Is it possible to feel depressed but not be depressed? I know some would say that is splitting hairs, what’s the difference but there IS a difference.
I didn’t have a bad day in any way, aside from Kenny being there most of the day, making my presence asinine. But then, at least he has signs of life and actually interacts with me. R is such a lump so obsessed with busted shit and his mundane drunken life I have better interaction with my cats. I don’t think Kenny actually bothers me so much, I think it’s just ludicrous for me being away from my kid, so R doesn’t feel alone and have to answer his own damn phone when Kenny could do it just as easily, being as he lives there at the shop, literally.
In true paranoid parrot fashion I have started to wonder if maybe R calls me and begs to come there, then to his kids and wife he claims I just show up and he feels some sort of obligation to me. That would be in keeping with his character, in actuality. Throwing people under the bus to save himself some grief.
In spite of that, ya know, I have a soft spot for the guy, because in a pinch, at least financially, he’s there for us. And I am in no position to burn that bridge.
What was I on about?
Yes. I am not depressed.
But I feel sort of depressed. Maybe because R has already called and prattled on about busted shit. I can’t even escape it at night. I know not to answer the phone if I am not up to dealing. I mean, Kenny already said he would be there the whole day tomorrow. R now has a car. What is the fucking point of me being there? And where is Ursula’s friend the intern? Because I don’t need to be there. It plagues my mental health when I have to ponder going back there every night, ruining my night, then being there, and ruining my day.
Why does society have such a problem with depressing things, well, depressing us? Like something that causes you anxiety and grief should be celebrated instead of looked upon with dread and disdain? Isn’t it normal to view depressing things as depressing? I am admitting I don’t feel depressed on a whole. But at this point, busted stuff and being redundant do make me depressed.
Kinda like living in a world where people harm kids and animals and our civil liberties are being taken away by an Orwellian government are depressing.
Not a mental illness. Depressing the same. Or would oppressive be more societal friendly?
I know I went nearly 24 hours without a Xanax, and my kid had company for four hours. (The girl is apparently now stealing credit cards and such out of mail boxes, according to the step dad-ish figure, which thrills me to no end considering my debit card expires in August and they will be issuing a new one, so I have more reason to be paranoid with klepto Damiana on the loose.)
Anyway…Kid is bathed and bedded. I have a few pages of a Kellerman book to finish, then it is bedtime. The oppression of returning to Land of Oblivion has me desperately craving the escape of sleep.
It’s not that R is mean to me, at all. He does have this horrible attitude toward my bipolar disorder, as if my moods are something personal against him, but most people are like that. I do take it personally even if it isn’t meant to be because it’s just sheer ignorance on their part. Like blaming someone for having diabetes. Utterly asinine.
I think the big issue with being there as of late has become his attitude toward my bipolar. He wants me to be happy, stable, all the time, and when I am not, then it’s “play the victim of the moody mean chick” time. And it’s like going in everyday, walking on landmines, because I don’t have any control over the bipolar, especially now that the Lamictal has quit doing its thing. That kind of pressure would make anyone depressed, I should think.
I don’t understand how he is so forgiving of his wife and kids and friends when their problem is little more than crappy personality traits they could choose to work on and fix at any time but don’t care enough to do. Yet my illness is compiled over 20 years in an encyclopaedic chart but I somehow am not worthy of forgiveness or absolute acceptance.
Yes, by all means, put a chip on my shoulder, then complain I have a chip on my shoulder, all the while continuing to add to said chip on my shoulder. Makes absolute sense.
But alas, I will try to do the optimism thing. At least this week I am not bursting into tears and feeling all weak and weepy.
Though I’m not sure my tough girl “You need to grow a spine” side is any more impressive to him.
I get tired of feeling bad about myself. To hear him tell it, all I do right is find parts cheap. Which a chimp could do if taught to use Google and Ebay.
Today he made snarky comments about one of his ex friends with benefits who texted him. She is on disability and doesn’t have a job and he basically called her a loser.
I am on disability and have no job.
How can anyone be that fucking dense? And how could he not grasp why that would offend me?
So yeah, without being in a clinical depression…Some things just ARE depressing.