TWLOHA Day

"Two out of three people who struggle with depression never seek help...and untreated depression is the leading cause of suicide. In America alone, it’s estimated that 19 million people live with depression."

Untreated depression can lead to addiction, ruin relationships, and leave you unable to face everyday situations. Work suffers. Sleep suffers. Depression affects the way you eat, the way you feel about yourself, the way you treat other people. People who suffer from depression can't "just pull themselves together" and get over it. Clinical depression is not just "feeling blue." Left untreated, depression can last for years, and some people choose to deal with it by adopting addictions, turning to self-injury, or worse.

The good news is that depression is very treatable. Talk therapy, antidepressants, even diet and exercise can all be paths that lead away from clinical depression.

The Numbers

• 121 million people worldwide suffer from depression. (The World Health Organization)
• 18 million of these cases are happening in the United States. (The National Institute of Mental Health)
• Between 20% and 50% of children and teens struggling with depression have a family history of this struggle and the offspring of depressed parents are more than three times as likely to suffer from depression. (U.S. Surgeon General's Survey, 1999)
• Depression often co-occurs with anxiety disorders and substance abuse, with 30 percent of teens with depression also developing a substance abuse problem. (NIMH)
• 2/3 of those suffering from depression never seek treatment.
• Untreated depression is the number one cause of suicide, and suicide is the third leading cause of death among teenagers. (NIMH)

*statistics all from TWLOHA site

How You Can Help

If you know anyone who suffers from depression, you might have faced the feelings of helplessness or fear that you might lose someone you love. While there are many things you can do, talking to them—reaching out, picking up the phone, sending an email—is the best thing you can do If you suffer from depression, make an appointment with a counselor. Find treatment. Call a hotline. Not only are you not alone, you don't have to go through this by yourself—you can find someone to guide you.

Some good places to start:

National Hopeline Network (U.S.A.) - www.hopeline.com – 1-800-SUICIDE
S.A.F.E. Alternatives - www.selfinjury.com – 1-800-DONTCUT (Self Abuse Finally Ends)
Childhelp – www.childhelp.org – 1-800-4-A-CHILD (National Child Abuse Hotline)
National Domestic Violence Helpline - www.ndvh.org – 1-800-799-SAFE
Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network - www.rainn.org – 1-800-656-HOPE (National Sexual Assault Hotline)
National Eating Disorders Association – www.nationaleatingdisorders.org – 1-800-931-2237

Today is To Write Love On Her Arms Day. To Write Love On Her Arms Day is a day when anyone can write the word love on their arms to support those who are suffering from depression and recovering from depression. So write love on your arms today and show it off. When people ask, you can tell them about To Write Love On Her Arms, and what they are doing for people with depression, addiction and pain. Buy a T-shirt. Make love the movement.

It's Because My Job is Making me Crazy with Last Minute Deadlines

Last night I had a dream that J and I were getting married.

The whole thing was completely disorganized and had been slapped together at the last minute. I remember that I kept saying to myself, "SHIT, if only I had had more time! I would have thought of this!" (This being any number of things from the dinner to the location to the invitations, and if I remember correctly, we'd been engaged for a while...or were embarrassingly stupid enough to think we could plan a wedding in a day?) I think the worst part was the invitations, which ended up being printed the day of, and even though the wedding was happening that evening, we were still using a laser printer at home so that "at least people would have something to remember it by." (Who? Since no one was invited...I don't know who was coming...)

My dress was something hideous that was borrowed at the last minute, and the ceremony+reception were being held in the basement of an old used bookstore (any poetic notions about that were blasted when I saw the cast iron spiral staircase with slap-shod blue carpeting that led down to the basement, which was equally dingy, leaky, and poorly lit).

The whole thing was a nightmare, but through everything, I just wanted to get it over with because the important part was that J and I were together - I didn't care about the wedding.

