I get some weird sort of inverse SAD. I feel like garbage in the summer, but then I get shittons of energy in the winter. That energy isn't always good, but I always get it.
Unrelated: there is an increasing amount of evidence that literature agitates my depression -- specifically the anger aspects.
Depends, did you want to die because you hated it so much? I'm angry at the book. Latest example is throwing my chair across my room due to a particularly stupid essay about Mare Au Diable.
I had a bad reaction to an increase in my abilify, which was timed such that I thought it was normal breakup shit until it got REALLY intense. As such, I'm required to take the rest of the week off from school, so if any of you cats could keep me company over G+ hangout or FB. chat or whatever that would be appreciated. I promise to not be the emo piece of shit I was earlier this week.
When I was depressed (the bad reaction to the abilify), I could do what I wanted. I couldn't do what I didn't want, which was a serious problem, but it was very easy to do what I enjoyed. Now I'm back to hypomania, and everything is the same difficulty. I can do the things I don't like (schoolwork et al) with only moderate difficulty more than I should have, but the same is the case for things that I like. I have trouble even getting myself to watch cartoons. My twitch is back and thoughts are faster and more cluttered. I understand that it's necessary (in the short term, there is a plan of action to try to fix it in the long run), but damn this shit sucks.
All that being said, this is still leaps and bounds above where I was two months ago. Just in this last week I've been able to do things that were but distant fantasies to myself in September, and am not afraid to do things that petrified me merely by thinking of them before.
Lately, things have been in the shitter for me and I'm really depressed right now.
In the Fail of Your Booh-Yah thread, I mentioned how one of my teachers hired me to be the Head Writer of her avant-garde, art movement she was spearheading. I then had to quit it in less than two weeks because I discovered she was legitimately crazy (the "you need to get medical help/I don't feel safe with you in public" kind of crazy). Then the worst possible thing happened to me.
I don't know if I explained this or not, but I was making a short film in her class as an independent study student in her class, and I partnered up with a guy in that class to be my co-collaborator. He went above and beyond for me, right down to buying a Go-Pro for crane shots and building me a DIY Steadicam (a device that allows smooth tracking shots) and more similar devices. He has suddenly up and vanished and I can find neither hide nor hair of him. All attempts of contact have failed and I have been trying desperately for two and a half weeks. He's gone. I went to my teacher and I asked her if she could put me in touch with some people she might know that could make up a film crew (I had hoped she could ask them to do this for me as an IOU for her), and she flat-out refused saying that she only helps people who help her in return. She made it clear to me that she was bitterly resentful of my resignation from her art movement.
Because I don't know anyone nearby who is in my field who could possibly help me, have no money or resources to hire a new crew with (I can't offer food and I have source of income since job-seeking is unsuccessful), I had to do something that has caused me more pain than I can remember in recent memory: shelve the film.
This might sound like hyperbole (as I'm often wont to spout), but I'm really being sincere: this has caused me heartache and physical pain. This was a short film that I was going to test myself to see if I truly had what it took for a career in film. Not only that, it was a very personal story for me that drew on a lot of what I thought about in terms of isolation and self-imposed exile. It was my baby, and because people were untrustworthy and unreliable, I have to kill it now. I find my desire and ambition shrinking everyday.
Yeah... like that post of mine on the previous page in August... my life is still not right from that drama. Hense my lesser posting. I will make things right. I still have work to do. Totally listening to the Protomen at work today.
Oh, and I've developed high blood pressure. 161/122 at one point. Oddly at the same time as I'm drifting from an overweight bmi to a normal bmi. I'm down to 157 lbs this morning, which meant I was "normal" until I drank a glass of water because I was dehydrated as hell. Appetite and hunger have sort of ceased to exist.
Oh mans do I know what you mean about appetite and hunger. I've trained myself to eat on the grounds that low blood sugar has seriously negative effects on ones psyche, but that took me about a year to do reliably.
