Atychiphobia: Got A Pill For That, Jackass?

This weekend’s depression was not random, it was brought on by stress of this semester that I’ve been fighting ever since it’s begun. I took on a load that I knew I couldn’t handle and it’s biting me in the ass. Therefore, I’ve made the rather tough decision to drop two out of my three classes and retake them next semester.

One of my big reserves for doing this is that I hate feeling like a failure. I’m smart and I know it. It’s what makes me a little too arrogant sometimes. Calc isn’t hard, Chem isn’t hard, but they are both a lot of work and juggling the stress and the depression and lack of energy and lack of motivation and the anxiety makes it nearly impossible to keep up. So I find myself questioning whether this is the right path for me. I know I want to go into psychiatry with a focus in children/adolescents; that will always be my passion. But the path to that man, is fucking rough.

My second big reserve for doing this is money. I get my classes, books, and living expenses (even though I live with my parents) paid, and they’re not going to be happy knowing I’m quitting 3/4ths of my schedule. I’ve been fighting with myself for a few weeks over them. I’ve come to the conclusion that they can have their fucking money back. I always tell people your health is the most important thing and that if your job puts that at risk or your classes or your whatever, then get away from it, and yet here I am dragging myself through mud and glass just so I can try and make everything perfect, just so I can done with school quickly and not seem like a failure. Well, I keep catching mini colds, my anxiety keeps me up at night, my depression keeps me up at night, and I still don’t have enough time to put all the energy needed into these classes. I have to face the blaring fact: these classes are hurting my mental health. It’s time to pull out.

If I wasn’t so serious right now, I’d make a sexual joke about that.

Anyway, I know I exaggerate things. I know for some reason I feel my entire career and my entire life rides on my chem class and my calc class, like I’ll never reach my goal if I don’t pass them right this fucking instant and I’m learning to accept that is not a fact. I’m learning to accept that it’s alright to slow down, take some deep breaths, and know your limits. I’m learning to accept that I need to do some more work on myself before I can expect to exceed as much as I want to.

I’m very afraid of failure. Isn’t there a phobia for that?

Of course there is, there’s a phobia for everything these days. And who isn’t afraid of failure today? If you don’t live up to what everyone else wants you to live up to, you’re suddenly a failure. That makes mommy sad, daddy angry, and suddenly you’re the worst role model for your little brother who mommy says started smoking Crystal Meth because you dropped one of your classes in college. Damnit, You, look what you’ve done to Jimmy! He’s sticking himself with needles because you “couldn’t handle” Literature. It’s all your fault!

Everyone is obsessed with this thing we call “success”. But success is determined by you, I know this now. In order for me to be successful I need to be content, I need to have my mental health in order, and I need to be on my way to completing the schooling I want to do. That’s successful to me. If someone sees me as a “quitter” because I’m having to drop these classes, if they’re “disappointed”, than that sounds like a personal problem they need to deal with within themselves.

Obviously because I’m prone to anxiety, I get worried that I’m doing this avoid things. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve pushed myself to the breaking point this semester, because I don’t want school to be at the mercy of my maladaptive behaviors. I’ve decided this isn’t to avoid anything, this is one step backwards so I can take fifteen steps forward. It’s progress. It might seem backwards, but it’s progress.

I love math and science and I always will. But would I make a great nuclear chemist or theoretical physicist or any of that? Probably not, because I’ve realized that I don’t love math and science like I love psychology and writing. When I’m stressed I don’t go to math, I don’t go to chemistry, I go to my writing. I go to books. It’s what I find the most happiness in. It’s what I’ll always find the most happiness in. Writing can do a lot for others, and so can psychology; nuclear chemistry . . . eh, I don’t see what good coming up with a new element is doing the entirety of the world. That seems like more of a personal endeavor and I’m not that into myself. I guess you can put your name on element “HeadUpMyAssium” (Abbreviated, “Ha”) and go down in history but like I said, what good does that do anyone?

You can do a lot of things with science, I’m just poking fun at the ridiculousness. All these people trying to deconstruct life down to its very core, as if they’re ever going to come to a definitive answer. Life ain’t got time for that shit, humans. It’ll send you through so many twists and turns, so many mind-fucks, you’re going to wonder why you spent ten years in college and thirty years at NASA instead of laying on your back and appreciating the fact that you exist.