I woke up and went to therapy. Not only did I not get what I needed out of my session, but instead of deciding that my suggestion of once every other week was fine, we figured that in reality, I probably should ramp it up to twice a week (as if. Hello - I need to have a life, too. I can't just spend my life being in therapy and working my shitty day job, then recovering from therapy and my shitty day job every day). I left feeling like I kind of wished that I could go no times a week, hating that my therapist knows things about me that even I don't want to know about me. Yes, that is the point, thanks. I left kind of wanting to smack some hypothetical someone in the teeth.

I'm unreasonably angry with myself about being myself, and I'm also kind of pissed that I have to be at work non-stop for the next two days. This is why Wednesday is going to be a beach day. Unless it rains, in which case it will be screen print some arts for my walls day. Either way, by then I hope to no longer be hating myself.

Rage is a four letter word

I am now five weeks (plus) post-op. To be honest, I thought that after about a month I would be a little bit happier. Things I am actually very happy about involve having the surgery itself out of the way, and knowing that because I was the "optimal" age, the recovery (and braces!) will be over sooner rather than later. Unfortunately it only gets me so far.

There has been a rage inside of me for the past week. Something indescribable and ugly. Something hideous and so unlike "me," it's hard to watch.

Things that may have contributed are the fact that J was gone for two weeks. He was gone, and he was working hard and he was stressed. He was stressed and I missed him tremendously by the second week, and it was not a good combination. I may have had some conflict with certain people in my life - things that normally I am capable of pushing beneath the surface and airing at therapy - things between me and someone I actually like. It left me tired and vulnerable, and I was incapable of dealing with other people in my life that I don't like, but can typically interact with using a modicum of friendliness. I'm puffy and swollen again, and I'm sick and tired of having a "broken" face; sick and tired of not being able to eat real food. I'm feeling better about the whole "I'm going to be beaten, gang-raped, or hit by a car" thing, but "better" is relative, obviously.

In short, I am feeling off. My roommate can sense that I've been off (even though she's been working a lot), and even if J is too stressed to notice all of it, we've discussed it. I haven't been able to call home in over a week because I just can't deal with it.

Is it the medication? The rage I've been feeling has been absolutely apoplectic, and it makes me remember my very second psychiatric evaluation when I was prescribed this medication. One of the side effects, my psychiatrist said, was blinding rage. He told me how one of his patients described how she suddenly found herself screaming at cars as they went by because they were making her angry. Because they were driving by. That's how I've been feeling this week - except I'm muttering angry things at people on the streets instead of screaming at cars. But I firmly believe that's next.

The troubling part is how I've been on this medication for a year now. How I haven't changed doses. How, while I missed a few pills while I was immediately post-op*, I haven't missed any in weeks. (*several doctors and nurses told me it was okay because the drug is slow release, and builds up in the system enough to skip one or two)

If it is my medication, I have a lot to think about. I was prescribed these meds specifically because I'm young and my depression is mild. The sexual side effects are rare, which was genuinely the biggest concern at the time, but a new medication would mean a new round of "adjustment," which is currently more daunting than facing another week of this.

I feel empty inside, and I want to feel whole again, like I have in the past three months. I've been riding it out for a week, and I'm coming up with nothing. My biggest problem in the past was believing that if I dug deeply enough, I would find the answers within - but that only made deeper wounds. This time I want to be stronger than that. I want to admit that I need help. Why is it so hard to be okay with that?

As a Corollary to Heather's Post

Just in case there was some interest in Heather's post that I linked to a few days back, her husband Jon responded with his perspective on what it's like to live with someone with chronic depression.

Since there are varying levels of depression I won't pretend I know what it's like to live with it all the time, but there's something to be said about partners and friends who are open and kind when you finally admit that you need help. There are wonderful people who have allowed me to begin to heal and learn how to manage this in a safe environment - who don't judge me and who make sure I know that they think that I am a wonderful person even when I refuse to believe it. I know it's hard to be on the other side of that - mostly I'd imagine that it's hard to know what to do.

I'm sure I'm being all kinds of melodramatic, here. But thanks, anyway.

