Mental Health, Random

Musings, Part I Don’t Know

“Now is the winter of our discontent.”

For some reason, this line echoes in my mind, alongside the ubiquitously quoted, “Winter is coming.” Winter is almost here. I’ve never been in fear of it before.

I can’t shake this state of depression that I’ve been in for the last year or so. I thought I had, but I find myself deeper in it. These last few days, my anxiety levels have been at an all time high. A couple days ago, I had to smoke half a cigarette just so I could sit still at work. It’s done wonders for my asthma.

I f ind myself at the edge of rumination, something that I struggle very hard with. I’m constantly stuck in the past, worried about something I said or did that I can do nothing about. That no one else is thinking about. I’m considering the consequences of it and making myself sad and angry at myself. I begin to think of myself as a bad person for the things that I’ve done that just purely… well, human. I remember my current therapist making that point to me when I first started seeing her. Do you that it had never occurred to me think that I simply was making human mistakes?

I am lonely. I want to date and I don’t want to. I wish that people met more organically these days. Remember when we used to walk up to someone on the street or in a bar and say, “Hi, how are you?” Shake hands. Exchange names and numbers go from there. Now, there’s so much pressure to have the right pictures, say the right things, divulge your entire personality in the matter of a couple of words and hope that you catch someone’s interest long enough to have a half-hearted conversation with you. Then the ones’ you do meet turn out to be something entirely different than how they portrayed themselves and they hurt you. I can only do this for a few weeks or so before I get bored of it all. I’m finally at a point where I refuse to settle for any man and his bullshit just to be with someone. All I really want is someone who is loyal and trustworthy. Why is that so difficult?

I want to find a depression support group. To be honest, though, I consider this little community it’s own form of a support group.

I remember moving from Florida to North Carolina in December. The cold weather and the snow hit me hard. It took me months to get out my depressed stupor. It’s occurred to me that I might have seasonal-affective depression. This is actually why I live in Florida. People ask me why I would live in this oppressive heat. Truth is, I’m happier when the sun’s out. I notice that when I leave my desk to take a break and go for a walk, I’m able to take deep breaths that I seemed to have been unable to take while sitting in front of my computer and physically (and probably visibly) relax.

But, lately, even that doesn’t help and I trade the sunshine for sitting in my apartment all day long watching cartoons. I’ve cut so many people out of my life that I have very few friends and I hate to burden the ones that I have with this perpetual mood, these clouds that I have over my head. They’ve noticed. They want the old Lauren back. F**k. I want the old Lauren back. Some parts of her anyway. But, I’m not entirely sure who she was or is.

Sometimes I fully believe that my experiences are due to karma because I get so into my head and believe that I have failed as a person. The way we treat ourselve sis vicious. I know this, but I can’t stop.

I watch these commercials on depression with people holding up happy faces in front of their actual faces like masks. I’m wishing I could go through life like that right now. I had a coworker recently get on me about having resting bitch face. I don’t think it occurred to her just ask me if I was ok. It doesn’t really occur to anyone these days, does it?

The hardest part is not being able to get my poetry out. I want so much to become a more creative writer and reach new heights with my poetry. One accomplishment is that I will have a poem published towards the end of this month! It will be my first. But, when I get into this space, the words don’t come unless there’s alcohol or 4am insomnia (see two posts ago). I wish that my mind could function well enough to write in all types of moods. Instead, I’m subjecting you to this devastating stream of consciousness.

Please forgive me.


Me, Myself, and I

Me, Myself, and I

In constant company with each other

We are staring at the floor, looking for secrets there; It doesn’t even have the courtesy to make eye contact

We try conversing with the walls, their ears are kind enough to listen, but they are silent

Moving on

We try cuddling with the loveseat, it doesn’t hold us back, so why is it called a loveseat… lies

We are cold so we hug each other, we get hot and push each other away, we alternate between the two, a self-imposed contradiction, a conundrum, restless

We’re half alive, a quarter dead, a quarter in between, in some sort of purgatorial limbo, Not living, just here, though it is the lesser part, the quarter dead exudes dominance over us.

We don’t want heaven, what more is there to do when you’ve done everything you should have; it’s too late to pretend we are innocent; it’s too late to pretend we believe in something

We’d rather be in hell, if there is such a thing; we know our worth there, plenty of sinners to talk to, scream with, with fire in our souls to galvanize us into action to do what, we don’t know

Excuse us, we think we hear the walls responding to our plight and we mustn’t be rude

Random, Relationships


I’ve discussed before the inherent nature in some of us to want to fix people. Do I let broken people into my life because I myself am broken? Do I believe that if I fix everyone else that I will somehow, vicariously, fix myself? Inevitably, though, what happens is we help, people leave, and we get hurt. People are toxic when they’re broken and they don’t know themselves. This includes us when we don’t know ourselves. So, they will walk all over you and hurt you and run.

I’m watching myself let this happen to me again…


I suppose it’s progress that I’m recognizing it and nipping it at the beginning. But, you know… It still hurts.

I feel cheap and alone.