I don’t know if it’s because I hurt myself the other day, or because I made wrong decisions about who I should be friends with, but right now I feel like I don’t want anyone to love me because I’m such a wreck. I feel embarrassed of myself. I don’t want to make any effort to do anything. There would be no one who could understand and even I’m not sure if I’m valid. And that leaves me with… nothing. Absolutely nothing. Life goes on, but it just is. I have no suicidal ideation, but what I feel is akin to that—I’m killing myself slowly by isolation.
There’s one more thing I want to draw. Just one thing! The Doctor kissing Clara cheekily on the corner of her mouth, and Clara acting surprised because the Doctor finally initiated something. Her eyes wide and big, the Doctor smiling as he kissed.
(The Doctor probably came to drop off some flowers or a ticket for her birthday or something)
Also, the one fic where the Doctor takes Clara to a planet called Ilov-U. Clara spitting her coffee.
The Doctor being unexpectedly affectionate and Clara being surprised but pleased.
When I woke up this morning, I didn’t feel like doing anything.
I wanted to play a game I just bought on my iPad, Bully. I also wanted to read some books and comics I haven’t finished reading. Or maybe watch TV shows since I just subscribed to Netflix. Then I remembered I had ideas about a story I wanted to write, and I thought I should be writing them. But I didn’t know which one I would actually do so I just sat, not knowing what to do.
Usually on a day off I would draw. I remember dr. Bowo (my “secondary” psychiatrist, as in the one I go to when my primary one isn’t available) told me to make a schedule and just follow it no matter what. I decided that mornings are for drawings, so I forced myself to draw. I was planning to make a watercolor painting because I was bored with monochromatic drawings with graphite.
First I looked at many issues ImagineFX magazines I’ve collected throughout the years, looking for inspiration.
See, even now I’m too lazy to finish this.
Anyway, some drawing ideas:
- an autopsy scene. it could be a modern autopsy with a sci-fi setting. I need references for this.
- Clara and the Doctor dressed for the Orient Express
- portrait of David Tennant as the 10th Doctor, painted with watercolor
- what of my unwritten story about Lynne Ashe the death investigator?
- which books should I read??
- which magazine tutorial should I try out?? maybe I should begin with the oldest issue??
- when should i draw?? every saturday probably?? other days I do other things besides drawing.
I’m having one of those moments again. I feel nauseated and I want to vomit, the usual symptoms of my depression. It must be because I’m gonna hit that part of the month. I can’t find any other reason that could be the cause. I was pissed at my mom this morning, but nothing happened after i addressed my problem with her. I observed an autopsy in the afternoon but the nausea didn’t get worse even with the sight of a corpse’s body being opened with a knife. Or is it because I found about some unpleasant scene in a Doctor Who episode? (I’d really hate myself if it’s right!) God, I hate it when I don’t know what’s causing this!
I think it’s been almost a month since I stopped getting what I call “psychosomatic attacks.” Basically, my body likes to act up whenever there’s a psychological stress. Suddenly I’d have diarrhea, headache, nausea, and vomiting, for example. I started taking Cipralex (Escitalopram) last month to help me with this phenomenon (I used to take Zoloft) and it helped a lot. The psychosomatic symptoms didn’t appear until… just now.
I know why it happened. I had a quarrel with some close friends because they were being stubborn and didn’t respect me without having a single clue about it. I drove 2 hours to our meeting place and they were late for half an hour, they didn’t have any excuse for being lage, they didn’t even bother to contact me when they arrived and they outright refused my suggestions. I had been patient with them for a long time but this time I’d had enough and explained that what they did absolutely disappointed me and I quit from our chat group. One of them didn’t even bother to apologize, which made me feel more certain about leaving them.
Okay, so what they did was intolerable for me, I was angry, and I decided to leave. It seems rational. But why does this cause me anxiety?
They were probably my closest friends in medical school and I didn’t like them. It’s not like I won’t talk to them or anything, but I’m just gonna stop hanging out with them. I feel better without them right now, but there’s a thing that keeps bugging me: what if I can’t find friends afterwards? I have horrible people skills and the trigger of my first depression episode 7 years ago was caused by loneliness. I didn’t have any friend and it scares me to think that I would experience that loneliness once more. It scares me to the point of causing psychosomatic symptoms.
And I don’t know what it is I should do. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act in such situations. I used to have no friends and now I’m angry at people who are my close friends because I don’t think they deserve me. My mom tells me that I should befriend people who have good social skills because obviously my previously good friends didn’t. But I’m not good at talking, especially to those kind of people. I’m thoroughly uninteresting and I usually just don’t know what to say. Then my mom suggested I get a boyfriend, which is even more impossible.
Gosh, it’s only been a month and I already need to see my psychiatrist.
If you feel like you want to respond/have some ideas about having a good social life and avoid loneliness, please do comment!
Waking up to who you are requires letting go of who you imagine yourself to be.
I feel it difficult to let go of the image of the person you wish to be. Ever since I recovered from my years of depression I’ve learned something new about myself every day, and the realizations are many times quite surprising. I have a theory about it that involves Erikson’s theory about the stages of personality development. I lost the moments when I should’ve known myself because my black dog began to appear during my teenage years. It pretty much shielded me from the outside world, making me focus on loathing myself.
So, the self-loathing thing happened yesterday. I don’t know what caused it (I try to analyze myself but sometimes it’s just difficult), but I suspect it has something to do with my inconsistency.
I’m rather jealous of my friends who are a constant, predictable human being. Sometimes I think I know myself but then my moods surprise me and tell me, nope, you’re not exactly who you think you are. I tried to get some control on myself but my mood insisted that I follow it first instead. I don’t know if this has something to do with being bipolar (it probably has), but it sure does frustrate the hell out of me.
My opinions and spirit on a single thing changes depending on my mood as well. Sometimes I feel like I’m so fired up I want to do a lot of things, other times I don’t care about the world. My sister has learned not to trust my words because of it. I learned not to trust myself with every passing desire. It would pass and a new thing will arrive and thus my mind keeps changing. The truth is that I am made of inconsistency.
I’ve made tons of blogs before. Many of them I deleted because I despised my own writing. This is because I have never been a writer–I was one whose mind works with images, not words, or abstract, unreal things. I make pictures of what I like. It was not that I disliked talking, I simply did not think it was the suitable method of expression for me. Besides, I have this tendency to fail when I use words. So what made me want to begin anew, yet again?
It started with a simple desire to showcase the pictures of my favorite authors somewhere. I wanted to print them and tape it on the wall of my apartment, but I don’t want to freak my family out by making them think that I was into dead old men
(which, in fact, I probably am, but not the dead ones, mind you). So I thought about the internet. For some reason, I couldn’t add my favorite authors on Goodreads because the “Become a Fan” button somehow disappeared. And thus, that led me to making this new blog, a personal space where I can talk about whatever I want.
Though, in reality, I don’t really like to talk so much unless someone asks for my opinion. I don’t know, it just feels so self-important. Unless, again, there’s some benefit to be gotten from the talk itself. I guess the only way to make his whole blogging thing work is to look at it positively. I really need to stop seeing blogs as a place for show-offs.
Blogging is for sharing. Sharing your experience, thoughts, creations, whatever, to anybody on the face of the planet. It’s quite amazing that the internet has no boundaries. Even if you belong to no community in real life, you can still try exploring the internet to find people who are more like you.
I guess that particular reason is the one that brought me back here.