A Better Life

I read dooce.com on a daily basis because Heather is an incredibly smart, insightful, witty and beautiful person - and frankly she is one of my heroes. She isn't scared to talk about subjects that many people avoid, and it is exactly this aspect of her blog that helped me figure some things out after facing being afraid to face a few very dark times in my life.

Because I couldn't say it on the phone

I only have so much to give, too

I am so tired of being angry all the time.

I feel like every step in this recovery has been slow and painful; every time I look ahead to see how far I have to go, I feel like I am staring down an endless highway, and when I look back to see how far I've come, I've traveled an inch.

I feel so helpless and frustrated and clumsy, like I'm stuck being insecure and inept and completely hopeless while I wait to become someone better.

I feel like no one is listening to me, and by the time I demand to be heard, by the time I want to scream at people to look at me, pay attention to me -- tell me everything is going to be okay -- all I do is push people away. I have absolutely no idea how to ask for what I need, and how can I blame people for not meeting expectations I don't even know I have?

My world is falling so short of what I have hoped for right now, and I have no idea how to reconcile that.

Barnes & Noble just doesn't like my face

I ordered this book from Barnes & Noble.com the other day because I had a gift card and it was on sale.

I was given a shipping estimate of October 1st. You can imagine the rageahol that ensued, but fortunately, the package shipped today. I figured their estimate was a little bit generous, but maybe it's kind of like when the hostess tells you it's going to be an hour, just because you're pissing her off and she doesn't like your attitude or your face (why yes, I was a hostess in high school).

I am going to knit so many cables when I get this book. Or I'm going to let it sit on my shelf for a year before I put it to any use. Either way --because it was on sale.

Aside from B&N's LIES, last week was a really rough week for me. Remind me what that was like next time I forget several doses of my meds in one week because the concept of preventative medication, like so many other concepts, has always been a difficult one for me to grasp.

That's why I grew up to be the way I am

I was a very very very intense, quiet child. I usually read books in a corner and didn't want to talk to anyone.

Is that strange? People seemed to like me anyway. And then they wanted to talk to me, even though I was all sorts of not interested and could they please leave me alone so I could finish this chapter?

It doesn't always work as well as an adult. Today, I was told about how depression can cause certain things in people's life to deteriorate (social circles, careers, life-paths), and one of the reasons you may have a hard time pulling yourself out of the depression, even if you try really really hard, is that even though sometimes you try, people who don't truly care about you aren't going to put up with the shit you dole out when you're at a low point, and the consequences aren't always easily undone. (I have never loved J more than when I typed that paragraph...)

That makes sense, even though mostly I think I come off as quiet and shy, and sometimes I say stupid things and instead of letting them go I die a million deaths inside and stop talking. Personally, I have a Very Hard Time returning to places that make me remember the god-awful lows, and if I've embarrassed myself in front of someone (by doing something they probably didn't even notice), I have a hard time ever speaking to them again. I know running away from things isn't the solution, but sometimes I wish that I didn't get one chance at a first impression...especially when some alien thing has taken over my body and people aren't really meeting me.

I want to work past this, I really do, but it's time to face the reality that all the meds are going to do is make me more myself. And I should be comfortable being myself -- and my self is quiet. She is shy. And sometimes she would rather be reading a book quietly and alone instead of talking to people.

I'm working on it, at any rate.

A Day at the Beach

Yesterday, J and I spent the day at the beach.

It was so refreshing to take a 3-day weekend for ourselves for no reason, and it was a fitting "end" to a weekend full of activity.

Granted, there were a lot of screaming kids, and some rambunctious, Frisbee-throwing teenagers, but it was still significantly less crowded than it would have been on a Saturday, and it was still relaxing and glorious.

He started reading Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged, while I pored through the most recent Potter book...like many other people are doing now.

It made it so much harder to be at work today, partially because it felt so nice, and partially because my dosage was increased and now I'm tired as all holy hell. Tired, but happy...

I'll take it.

