My problem (part II):

"My problem is that I’m so aware of my / that I think I have depression. Sometimes it’s honestly a reliever, because it gives me reasons why I am the way I am now. Reasons that verify, why people walk in-n-out of my life, why I’m so intolerable, why unlovable, why my family despises me, that people don’t want to be around me. That then, justifies me to believe that’s it’s okay that I’m not good enough.

I’ve lost some of my close friends, loved ones, my self-image, temper, motivation, values, character, everything that makes me, me - and there’s that possibility that I can have those all back - but I don’t care enough to fight for any of it. After losing so many things, losing another thing doesn’t seem like a big deal anymore.

There has always been this want in me to just be ‘normal.’ Because maybe if I was ‘normal’ - whatever normal even means - I would be okay. I would probably then have a motivation to care about myself - maybe then I have more of a drive to get my life back on track, and then I would drink my medication, so I would stop being sick anymore, or I would eat more rather than than never eating at all - but since I’m not I’m okay with being alone.

Since I’m losing things one after another, I keep on blaming it the depression. I’m beginning to lose my mind. And though I’m fully aware that I’m losing my mind- and that I’m acting ‘crazy’ - I just don’t care. I know it’s happening, yet I can’t control it. It becomes an addiction to act out in rage, to have no boundaries, and no limits to what you can do or what you can say. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said something I didn’t mean to someone I cared about, threw a tantrum, or brushed what they said aside and how hurtful it was, on the inside, to see them hurt because of my actions - but I still kept that emotionless expression with that apathetic attitude.

And that’s where the initial problem is: I’m losing the control of how I behave and how I control things - and in the end, it’s controlling me.

(written on April 26, 2011)

Last Thursday, I went to go see a psychologist, and hey I was right, I am clinically depressed. I made a phone call to Will on Tuesday, and I told him about it. At first, he thought I was joking, because out of all of his friends I'm the most "emo" one. But then, I told him that, according to the psychologist, I've been clinically depressed since the end of 8th grade. He put all the jokingness aside and responded saying, "Well, that makes a lot of sense."

I just never went to go see a psychologist, because I just thought it was some teenage angst phase. I decided to go see one now - because this isn't a phase anymore. I'm mentally unstable now.

Will: You never seemed mentally unstable though.

It's hard to talk to anyone about my depression, and it's probably because I don't want to. There are some people that I do want to tell - but I can't bring myself to tell them. People who have known me for a long duration of time don't believe it. I don't blame them either, because I'm really good at covering things up.

However, my depression has gotten worse as the years gone by - and I'm falling apart. Now, I can't handle any given workload, seeing that I'm failing in two of my classes right now, or anything well. Day-by-day, I feel more-and-more empty. My depression has caused me to exude to apathy.

And yes, it's depression. I haven't always been like this, because I know that I did care about things once upon a time.

I'm not medicated yet, because I'm flying back to California in about two weeks. There's really no point if I'm switching psychologist in two weeks. I really wish I was medicated now, though.

Once I'm back, I will be "on" something - but it doesn't mean I'm cured. It's not as straightforward as that.