Feelings On Paper

20 years old and in therapy

I know I'm depressed when two of these things happen:

1) I begin reading more than one book at the same time and the reason why it is concerning is that I only ever read one at a time, it's the fastest way i can get reading done without burning myself down. If I read more than one book at the same time, its because I want to escape into multiple different worlds, just one is no longer enough to keep the thoughts at bay. When I read more than one book at a time, it takes longer and then I become burnt out from reading so much of the same stories for too long, which then causes me to not touch a book for another six months, and we don't want that as the only thing I spend my money these days on is books. (It's the only thing I can convince my shopaholic ass isn't useless and an essential buy)

2) I cry over videos of what I wish I could have at the very moment just out of nowhere. Once I saw a video of a father returning from war and surprising their child and I cried because I so wished for the same. Except my father was not in the war and the one time he tried to be in the military, he was dishonorably discharged and he's just been a drunk/druggie, depending on the phase of the year, and never been much part of my life.

I am currently reading, Midnight Sun and Twilight by Stephenie Meyer which, sure, makes sense, since they are the same damn book just different perspectives and slightly different thoughts, nice cash grab Meyer. Those books are just on my ipad.

In paperback I'm reading The Shade of The Moon by Susan Pether or however you say her name. (The book is at the end of the bed and I could check, but I am too lazy too) But the only reason I am reading this book is spite. I loved the first and the second book of this series, the third was alright. Now I am forcing myself because I need to know, I need to conclude the 4 book series ive started but this last book is just so damn cliche.

Last but not least, I'm listening to I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy, which as someone who's body image issues has recently been triggered by their mother, might not have been a good pick as I did not know Jennette's entire book revolves around her eating disorder, OCD, guilt, and depression regarding her relationship with her mother. That makes four total books I'm reading at this very moment. And I'm almost done with 2... sort of.

Then, to make matters even more depressing, I found myself crying at this TikTok of Drew Barrymore during her talk show and how gentle and loving and serene she is with her guest stars. The reason I cried over a celebrity I've never had real interest on or let alone have the ability to name one of her works, is because I wanted so badly to be hugged by her as I imagined her hugs to be the most comforting. Stupid TikTok.

That's 2 out of 2.

I cannot get my mind to stop thinking, to be quiet, to leave me in peace, not even with reading 4 books. I wake up and scroll TikTok, make breakfast while I listen to an audio book, get ready while I steal glances at my ipad, listen to the same audio book on my way to work, read my paperback at work, listen to the same audio book at the gym, on my way home too, back to reading on my ipad and yet I still somehow find the thoughts to be louder and more prominent than these new adventures.

When I do get my mind to be quiet, my feelings just re-emerge through dumb edits of white, privileged celebrities just doing their job exceptionally well. (She truly seems like such a kind woman to be honest)

And I cry. In my head I do. I sob internally because I do not know what to do with my life, I do not know if I am getting better.

Feels like I am but at the same time it just feels like I want to die constantly but can't bring myself to tell my therapist out of fear that she'll tell my doctor to institutionalize me. I want to tell her how sad I've been, but somehow I already feel behind on therapy because I've always got something new to complain about. I can't just drop the bomb on sweet Jess that her bubbly patient has been fantasizing about becoming crippling ill just so I can stop going to work or winning the lotto so I can stop going to school because if neither of those things happen, I'll kill myself of burn out.

So I cry and wipe the tears and sniffle and cough and choke. But never outside my head. To cry for real seems wrong. All this damn therapy, all these supplements, going to the gym, my medication, and it only seems fair that my effort be gratified with no crying. So I don't cry for reals, outside of my head. I'll let my eyes well but never let a tear trickle down. I raise my head up, swallow the tears, take one too many melatonins, smoke my weed, and go to sleep with a headache that ibuprofen has gotten use to.

I think maybe Twilight is too hardcore for me right now.