One of the most confusing things I've ever done with my life was forget to take the GRE.

I've been thinking a lot about the past year and a half, and now that I'm getting better, I've snuck a peek at my old journal entries. Today I went through all of my flickr archives. The memories came back like a belly flop from the high dive. What surprised me most, actually, is how completely surprised I am by some of the things that I did to try to wrestle with this thing on my own. Sad things. Embarrassing things...and drastic things, just to make myself feel better -- or sometimes just to feel anything.

To me, the most interesting way that I tried to deal with my depression was to make big plans when I was feeling well, because I thought it would motivate me to pull myself out of the "slump." Sometimes it worked for a little while, but mostly it served to remind me of all the little failures in my life, because by the time those decisions affected me, I wasn't feeling well anymore, and I would deliberately put those things off and push them as far away as possible. Grad school would be a good example.

I was going to move to Chicago, come hell or high water, and go to grad school there. I became obsessed with Chicago; with shedding my Boston skin and starting over as a new person -- a happy person. As ridiculous as it sounds, I couldn't see how unhealthy it was to put so much emphasis on how this singular act would make me happy. How if I thought I would be happy then, it only served to highlight how unhappy I was now. I had no idea how to get from point A to point B, but, goddamnit, point B was where happiness was.

During one of my slightly more manic (and DRUNK) moments, I signed up to take the GRE. $130 is a lot of money, especially because I was unemployed, but this decision was going to CHANGE MY LIFE.

I chose a date that was a month and a half away so that I would have time to study.

I think I opened a book once. It was a Princeton Review study guide my mom had gotten me for Christmas the year before, and I'm pretty sure I didn't do much more than skim the first chapter.

The date for the test came and went, and I didn't even realize it at the time. It wasn't until a week later that I even bothered to check my email to see when I'd registered to take the exam, and instead of being upset, I was kind of relieved. Maybe. Mostly, I was too tired to care, anymore.

This is not one of my prouder moments, and I don't think I've ever admitted it to anyone.

I'm nowhere near completely healed from all of this, but I'm working on it. And the longer I work, the more results I see and the easier it gets. I'm excited about life again, and the little changes are enough for now. I'm nowhere closer to a decision about school or my career, or even where I'll be living a year from now, but it's indescribably different, in a warm happy way.

Pink magnolia in winter, she doesn’t careif you don’t show up to have another cup

So, why I haven't been updating this thing:

I'm going through a lot, lately. I realized that this blog was a special kind of post-breakup therapy, and in that sense, it worked. It made me feel better to get stuff out there, to feel like I was reaching out to the Internet. At some point, the problems became too big, though. And the blogging stopped working.

I'm trying to fix my life right now, and while I wish I could go into more detail, I don't know exactly what that means.

I know that no one is happy all the time. But sometimes I try to feel happy about things, and instead all I come up with is tired.

I know how some people feel about some of the methods of "feeling better" like cognitive therapy or even drugs. My parents have expressed some pretty strong opinions about both of them, even going so far as to suggest that the "idea" that I "might be depressed" came from J, and that it's ludicrous.

Well, I just went on a five day vacation to Bermuda, and I was completely unable to experience it in the best way possible. I'm not saying that it wasn't fun, or that it wasn't the beautiful first vacation with my boyfriend that everyone hopes for...but there were clouds all over everything, and I don't mean the rain clouds over the island while we were there.

I recently started going to therapy, and so I get a lot out in those sessions. I haven't been knitting as much. I read books, and watch TV, but I don't analyze like I used to -- it's mostly a way to turn my brain off. So I've had a hard time writing.

And that's why. That's why I've gone from 20something hits a day to about...zero hits a day.

I can't promise I'll restore this thing to it's former glory, but I thought I owed it to some people to explain. I'm still reading your blogs, I'm just not doing a very good job of keeping up my end these days.

