Even though I’ve been on anti depressants for almost a year now, and I have had my dosage upped twice, the depression persists. It figures because it’s chronic. But where I used to feel that at least something better was around the bend, now I feel like each passing year worsens me as both a person and a functional human being.
I can’t bring myself to meet goals or requirements. I’m always tired and I rarely feel good. I’m lonely, but I can’t make strong connections with anyone. I try to reach out but it’s never the kind of fulfillment I need socially. I haven’t had a mutual crush in years. Any feelings I develop for someone are rebuffed more or less immediately, making me highly aware of how undesirable I’ve come as I get more and more depressed, and less and less ‘new’.
I don’t care about things, but I do. I’m ridden with guilt every time I miss work or school, or flake on an agreed appointment/social outing. It happens a lot. Mostly because I haven’t got the energy, or I convince myself that I haven’t. Doing the daily stuff is this tug of war in my mind. Part of me just doesn’t care, the other part only cares because it knows other people will. I hate letting others down.
I want to die, if only because it means that things stop, but I can’t really go through with it. My mother needs me. I wish that she needed me in a way that involved her actually spending time with me and putting us first, though. She knows I’m not well but she has her own life to live. She doesn’t realize I’m living mine just to keep her sane. This July she takes a trip to our hometown, or at least mine. We haven’t been back in around 5 years, but she decided to take her boyfriend (whose abuses and issues I could go on about ad nauseum, but she will never leave him, so it’s hopeless) and not myself. I can’t help being bothered by it, since the return to Montreal should be something we share as a mother and daughter. She’d rather be around him. That’s what it seems to come down to. She claims she doesn’t put him, her house, her garden, and everything else head of my needs–but most of the time I’m always the first priority to get dropped.
I guess I sound whiny. I am whiny. I’m a depressed, whiny 24 year old, and that’s a big part of why I can’t meet anyone.
I feel like a loser, and a future cat lady.