Monday, June 26, 2017

The Common Cold, How to Start Over, and Vera

Trigger/Content Warning (TW/CW): the following blog post contains mentions of childhood abuse, sexual assault, rape, and masturbation. Reader discretion is advised.

I can feel it coming. I'm on the precipice of a going into a depressive episode.

Most folks would compare entering into a depressive episode as a dark and rainy thunderstorm looming over the horizon, ready to ruin everybody's parade.

Meanwhile, I compare entering into a depressive episode as a onset of the common cold.

Let's face it; both the common cold and a major depressive episode/period/spell/timeframe have many things in common. 
  • Currently, there are no cures for either the cold or depression. 
  • There are treatments for both ailments. 
  • Moods change dramatically and poorly when one has the sniffles, either from an inflamed sinus cavity or from non-stop crying. 
  • And if a healthy person is around an affected person for an extended period of time, without proper precautions, that healthy person increases their risk of being ill as well. 
  • Neither of them are any fun to deal with, as they both take you of action, whether it be from work, school, social activities, or even daily routines. 
  • And you better believe that when the illness has finally subsided to the point of resuming normal activity, it makes you feel like you won a million dollars (hopefully that meaning to you is extremely happy).
The biggest difference, though, between the common cold and depression is one thing: appearance.

Humans are a visual sort of information processing creatures. Most humans are empathic when they discover someone has a cold, but damnit they become pathetic when they discover someone is depressed. But you don't have to see with your eyes to know when someone is sick with the common cold and when someone is sick with a depressive episode.

So, what's making you sick right now, Vera?

A few things.

One thing that's making me depressed to no avail is that I get my monthly allowance next week. Yay for money, boo for the epic amount of bills I have to tackle. Within 24 hours of receiving my monthly allowance, about 75% of it goes to paying rent, electricity, phone, internet, loans (borrowing, payday, and personal, for example), medical copays, prescriptions, what I owe to doctors and/or hospitals after my insurance pays them a partial amount, monthly bus fare, and credit cards. And that list is not exhaustive.

With whatever I have left over from the monthly allowance, I can buy food, and maybe something nice. Saving money? Pssh, yeah okay. I can try, starting this month, but it isn't going to last long.

For example, my bed frame broke last month (turns out I paid wayyyy to much for that bed frame, based on comparison shopping I did this past weekend). So I have been sleeping on my mattress, placed nicely in the corner on the floor. I would love to buy a decent bed frame that will last me longer than 18 months, but those sumbitches are expensive as fuck.

My first ever speaking engagement coming up, and I want to rock a little bit of jewelry, or at least a necklace. The last necklace began rubbing off its metallic ways onto my neck, so it had to be pitched. I find a cute necklace I want, but again, do I really want to spend money on a necklace for just one event?

*looks at closet* I have pants, shoes, socks, bras, underwear, head gear, and eyeglasses to wear, but not a decent looking shirt or top. I was thinking maybe a sleeveless white blouse and a black blazer to go with my jeans and brown oxfords. If I can't find a decent selection at some plus-size consignment shop, then I'm fucked.

*sigh* And to think that I did this to myself; that it's my own fault that I put myself into a position where I have to go without, makes me even more ill.

Sometimes (and this is the depression speaking; it gets very loud at times), I feel like I don't deserve anything that I currently have in My Happy Place. Sometimes I envision myself just throwing away *everything* (or what's left) that I own; my clothes, my bags, my shoes, my Trapper Keepers, my vital information, my mattress, my towels, my shower curtains, my medicine, my new phone, this laptop - everything that did not come with the apartment when I first started renting it. I just want to chuck it all out, but in small increments so that no one knew what was going on. By the time I would have thrown just about everything out, I would sit on the floor, naked, just staring at the refrigerator and microwave that was supplied by the apartment building, unplugged and doors open. I would also open up the closet doors and the bathroom cabinets. And the bathroom door would be open. The windows would be shut and the blinds would be down completely. Just me and the appliances; in an empty place where I would just "start over".

What does it mean to "start over"? I have been doing that for so many years; forgetting about what I did yesterday so I can focus on doing everything I wanted to do with reckless abandon. And if something would change, then oh my! time to restructure everything to accommodate that change, even if it meant "starting over."

Lately, I haven't been "starting over." I have simply been "living." Not to be afraid of failing, because failing does not make me a bad person. I don't need to have a perfect life, just a happy one. And as much as I have been "living," I still feel like I have done something wrong with this "living", therefore wanting to throw anything associated with that "wrong" feeling.

You can guess as to how unholy fucking expensive this gets to become.

The other thing that have been making me ill has been trying to expand my horizons within the disabled community as a blogger, writer, speaker, and resource. I have been rejected by a couple of organizations, as they are looking for disabled writers with some journalistic approach to their writing. And that's fine. However, it makes me wonder if I have anything of importance to share with anyone.

Do I?

And last but not least, I miss Mr. CML. I know; I went ghost on him a few months back. Seemingly for the better. Except now, I really do miss communicating with him and getting some feedback, advice, or whatever banter. I got over the Shaker Man, which is good, but not Mr. CML. It doesn't help that I still have The Cookie on my arm as a reminder of how far I have come in this life, many thanks to Mr. CML.

Can't you be good to yourself?

With what money?

Who says you need money to feel better?

Well, it would help ease the burden. Besides, I'm not getting what I really need in order to fend off any and all depressive episodes.

And what would that be?

Physical touch. Platonic intimacy (hugs). Having someone tell me, every day in general, or whenever I feel like I am not enough, that they love me.

Don't you do that for yourself? Look in the mirror and give yourself a hug and tell yourself, "I love you"?

I do. It's similar to drinking a sip of water using your own saliva. You can only do it for so long.

After a while, the only thing that will comfort me is the feeling of a blanket placed next to my body, between my legs, and dry hump myself to sleep.

Okay, I really didn't need to know that.

Well, that's what happens when you have been exposed to pornography as a child and having survived both a sexual assault and a rape. You find things that soothe you until you are ready to function once again. And, oh look! It costs no money! The only problem with the blanket soothing is this: it keeps me in bed for most of the day and not out in the world to potentially receive physical touch and platonic intimacy. It's that whole hypersexual thing I deal with. It may read like as if I have an addiction to sex, but I don't. I need comforted more than anything. And until then, just like a cold, I have to let this pass as time sees fit.

I hope you feel better soon, Vera. It's the only thing I can offer you. I'm sorry that I can't reach across the screen to hug you and to say "I love you." Just know that someone does love you and is willing to hug your heart out. They are out there.

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