Go ahead, smirk if you like. I make no apologies for my unveiled Avril Lavigne reference. This song has gotten me through a lot over the years, and it's been playing through my head today. I was supposed to be gone. I was supposed to leave for Cincinnati on Saturday so I wouldn't have to be in this town over the next few weeks. Battling severe depression is hard, in and of itself. But when there are specific traumas and circumstances perpetuating the depression, rather than simply a severe physical chemical imbalance, it makes it even harder. Friday night, I had my car all packed up and ready to go, because I wasn't able to handle being here in Cape, and the closer I got to this coming Thursday, the worse it got. Finally, it became necessary for my mental and physical well being for me to leave.
And then, with the car all packed, I threw out my back.
The more time passed, the more it hurt, and I realized, I wasn't going anywhere for a few days. My parents had just gotten home to Cincinnati when I did it. They were gone. I was alone, and I threw out my back. I was going to be stuck in my nightmarish bubble for days. And I cried. I have spent the last few days just trying to keep holding on. At times it feels overwhelming, and it all comes pouring out in rather impressive sobs. Other times, I just try to stay occupied- watching Doctor Who, grading and interacting with my online classes, putting in more resumes, and arguing with people on Facebook about The Cup or Syrian refugees or Muslims in general or the primaries (sometimes for sheer entertainment value more than anything else!).
Today, I felt like I was barely holding on. I realized I probably won't get out of here until Wednesday, and even that isn't positive. The thought of waking up in this town on Thursday is overwhelming. Mockingjay II comes out on Thursday. We were supposed to go to that Thursday night. We'd been planning that for months. We met at the Thursday night premiere of Mockingjay I, and this was supposed to kick of the start of our one year anniversary. We had so many plans for this holiday season. It's overwhelming. This particular week last year was so good. We had snow, I met him, I got to spend a lot of time with a friend, my friendship with whom sadly wound up as a casualty of my breakup. I was just starting to get better after my accident, and things were really looking so hopeful. I had no idea of the hell that lay ahead. So I really just needed to be gone this week. Not stuck moving between my bed and couch in my apartment in total isolation with way more time on my hands to think than is good right now. The more the day progressed, the harder it got. This song kept going through my head, and I wound up with the visual of Christina hanging on for her life over the Dauntless chasm. And right now, that's what I feel like. I feel like I'm hanging on for my life, water spraying my face and making my hands slip, nothing but rocks a hundred feet below. Like Christina, I have plenty of friends cheering me on, urging me to hang on. But it's hard. Especially when I can't see what's ahead.
Last year, I made it through the difficult time brought on by my car accident by telling myself things would be so much better by this time next year. And here I am, not better, but decidedly worse. Last year, I could see the road ahead of me, and it was so promising. It made holding on so much easier. This year, I look ahead and I can't see anything, and I'm in so much more pain. Making it worse, it's not just pain from one thing, but from a whole barrage of things that have kept hitting me since the end of May. My friend Chilan told me last night that all she could do right now is facepalm and cringe for me as each new thing happens, just waiting for things to let up. And I'm just hanging here over the chasm, as the metal grate digs into my hands and the water makes them slip, with zero idea what is ahead of me and if things are going to calm down soon or not. So I wait. I wait, and I hope that somehow, the next 32 years are going to be better for me than the previous 32 have been. I have no way of knowing whether they will be or not. But I guess for now, for a little while longer at least, I will stay here, and keep holding on.
And then, with the car all packed, I threw out my back.
The more time passed, the more it hurt, and I realized, I wasn't going anywhere for a few days. My parents had just gotten home to Cincinnati when I did it. They were gone. I was alone, and I threw out my back. I was going to be stuck in my nightmarish bubble for days. And I cried. I have spent the last few days just trying to keep holding on. At times it feels overwhelming, and it all comes pouring out in rather impressive sobs. Other times, I just try to stay occupied- watching Doctor Who, grading and interacting with my online classes, putting in more resumes, and arguing with people on Facebook about The Cup or Syrian refugees or Muslims in general or the primaries (sometimes for sheer entertainment value more than anything else!).
Today, I felt like I was barely holding on. I realized I probably won't get out of here until Wednesday, and even that isn't positive. The thought of waking up in this town on Thursday is overwhelming. Mockingjay II comes out on Thursday. We were supposed to go to that Thursday night. We'd been planning that for months. We met at the Thursday night premiere of Mockingjay I, and this was supposed to kick of the start of our one year anniversary. We had so many plans for this holiday season. It's overwhelming. This particular week last year was so good. We had snow, I met him, I got to spend a lot of time with a friend, my friendship with whom sadly wound up as a casualty of my breakup. I was just starting to get better after my accident, and things were really looking so hopeful. I had no idea of the hell that lay ahead. So I really just needed to be gone this week. Not stuck moving between my bed and couch in my apartment in total isolation with way more time on my hands to think than is good right now. The more the day progressed, the harder it got. This song kept going through my head, and I wound up with the visual of Christina hanging on for her life over the Dauntless chasm. And right now, that's what I feel like. I feel like I'm hanging on for my life, water spraying my face and making my hands slip, nothing but rocks a hundred feet below. Like Christina, I have plenty of friends cheering me on, urging me to hang on. But it's hard. Especially when I can't see what's ahead.
Last year, I made it through the difficult time brought on by my car accident by telling myself things would be so much better by this time next year. And here I am, not better, but decidedly worse. Last year, I could see the road ahead of me, and it was so promising. It made holding on so much easier. This year, I look ahead and I can't see anything, and I'm in so much more pain. Making it worse, it's not just pain from one thing, but from a whole barrage of things that have kept hitting me since the end of May. My friend Chilan told me last night that all she could do right now is facepalm and cringe for me as each new thing happens, just waiting for things to let up. And I'm just hanging here over the chasm, as the metal grate digs into my hands and the water makes them slip, with zero idea what is ahead of me and if things are going to calm down soon or not. So I wait. I wait, and I hope that somehow, the next 32 years are going to be better for me than the previous 32 have been. I have no way of knowing whether they will be or not. But I guess for now, for a little while longer at least, I will stay here, and keep holding on.
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