know that’s not true, though. Friends of mine subtly bring up shit that I said or did years ago when I was hammered and I quickly change the subject. I don’t want to be reminded of what happened back then. It just brings up bad memories that I’d much rather forget.

I think I’ve gone off topic as I tend to do. I just know that I beat myself up when it comes to what I’ve said and done in the past and I wish there was some way I could fix that, but I don’t think that I can. I think that’s why I try so many drugs – legal and otherwise – to try to fix myself. I don’t want to remember a lot of what I’ve said and done in the past. The only solace I find is in the fact that I’m going to be dead before I reach the age of 40 and none of this is going to matter in the slightest.

The Third Day of a Seven-Day Binge

I used to binge drink every day. I’d give myself a day to recover if I overdid it, but as soon as the alcohol left my body I was dumping more back into it. I never let anyone know. Well, that’s not true. I let people know I was drunk because I get chatty (and sometimes mouthy) when I drink. I know some worried, others I kept in the dark such as family. Others seemed to encourage my drinking because let’s face it — some of us really are more fun when we’re drunk. I’m not really fun when I’m stoned, and I’m not aiming to be.

When I’m stoned I’m aiming to be calm and relax. I don’t care to socialize with others when I’m stoned. When I’m drinking it means that I’m required to talk to other people and that just can’t happen unless I imbibe. The fun nights were the nights when I was drinking, popping narcotics, and smoking weed at the same time. I’d do this on webcam with friends from a now-defunct blogging site. We had the best ideas then, but we’d forget those ideas the next day because we were bombed out of our minds the night before.

I can’t say I’ve given up drinking because I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I may very well go to the liquor store and get a bottle of my old friend Jim Beam. I may decide to have a sit down with Jack Daniels since he and I haven’t shot the shit in some time. I’m medicated now so I shouldn’t feel the need to self-medicate, should I? I’m just not wanting to feel anything right now. Memories got brought up earlier and I don’t know how others handle those. I try to get them out of my head in any way that I can.

I guess I can ask my psychiatrist when I see her. I see her in a couple of weeks. I just want memories and certain thoughts to go away. I’ve been doing so well, too. It’s just par for the course, I suppose. You see something that reminds you of something or someone and all those bitter emotions come back. You become distraught all over again. What others see as no big deal I take to heart and over-analyze and interpret every way to Sunday. What could I have done differently? Why didn’t what I do work out? I think I do the right thing and strive to do the right thing, but sometimes the right thing just kicks you in the dick. What do you do when that happens?

It’s also a bitch when you’re left with no answers. You know those scenes you see in the movies where the person is seen standing there alone while the train or car or the other person leaves them stranded and alone? I think that’s the best image I can come up with for what’s going on with me right now. It’s not a specific person or thing. Everything feels like it’s slipping. I’ve also become more and more afraid of things the more I think about them. Why am I rambling? Who gives a shit?

I Think I’m Dumb or Maybe Just Happy

I can’t believe I just quoted Nirvana for a post of mine. I hate Nirvana. They have a handful of decent songs, but I hate how they – especially Cobain – are put on a pedestal. They’re not as great of a band as people make them out to be. I thought the quote fit for what I’m about to discuss, though.

I posted about my Bipolar 2 disorder here if you’d care to freshen up. With that being said, I’ve been feeling better mentally. I haven’t had a suicidal thought in two months, maybe. It may be longer, but who’s counting? The point is that I haven’t felt like killing myself in a couple of months and for many years before this, not a day went by where I didn’t think of some way or another about ending my life. I believe this is an improvement.

The problem is that I think the medications I’m taking are making my brain kind of turn to mush. I feel myself becoming confused. I don’t remember what I’m doing a lot of the time. I’m having trouble forming sentences. I find myself trying to find the right words when before I had an extensive vocabulary, albeit sometimes that would get sprinkled with my fair amount of profanities.

I’m happy, but I feel that my brain has been kind of jostled around. I’ve retreated inside myself more and don’t hold conversations with people very well anymore. I’ve always been an introvert, but I find myself unable to communicate with people when I want to these days. I drift off into my own thoughts, focus on things besides the topic at hand. I just get bored and fade mentally speaking. I had a conversation with my mom about it, and she recommended telling my psychiatrist about it. She asked if it concerned me. I thought about it, and it did at first thought. The more I thought about it, the less it bothered me, though.

When I really think about it, dig deep and really think, I’ve decided that I’d rather be dumb and happy than smart and depressed. I’ve been depressed for so long. I think it’s time to give happiness a try even if that means risking some brain cells.

“I’ll take a nice idiot over a smart asshole any day of the week.” -Jim Jeffries