[Spinning: The Weepies - Take it From Me]

I Think I've Seen High Fidelity One Too Many Times

I'm feeling better since my last post. I spent most of yesterday feeling...cloudy. I had taken some generic midol-esqe drugs, but for some reason, the drug only cures slightly more common symptoms like cramping. Why can't they help with the overwhelming bitchiness? The overpowering tiredness? The general dissatisfaction with people? I was told that it's because the bitchiness and malcontent, unlike the cramping, are not necessarily symptomatic of the time of the month, but might have a number of causes, not many of which are easily solved in pill form...

I suggested trivia, and even though I was in no mood to do anything but drink scotch and read J.D. Salinger in semi-darkness, I went to trivia. And the badness dissipated immediately. Immediately.

I keep writing lists. To do lists, lists of grad schools, music to buy, movies to watch, people to kill. They're all growing at an alarming rate, and I'm just itching to cross something off of one of them.

Here's hoping that tomorrow will be more productive.

I was hoping someday you'd be on your way to better things

The other day, someone asked me if I believe that things happen for a reason. At the time my answer was, "Yes -- of course they do." At the time, it's what the person needed to hear, and I think that it was the right answer. Some things do happen for a reason. But then I started thinking about the whole big picture scheme of things. I don't think that there's a grand design for everyone. Or anyone, for that matter. This has nothing to do with faith or religion, and even though I think it ties back into that realm, that's not really what I'm talking about. It has nothing to do with tiny baby Jesus.

I really believe that we hold the keys to our own destinies. Sure, sometimes things happen in life that are completely beyond our control, but they aren't always bad things, and it's not about what happens to us, but how we handle it. Maybe you feel helpless sometimes. And maybe you are. Bad things can happen to good people for no reason, and you don't always have to learn a lesson from it. And sometimes you do need to learn from it. But other times you just need a little bit of faith that it's not always going to be this way.

[Currently Spinning: The Kooks - She Moves In Her Own Way]

I believe that I can, overcome this and beat everything in the end

So, when I left for Minnesota, I was in a terrible state of mind. (Alternate title: The BMX bike of my life is about to explode)

A funny bit of trivia: Last year, at this exact time, I was listening to L.G.Fuad incessantly. It reminded me of the whole...ordeal thing I was going through, or something. Now, it makes me think of Connecticut. It makes me think about teetering on the verge of utmost happiness -- so much happiness that I thought I might just spontaneously explode in a burst of stardust one day out of pure unadulterated joy. Which is weird because, this song? Is not about utter happiness and delight in life.

I need a change. I need a big momentous change. It needs to rock my world. And I think I can manage that.

Grad school was going to be that change, but it looks like I'm going to wait another year. Until then, I have all this prep stuff I can do, but it's still a bummer that I haven't "figured out my life" yet. Whatever the crap that means. And until then I need to become a better person. I need to be the change that rocks my world. I need to be happy. For me.

Oh, and I finished some wrist warmers this weekend.

Trendy or not, I don't understand wrist warmers. "Not quite mittens, not quite sleeves...but man...hehehe. So to answer your question: I don't know."

Oh, right. Writing about Thanksgiving in Minnesota. I think I gave you enough to digest here for now. Maybe updates about the trip that made me seriously consider moving somewhere in the Midwest (cough: Minnesota) some time later.

[Currently Spinning: Motion City Soundtrack - L.G.Fuad]

I swear, I'd burn down the city to show you the light

I walked home from Porter Square tonight, instead of Davis, because I felt like walking a little bit, and an overwhelming sense of sadness came over me, suddenly. I guess it only "lasted" for about two blocks, but it hit me hard and strong and it took me by surprise because it's been so long since I've felt this way.

I don't have any explanations. I have a full life. I'm happy, for the first time in years. I may be a little bit boring, I may not travel as much as I'd like to, but I'm happy. I have friends who love me, and more importantly, I have friends who I love. There are people in my life who are so important to me, I am not kidding when I say I would die for them.

So why was I hit with waves of unanswerable sadness today? Why, after so long, did I suddenly feel so lonely?

