why the fuck can my new doctor not give me an appointment? First it took me three months to register - they want two utility bills. Hello? Student? I don't get utility bills because my electricity is on a fucking meter. So I change my bank, and have to wait until I get two statements through. Then they don't like it because it has my bank's address on it (if she actually read it, it says my name and address in BIG FUCKING LETTERS on it) and they don't like my passport because, well, I have pink hair now and not in my passport. Pu-leeze. Well, they gave in, and I can register. Except I can't get an appointment until next week, but I'm away next week for uni and I need a prescription for my meds. But they don't give emergency appointments.
Sometimes I think they'd turn me away if I had the fucking plague, but then again I don't look ill, so I can't compare. I've been trying to stretch my meds out, and I know it's affecting me, but I don't want to have to go cold turkey (again) while I'm halfway up a sodding mountain in scotland. Because dizzy fits and nausea are not good while I'm in London, let alone the arse end of nowhere. I fucking hate this, I know I can deal with my depression when I'm medicated, but I can't if I've not got the meds taking the edge off. Sodding doctors.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
everyone fucks up it's going to be ok
This is the worst thing about depression. Knowing I'm getting depressed, as though I'm watching from the sidelines inside my own head, listening to this little part of myself shouting, screaming "no, don't go there, step back" even though I know that I'm only shouting to myself, and the rest of me isn't listening or can't hear or doesn't care, but is blithely steaming into the darkness.
I know stress is a trigger. I know. And I can control my own stress, to some degree. Take regular breaks, walk away from revision, cuddle the dog, stroke a bunny, take a nap. What I can't control is other people's stress. While I can walk away from or block out a stranger's stress - to a certain degree, although it's damn near impossible in uni - I can't do the same to my friends. I can't say "I'm sorry, your panicing about your exams is making me panic, and I'm not really interested in becoming suicidal right now, thx bye" to the people who matter to me, who support me in turn. I can't tell my friends that thier own petty dramas are impacting on my petty dramas - because to them, thier dramas aren't petty, just as mine aren't to me. And because I don't want to lose a dearest, oldest friend because she's getting worked up over an exam, or she's broken up with her boyfriend, or because she is going through what I went through, and is asking for help a lot quicker than I ever did.
I don't want to be heard-hearted or cruel. I want to support them, as they do me, because I can support them now. I can listen, I can sympathise, I can provide wine and chocolate and loud music and a comfy sofa and a listening ear. But will they do the same for me, when thier exams are over, they're done, and mine are just beginning? Will they grow tired of my moaning, my bitching, as often as I do thiers?
Part of me knows there is a single difference between me and them: they are doing thier courses because they want to - they don't know what they want to "be" once they leave university. I do. It's all I've wanted - and I am doing a course to reach that end. But with every year, the end gets jerked that bit further away, and I'm starting to fear I'll never reach that end. That no matter what I do I'll never be able to take that step to getting there.
Perhaps I ought to fight harder, work harder, stand taller, speak louder. That's what the little screaming voice is telling me. She's saying I can do it, I will do it, I'll do everything in my power to do it. But the rest of me isn't listening, she's too busy writing self-obsessive posts and moping over how inept, useless and thick she is.
I know stress is a trigger. I know. And I can control my own stress, to some degree. Take regular breaks, walk away from revision, cuddle the dog, stroke a bunny, take a nap. What I can't control is other people's stress. While I can walk away from or block out a stranger's stress - to a certain degree, although it's damn near impossible in uni - I can't do the same to my friends. I can't say "I'm sorry, your panicing about your exams is making me panic, and I'm not really interested in becoming suicidal right now, thx bye" to the people who matter to me, who support me in turn. I can't tell my friends that thier own petty dramas are impacting on my petty dramas - because to them, thier dramas aren't petty, just as mine aren't to me. And because I don't want to lose a dearest, oldest friend because she's getting worked up over an exam, or she's broken up with her boyfriend, or because she is going through what I went through, and is asking for help a lot quicker than I ever did.
I don't want to be heard-hearted or cruel. I want to support them, as they do me, because I can support them now. I can listen, I can sympathise, I can provide wine and chocolate and loud music and a comfy sofa and a listening ear. But will they do the same for me, when thier exams are over, they're done, and mine are just beginning? Will they grow tired of my moaning, my bitching, as often as I do thiers?
Part of me knows there is a single difference between me and them: they are doing thier courses because they want to - they don't know what they want to "be" once they leave university. I do. It's all I've wanted - and I am doing a course to reach that end. But with every year, the end gets jerked that bit further away, and I'm starting to fear I'll never reach that end. That no matter what I do I'll never be able to take that step to getting there.
Perhaps I ought to fight harder, work harder, stand taller, speak louder. That's what the little screaming voice is telling me. She's saying I can do it, I will do it, I'll do everything in my power to do it. But the rest of me isn't listening, she's too busy writing self-obsessive posts and moping over how inept, useless and thick she is.
Why I Shouldn't Watch Romantic Movies
I end up wishing, hoping, for that mysterious guy on a horse to pitch up, throw me up behind him and ride off with me into the sunset. Possibly having trained the buns and hound to run along behind us (I can see it now: "wanted: one prince charming. Must have gsoh, be housetrained, literate, well-read and love animals"). Heh. Maybe I've spent too long watching the bunny honeymoon - although, to be fair, I don't long for someone to jump on my head and dry-hump it, which is what Pete keeps doing to Doris. No, I want snuggles.
Anyway.
I'm scared of what will happen. Nervous of what he'll think, whether I'll say something stupid, have an outbreak of spots. Getting my heart broken, battered or just plain bruised. Actually, scratch that. The risk is half the fun, no?
Anyway.
I'm scared of what will happen. Nervous of what he'll think, whether I'll say something stupid, have an outbreak of spots. Getting my heart broken, battered or just plain bruised. Actually, scratch that. The risk is half the fun, no?
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