I've been fearful of slipping back into depression, but I want to handle this on my own, I don't want to be medicated again. Unfortunately, I am seeing repeated behaviours. I'm heads down at work and hating it. I am irritable, short with people and generally hard to get along with. I am shutting people out. I just can't handle 'relating' at the moment. I am sad, easily upset and I've been crying at the drop of a hat. I can't express my feelings without welling up. I forget things and am disorganized. A general joy to be around. I'm not as bad as I was a year and a half ago, but there are signs.
Since I started this journal I have been looking for my journalling 'voice' as it were. I wanted to start this to become more expressive, to share what I've been feeling, who I really am. I haven't succeeded so far, and I think I have realized I don't like myself. And I don't expect others to like me either. Actually I suspect that most people dislike me. The negative feedback I give myself is killing me. There is the me that does things, and then there is the total bitch that lives in my head berating me all the time. It paralyzes me, makes me constantly second guess myself, stay in my shell, and generally 'feel' in an irrational manner. She makes sure I keep everyone in my life at arms length; after all if they get any closer they won't like me anyways. And you know what the stupidest part of it all is? I don't feel I have a right to be this way. I had a normal upbringing, no trauma, no deep hidden secrets, so how dare I be screwed up. Who the hell am I to whine?
So how do I fix this? I tried the meds, was happy, but it wasn't honest. How do I deal with this when I don't even feel I have a 'right' to feel this way? I talked myself silly about these feelings I have when I was in rehab. I worked out coping mechanisms. Sure, I felt better for a while, but again, a band-aid.
So, as a start I'm writing this. I'm not doing it to upset anyone (stella) this isn't new to me, only my expressing it is. If nothing else I am working on my pathological fear of committing any part of my true self to written word or really, for that matter, to other people.