I don't let people in and then I'm frustrated that they seem distant. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to be someone who needs someone, or even someone who wants someone. I want to be happy in solitude, not burdened with loneliness.

But sometimes what I really want is just for someone to hold me while I fall asleep, and wake up in my bed beside me. Not enough to...to what? Not enough to let people in?

I don't even know, anymore.

Maybe Tomorrow is a Lifetime Away

Is September really almost halfway through already?

I can't believe how cliche I'm about to be, but lately the days have been passing by so quickly.

This is a recent development, since I can still remember how painfully and slowly last summer dragged on. The only thing I could do was make it through each day - I couldn't even think about the "future," whatever the hell that was. Waking up in the morning was a personal victory, but the days only seemed to go downhill from there, so I slept a lot, but that only made the days seem longer (when you've got nothing to do but sleep...things get pretty dull).

It got better in about October. I was happy again. Manic. I don't mind thinking about it because it's what I needed; what I wanted. But after that, losing my job was...different. This loss didn't make the days go by slowly. Rather, it seemed to speed things up. It was like I was in a choke-hold. I wanted to have fun and enjoy my free time, but mostly I was gaining weight and developing acne, because I was stressed about my employment situation, and that just made me want to stay inside and hide from the world -- but eventually those unemployment checks were going to stop coming, and then what? (I shudder to think) I developed that paranoia that kept me from going anywhere during the day, since if I wasn't at work, people would know I didn't have a job (can we say CRAZY?). Still, there weren't enough hours in the day to get all the knitting and TV watching and being a lazy lard ass out of the way.

Now, I've been at this new place for a little over a month. I don't know what my plans are for the future. I'm taking it one day at a time again (for the most part). But the days are whooshing by (like deadlines). Grad school is looming. Where? I don't know. When? Fuck if I know.

So, yeah. It's nice to finally have my life on track, again, guys.

[Currently Spinning: Pete Yorn - Maybe I'm Right]

Decay, decay, decay!

I think that I've discovered that autumn is "my" season. I'm convinced that my body resets when the air gets crisp and the leaves start to turn. I don't remember it being like this in El Paso; maybe because we didn't really have seasons.

There is something beatifully ironic about my emotional rebirth always concurring with the season of decay. Perhaps it's the lazy feeling thrust upon me by the suffocating heat of the summer months that makes me feel more alive when it cools down. Maybe I just like sweaters.

Whatever it is, I'm feeling infinitely better, emotionally.

I just really hope it's not one of the highs that come before a low.

When the leaves start to turn, so will I

At yoga today, we did an exercise where you think relaxing thoughts, or healing thoughts, or just happy thoughts, at the beginning of class, but you concentrate on the thought(s) while you're building energy throughout class. Then, right before the relaxation technique at the end, you release the energy you've accumulated and push it out into the world, wherever you want it to go. We were told that we could use it for ourselves, if we just needed to relax our minds and make it throught the week, but I used my energy for two of my friends, thinking simultaneous thoughts for them and sending out my wishes with all of my heart. I know that one of them needed the relaxation I could have kept for myself, and I just wanted the other one to know I was thinking about them. It was the closest thing I've felt to prayer in a long time, and it felt good, for a while.

During class, the pains in my lower back started to come back. Not a bad pain, but rather more of a discomfort after the back twists, when I was laying flat on my back. Almost like phantom pains, reminding me how I was scared about my back recently - just before I found this job, but didn't have anyone to talk to want to talk to anyone about it.

This back pain had hit me hard and sharp, and actually made it very difficult for me to get around for a few weeks. Weeks. It disappeared as mysteriously as it appeared, but for a while I was terrified, because there was no explanation as to why my back suddenly stopped feeling normal, and wouldn't get better. It was either bad or worse for a while, but the pain was always there, 24 hours a day.

My theory is that the pain was a physical manifestation of my depression. The depression that I was denying -- it was trying to get my attention and make me address the problem. My family, we don't talk about these things, much less to professionals. We suck it up. We deal with it. That's just stupid. I should have seen a doctor. I should have told a friend. I should still see a doctor, or talk to my yoga instructor about it, especially if it's coming back. Especially if it's mental.