Worst panic attack ever today. Thought I might collapse in Wal-Mart. Would have been one more for the black Friday counter at least. Managed to calm down. Was 172/118 at one point. That's pretty close to the point where they would tell me to go to the ER. Probably should have. Probably wouldn't have made any difference. Went home. Slept for four hours.
Geo, I wouldn't even suspect you of being hyperbolic with that sentiment. If I could not make music it would destroy me, but I can do it with almost nothing. I can't imagine what it's like to be that involved in an art such as film. The only advice I can think of is this: old ideas are like dead dogs. It is good to grieve their loss, but finding a new one will truly heal you. Don't stop creating, keep doing what you do. If you can fight the drag and keep working your emotions will work themselves out.
Anthony, man, I know what you're going through. When I was at my lowest I was a skeleton with an overactive sympathetic nervous system and not much else. If I went out in public a debilitating panic attack was more or less guaranteed. Fucking Wal-Mart especially, that place will eat your soul.
Over the past year I've found many troubles. Just to name a few, my mother has been through cancer treatment, I've had no car to drive (in the middle of nowhere, no less), I have failed twice to transfer schools, and most recently my best friend has started dating a girl I fancy (again). I am not exaggerating when I say that it is the worst year I have weathered. Today I am almost as stable and happy as I could hope to be.
The road to calm was long and confusing, and I don't know if I can fully describe it in a useful way. I have found my soul and learned to fight those parts of me that cloud it. There is a place in you, a place you can always retreat to, which only observes and does not judge. It is quiet and safe; a place to sit and watch while your thoughts spin and twist into panic and depression. When I learned to find that place, and I learned to observe myself without judgement (without thought, even), I believe that was the first step to peace.
You have to love something before you can fear or hate. Find the love at the root of it all. Fight to feel it. That will also chip away at sadness.
...SSRIs and pot kinda help too, but I feel weird giving that advice.
I couldn't think of where else to put this. It's too personal for the random questions thread (in my estimation anyway) and I'm not so much depressed as I am baffled, if not a little disheartened.
You know that cliche thing that some artists spout saying how their parents don't understand them and that their being an artist is a completely foreign concept to them? Evidently I'm going to be one of those people now. I just got out of seeing Dallas Buyers Club (great movie by the by) and I said to my dad that I thought that was a fantastic movie (which I thought it was) and he seemed a little disengaged and short with me, which surprised me.
When I asked what was wrong, he replied with saying something along the lines of wishing I wasn't so over the top or enthusiastic about movies. I was really taken aback by this and I tried picking his brain to try and get to the root of this. What I got out of him was that my enthusiasm after seeing what I think is a great movie, not to mention about movies in general, makes him very uncomfortable. I told him by saying I'm not like other people when I watch things and that it's my passion; not to mention my chosen career-path; but that did not seem to get through to him.
I've known for a while that my father did not seem interested in what I did when I was making them and was neither all that interested or as supportive about it as my mom is. The most he does is go see movies with me which I do genuinely enjoy doing with him. Also when I describe things from the point of view as an artist would, he just doesn't get it or finds my POV odd. Not only that, but he doesn't try to understand it.
This admission effectively means he doesn't understand me (he even said so much by saying it is his problem) and I don't foresee him attempting to try anytime soon. I'm not mad at him, I'm at a loss of how to feel or go about this. Anyone who has faced similar situations before, are there things I can do to maybe ease him into understanding or should I just let it be what it is and make peace?
I don't see a problem. So your dad doesn't understand. He's not trying to stop you from doing what you love. There doesn't seem to be actual conflict here, just a passive difference in character. Let it be and find some other way that you can connect with him.
Geo I think it's more that he is concerned you are taking a hard path with a lot of chance of failure so he is concerned that what gives you your greatest pleasure may also be your undoing
I think ScoJo is right. Parents worry about their kids in a billion different ways all at once and, admittedly, the entertainment industry is filled with starving actors, directors, writers, and [insert job title here].
So I've missed 9 days so far this term (beginning of November) due to anxiety/bipolar. The max allowed without a waiver is 5. Right now my eye twitch is back, my heart is racing, and my hands are shaking so bad I can't write (I can type, slowly, because I'm better at that than writing, but that doesn't let me take notes), so at this point I think I have to get an early dismissal. This sucks, because there were things I actually needed/wanted to do in school today, but it's what has to happen.
