I Can’t Do This Alone Anymore

I was on a bus going from Washington, DC to home last night. This past weekend should have been amazing, and for the most part it was. I saw friends, I saw family, I saw monuments and national cemeteries, I even got to see the inside of the Pentagon. It was everything I could have dreamed of for a trip to DC (except the Jefferson Memorial, that thing is the bane of my existence right about now!). But one thing I didn’t count on was thinking about a guy all weekend. Or having an existential crisis. Or having what might have been a small panic attack in the middle of said national cemetery. I didn’t think I would have thoughts about jumping in the Lincoln Reflecting pool at 10:00 PM while walking next to it. I didn’t think I would come to the realization that I need to get help. I need professional help.

I know I’ve talked about my moods a lot in past blog posts. But as much as I like to complain about it, I never really did anything about it. I never went to go find the help I should have gotten when I was 13 and making cuts on my skin. I should’ve gone to get help when in college I told my baby sister that I hated myself so much, but the only reason I wouldn’t kill myself is because I love her too much, and I never wanted to put her through that pain of losing me. Well, now that baby sister is a grown woman, and I’m starting to think about it again...

The thoughts aren’t always there. Sometimes I’m really super happy and things are going really well. Other times, I’m just content with how things are going, like life sucks sometimes, but I can pull through. And to be completely honest, I don’t know where these thoughts are coming from. I have a great job that I love with amazing benefits (like a free education) and have a chance to get a raise in, if not a promotion one day. I have a house that will one day belong to my sisters and I. While I could be doing more to save a little bit of money, I have the opportunity to travel and go places that I never thought I would ever visit. I spend money on tattoos that are beautiful pieces of art. I have every reason to be happy. And yet...

I realize the times I’m the most unhappy are the times when I’m alone, when the chance for my mind to wander is greater. When I’m not hearing about other people, or thinking about work, my mind thinks about all the things that, if I changed them, my life could potentially be better. If I wasn’t overweight, if I didn’t drink so much, if I exercised, if I went out more, if I actually used the dating apps I have accounts on, if I had a boyfriend, not just guys who call me when they want to have sex with me, if I kept in touch with friends more. There are so many ifs that I could change in my life. When I have nothing else going on (like right now while I’m typing this blog post) my mind harps on it. And it’s not like I can think it, go “You know what, grow up and be happy with what you have,” and actually move on. I can’t move past some things.

I think that’s my main problem. I can’t let things go and move past them. Every pain that I’ve been caused, every hurt and injustice that’s been done to me, seems to linger heavy on my soul. I don’t know how to change that. I don’t know what to do.

On December 1st, I will have my own insurance (through my job and not under my parents’ plan), and the first thing I’m going to do is find and go make an appointment with a psychiatrist. I really do think I’m at that point where if I don’t do something about this, I may end up doing something stupid. I need to get my mental wellbeing in check, and if that means giving up some vices and sacrificing some stuff, then so be it.

I cannot live another year of my life like this. Especially if I’m going to be by myself while traveling.

That’s it for this post. Until next time - I’m Charlotte Carmichael and thanks for reading.

Dealing with Depression Part 1

Chester Bennington died by hanging on Thursday, July 20th, 2017. The lead singer of Linkin Park went through a lot, there's no denying that. As everyone keeps saying, he was very vocal about his past, abuse, and unhappiness. Chris Cornell's death a few months ago clearly affected him, and while it took a toll on many people in the music industry, it seemed to really affect him enough to make him want to kill himself.

I went to a concert on the Saturday after that incident, and I listened to Jared Leto talk about how great Chester was and how amazing the conversations they had were. Hearing that made me really think. There was once a time when I thought about suicide. I had seriously considered it. I was barely a teenager, and I hated everything about myself. I was smart, so I got bullied. I wasn't the prettiest, so I got bullied. I wasn't social, so I got bullied. I liked to read and learn, so I definitely got bullied for that. Anything I did wasn't good enough for anyone. I learned easily so I didn't really need to study, but if I didn't read my textbooks, my father would punish me. I wanted to be social and hang out with my classmates, but my mother didn't have the time to pick me up from places. I wanted to be liked, but I wasn't invited to parties, or invited to dance at dances, and when I was invited, it was done as a dare or a joke.

By the time I was finishing middle school, I wanted everything to stop. I wanted the pain to end, I wanted to stop being unhappy, and if things couldn't get better by just getting through it, maybe it should've just ended permanently. I wanted to kill myself. I started cutting, dragging a scissor across my wrist, slightly knicking the skin. It would hurt, but I dealt with it; it was a pain I could control, and didn't have to worry about other people inflicting it. But I think I did it more for the attention. I ended up showing the scars off to someone at school, and the guidance counselor was called in. I spent time talking to him, and I tried to explain how I felt, and he brushed it off. How does a guidance counselor brush off the fact that a young person is blatantly stating that they are unhappy and depressed? I took a clinical dictionary off the bookshelf, and read the definition of depression. I stood there smirking; someone would finally believe me, after all this time. But I couldn't be depressed because (and I quote) "You're smiling right now!"

The only thing that saved me after that day was the saving grace of my baby sister. I love her beyond words, and I never wanted to have her hurt or feel the way I did. As long as she was alive and present in my life, I would not change that for anything.

I've been dealing with unhappiness for the last X years of my life. There are ups and downs, a lot more downs than ups. I've tried to get some help, and for about a year during college, I went to a counselor and talked about things. I cried during a lot of the sessions, but unfortunately things didn't get better. I thought about going to an actual psychiatrist, and looked into some, ones that had Saturday appointments, but no one followed up. So I gave up looking.

I know there is more to this story, but I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I think this blog post is over for today, but I will pick this story up when I get a chance to collect my thoughts.

Until next time - I'm Charlotte Carmichael and thanks for reading.