Because I think I know why it's hurting. I can feel the melancholy enveloping me again. Meloncholy without purpose; without reason. See, I don't know what I'm so sad about. I don't know why it makes me happy to have sadness inside of me; why I feel so full when I feel so empty.

I think it's the turning of the seasons. The idea that I'm losing something that I'll never get back. I want to take it all in and keep it from slipping through my fingers again, and I want to smell it and taste it once more. I want to hold it and breathe it in, and I want it to linger just a little bit longer this time.

I despise the in-betweens. Autumn can't get here soon enough.

I'm Definitely Still In The Game

I lost my job in March. Do you know that means I was only unemployed for a total of about four months? And that during those four months, I temped at an architecture firm for five weeks?

You know how when a situation is behind you, you can remember how utterly horrifying, embarrassing, sad, and depressing it was, but you gain a fresh perspective that can make you feel like it wasn't that bad?

Yeah. I'm not there yet. I remember the sucks of being unemployed. I remember the feeling of worthlessness, and I remember the embarrassment, and I remember the depression. I'm still getting over it. But I was looking through some of my posts from back then, and while it's definitely been a long, difficult journey, and some of it has made me feel like I may have really hit rock bottom this time, I'm still pretty happy with the way it's turning out.

I've become my own person because of the adversity, not in spite of it, and I'm lucky. It could always be worse. Even though I haven't gotten to choose all of the cards I've been dealt lately, I think I'm playing a pretty good hand so far.

The tears come streaming down your face when you lose something you can't replace

Sometimes I feel like I have a really good entry started in my head, and when I sit down to type, I can get a good first sentence out, maybe, then...Nothing.

I cleaned out a lot of drafts the other day - half formed thoughts that were never published, things about people I know that shouldn't be on the Internet, stories that should be told by someone who can tell a story. In other words, things that would be clever if they weren't written by me.

Sometimes it's just because I have nothing clever to say. Other times I have very clever things to say, but no clever way to say them. And then, sometimes, maybe there are things in the back of my mind that I should write about -- but I don't want to write about.

Like the unemployment thing. Maybe it would help if people knew how I feel right now. How I feel like it's a dirty word: "Unemployed." And how I feel dirty because of it. Or how clever synonyms like "in between jobs" no longer sound more clever. Instead, after a few months, they sound just as repulsive to me. Lately I feel like it's a label that I'm wearing on my lapel for everyone to see. Hello, my name is Unemployed. As though people in the supermarket on a Wednesday afternoon know.

I met someone at a party a few weeks ago, and after what I thought was a stimulating conversation about the hassle of finding a new apartment, we started talking about what we "do." He was talking about how he just starting his residency at a local hospital, and I became incredibly embarrassed and started talking really stupidly about how I'm "in-between jobs" (and I'm pretty sure I used air quotes and rolled my eyes. I don't remember if I explained how that was just the fancy way of saying "I collect unemployment checks" and then laughed nervously, but that's where it was headed). I was even more embarrassed when he excused himself to the other room, and at the time, I reasoned that it was the stink of "the unemployed" that drove him away, instead of my manic, nervous reaction to the question "what do you do?" Instead of rationalizing that he wasn't interested in speaking to me anymore because I was significantly younger than he was, or because of my attitude (and maybe my drunkenness), I reasoned that it was because I was an "untouchable."

I know I have such an unhealthy attitude about my situation right now, and I know it's not helping anything to be pessimistic and downtrodden, but what can I do about that? Will I feel better when I get a job? Am I doing permanent damage to my psyche? Even going to church makes me feel nervous, and why? Shutting myself up in my apartment certainly isn't going to help, so why do I do it?

I just don't know anymore. And I feel like such an uninteresting person these days.

And I don't know what to do about it, anymore.

[Currently Spinning: Coldplay - Fix You]