Does your school have a clinic/medical center/whatever? Go there and see if they have a mental health department. Do it today if you can. Taking it on with backup is ever so much less stressful.
They've got a mental health department, but it's piss poor. I only used it briefly last year, and that was only because I needed to for political reasons (its a long story). For support I usually go to the Spec Ed teacher, who isn't really qualified to handle my case but knows me better than anyone else in the school, so it works out.
Fun fact: over 3% of the student body has "a serious mental illness". Less than 2% have learning disabilities. There is a system to get support for the latter, but the procedure for the former is only getting developed now.
I was thinking about the possibility of there being more at your school due to the added stress of it being an exam school and the higher rate of intelligent people having mental illness.
So since the 16th (my last post in this thread) I've: burned myself, stabbed myself with mechanical pencils every school day, suffered the worst panic of my life (during which I didn't hurt myself, which is probably why it was the worst), missed another three days of school, and cried multiple times daily. I feel like I have nothing to live for but the promises that someday I will. Those promises may keep me alive, but they can't keep me happy. I need something to take the pain away, just enough that I can pass my classes and just long enough so that I can graduate, but so far nothing's done that for me. I've come too far and fought too hard to give up, but this last leg of the journey is too long for me to make it without a crutch, and no one's provided one that doesn't snap as soon as I lean on it yet.
I know how it can all hurt. I'm so sorry you're harming yourself, though. At this point, you may need something heavier. I'm assuming that is all known and being dealt with by people with way more knowledge of this than me.
Still, if posting her allows you to vent, by all means, please do. As someone who pushes through day to day with a general sense of hopelessness, worry, and sadness, I can relate and talk.
All this either is known or will be known by professionals. My postings on here are just ways to get it out of my system so that I can be calm about it later. It's hard to talk about, and helps if I tell it in text first.
Comments
Unrelated: there is an increasing amount of evidence that literature agitates my depression -- specifically the anger aspects.
I had a bad reaction to an increase in my abilify, which was timed such that I thought it was normal breakup shit until it got REALLY intense. As such, I'm required to take the rest of the week off from school, so if any of you cats could keep me company over G+ hangout or FB. chat or whatever that would be appreciated. I promise to not be the emo piece of shit I was earlier this week.
When I was depressed (the bad reaction to the abilify), I could do what I wanted. I couldn't do what I didn't want, which was a serious problem, but it was very easy to do what I enjoyed. Now I'm back to hypomania, and everything is the same difficulty. I can do the things I don't like (schoolwork et al) with only moderate difficulty more than I should have, but the same is the case for things that I like. I have trouble even getting myself to watch cartoons. My twitch is back and thoughts are faster and more cluttered. I understand that it's necessary (in the short term, there is a plan of action to try to fix it in the long run), but damn this shit sucks.
All that being said, this is still leaps and bounds above where I was two months ago. Just in this last week I've been able to do things that were but distant fantasies to myself in September, and am not afraid to do things that petrified me merely by thinking of them before.
In the Fail of Your Booh-Yah thread, I mentioned how one of my teachers hired me to be the Head Writer of her avant-garde, art movement she was spearheading. I then had to quit it in less than two weeks because I discovered she was legitimately crazy (the "you need to get medical help/I don't feel safe with you in public" kind of crazy). Then the worst possible thing happened to me.
I don't know if I explained this or not, but I was making a short film in her class as an independent study student in her class, and I partnered up with a guy in that class to be my co-collaborator. He went above and beyond for me, right down to buying a Go-Pro for crane shots and building me a DIY Steadicam (a device that allows smooth tracking shots) and more similar devices. He has suddenly up and vanished and I can find neither hide nor hair of him. All attempts of contact have failed and I have been trying desperately for two and a half weeks. He's gone. I went to my teacher and I asked her if she could put me in touch with some people she might know that could make up a film crew (I had hoped she could ask them to do this for me as an IOU for her), and she flat-out refused saying that she only helps people who help her in return. She made it clear to me that she was bitterly resentful of my resignation from her art movement.