At any rate, that was what I spent my day thinking about. I’m sorry to my Chem Lab partner who is going to be left alone now. She’s awesome and I hope whoever I’m with next semester is just as awesome. I’m sorry to my math professor who had to grade through my depression (LOL SORRY BRO). Most of all I’m sorry to myself for not listening to my gut this summer saying “chill out; take your time” because it ended up being right. I need to slow down and take my time and realize that my passion for psychology isn’t going anywhere. As long as I have that, I’ll make it to my goal. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, I’ll make it.

I guess I made this post for me. I don’t do that very often, but it needed to be done. It’s helped me see a lot clearer.

Conversing With My Brain Is Rarely Pleasent

I didn’t use to believe it, but depression is eerily comforting.

I can feel it poking its head over the horizon like a groundhog popping its head out of a hole on the prairie.

I wish I had a furry animal to cuddle and love and who would want to cuddle and love me back, mostly because I’m it’s source of food and shelter but what the hell, I can handle being used. That’s what sucks about living in a small apartment; they don’t let you do shit.

No one wants to be depressed, I know I don’t, but really I’ve spent more of my life depressed and anxious than I have “happy” (whatever that means) and content. It’s more comfortable floating in that state of uneasiness, confused on whether I want to live but sure on the fact that I don’t want to die, and certain only on the fact that this pain exists, than it has ever been for me to be productive or a student or a part of the community.

School is becoming a chore rather than something I enjoy and I know that’s dangerous. This morning I woke up thinking it was Saturday (I’m dead serious over here), so I went back to sleep and woke up like shit today isn’t Saturday. So I missed my morning class yet again. I don’t have the energy to deal with it, I don’t have the motivation to study for my Wednesday test, and I feel like I should care about it all but I don’t. I think that’s what’s bugging me the most. I just don’t give a fuck.

Of course I’ll scramble at the last minute today, I’ll study as much as I can, I’ll get my homework done, but it’ll be like someone’s chained me to the wall, whipped me with one of those freaky kinky leather strap whip things, then attached electrodes all over my skin to shock some energy into me so I can scribble a few bullshit lines on a piece of paper and call it a day. I love learning. I hate college. These are two facts I wish meshed together better than they do.

I only hate college when I’m depressed–which isn’t all that weird considering what depression is. I felt good last week, I got some shit done, I was studying, I was understanding, and now it’s all gone. The energy is gone, the determination is gone, the hope that I can actually finish out this semester is gone. It’s all been hallowed out with an ice cream scoop. So now I’m just an empty sack of nothing spending her days watching cats on YouTube and wondering what tasty food stuff I can shove down my face hole.

I told my brain:

“Brain, whatever you do, don’t be a bitch for once. We almost have everything caught up. Don’t dick me over. I don’t need depression right now.” 

My brain replied:

“I’d never be a dick to you, don’t worry, I got you.” 

So we went on our merry ways getting through the anxiety attack from Thursday and sleeping away Friday to catch up on all the hours I missed that week. Then I woke up and I felt it. I told my brain:

“Brain . . . you’re starting to feel a little squishy. What’s . . . what’s going on up there? I thought we had this?”

My brain replied:

“I got this. Don’t even trip. Don’t even trip.” 

I started tripping. The next morning I said,

“Brain something’s going on. Don’t lie to me. Your thoughts aren’t right, they’re all pitiful and sad. What’s the matter with you?”

My brain replied:

“We’re worthless. Just quicken my end already.” 

I facepalmed, and grumbled,

“Damnit brain, I don’t have time for this!” 

My Brain wailed,

“Exactly! So do it! Shoot me! Put me out of my misery!” (Cue brain sobs) “We’ll never get through this, it’s all pointless, you’re pointless, I’m pointless, life is pointless, if . . . if you won’t shoot me, at least punch something. Bang your head on the wall. Burn yourself. Something!” 

I said very blatantly,

“Fuck off, brain.” 

Brain proceeded to whine and complain and cry and feel sorry for itself. So I’ve been dragging this body around from day to day this weekend without any help from my brain. It’s completely checked out. And we were so close. You don’t even want to hear the conversation I’ve had with my body: oh it’s pissed. It’s sick of sitting around all day, it’s sick of feeling tired all day, and it knows I can do something about it and it knows how hard I’ve been fighting and it’s starting to lose hope too. It’s done trying to keep up with life and so am I.

Funny cat videos solve everything, right?