Because I don't know anyone nearby who is in my field who could possibly help me, have no money or resources to hire a new crew with (I can't offer food and I have source of income since job-seeking is unsuccessful), I had to do something that has caused me more pain than I can remember in recent memory: shelve the film.
This might sound like hyperbole (as I'm often wont to spout), but I'm really being sincere: this has caused me heartache and physical pain. This was a short film that I was going to test myself to see if I truly had what it took for a career in film. Not only that, it was a very personal story for me that drew on a lot of what I thought about in terms of isolation and self-imposed exile. It was my baby, and because people were untrustworthy and unreliable, I have to kill it now. I find my desire and ambition shrinking everyday.
Oh, and I've developed high blood pressure. 161/122 at one point. Oddly at the same time as I'm drifting from an overweight bmi to a normal bmi. I'm down to 157 lbs this morning, which meant I was "normal" until I drank a glass of water because I was dehydrated as hell. Appetite and hunger have sort of ceased to exist.
Anthony, man, I know what you're going through. When I was at my lowest I was a skeleton with an overactive sympathetic nervous system and not much else. If I went out in public a debilitating panic attack was more or less guaranteed. Fucking Wal-Mart especially, that place will eat your soul.
Over the past year I've found many troubles. Just to name a few, my mother has been through cancer treatment, I've had no car to drive (in the middle of nowhere, no less), I have failed twice to transfer schools, and most recently my best friend has started dating a girl I fancy (again). I am not exaggerating when I say that it is the worst year I have weathered. Today I am almost as stable and happy as I could hope to be.
The road to calm was long and confusing, and I don't know if I can fully describe it in a useful way. I have found my soul and learned to fight those parts of me that cloud it. There is a place in you, a place you can always retreat to, which only observes and does not judge. It is quiet and safe; a place to sit and watch while your thoughts spin and twist into panic and depression. When I learned to find that place, and I learned to observe myself without judgement (without thought, even), I believe that was the first step to peace.
You have to love something before you can fear or hate. Find the love at the root of it all. Fight to feel it. That will also chip away at sadness.
...SSRIs and pot kinda help too, but I feel weird giving that advice.
You know that cliche thing that some artists spout saying how their parents don't understand them and that their being an artist is a completely foreign concept to them? Evidently I'm going to be one of those people now. I just got out of seeing Dallas Buyers Club (great movie by the by) and I said to my dad that I thought that was a fantastic movie (which I thought it was) and he seemed a little disengaged and short with me, which surprised me.
When I asked what was wrong, he replied with saying something along the lines of wishing I wasn't so over the top or enthusiastic about movies. I was really taken aback by this and I tried picking his brain to try and get to the root of this. What I got out of him was that my enthusiasm after seeing what I think is a great movie, not to mention about movies in general, makes him very uncomfortable. I told him by saying I'm not like other people when I watch things and that it's my passion; not to mention my chosen career-path; but that did not seem to get through to him.
I've known for a while that my father did not seem interested in what I did when I was making them and was neither all that interested or as supportive about it as my mom is. The most he does is go see movies with me which I do genuinely enjoy doing with him. Also when I describe things from the point of view as an artist would, he just doesn't get it or finds my POV odd. Not only that, but he doesn't try to understand it.
This admission effectively means he doesn't understand me (he even said so much by saying it is his problem) and I don't foresee him attempting to try anytime soon. I'm not mad at him, I'm at a loss of how to feel or go about this. Anyone who has faced similar situations before, are there things I can do to maybe ease him into understanding or should I just let it be what it is and make peace?
Fun fact: over 3% of the student body has "a serious mental illness". Less than 2% have learning disabilities. There is a system to get support for the latter, but the procedure for the former is only getting developed now.
Still, if posting her allows you to vent, by all means, please do. As someone who pushes through day to day with a general sense of hopelessness, worry, and sadness, I can relate and talk.