I took that poor sweet beautiful cat to the humane society today. I feel worse than scum. I keep thinking of him in one of those tiny little cages and I start crying all over again. But I just couldn't deal with so many animals anymore. It was too hectic, and it was stressing them all out, and he deserved more attention and space than I could give him. And I'm allergic to him, moreso than the others. I've been pondering this for weeks, I'm not sure why today I finally did it.
I cried for 45 minutes before I put him in the carrier, and then all the way there; I broke down again when the lady took him from me, and I cried all the way home. He's so sweet and loving ... he'll be adopted, I'm sure of it. But I still feel like the worst scum ever for abandoning him.
It's 5:40 in the morning, and I haven't gone to bed yet. That's partially because I was watching Ugly Betty, but mostly because I've been fretting and worrying about things.
I know it's stupid. There's absolutely nothing I can do right now, for example, about the fact that I have numerous collection agencies calling me. I don't have any money for them, and sitting on my couch chewing my lower lip to shreds doesn't fix that. I could do something about my reading for school that I'm behind on, if I could focus. I can't do anything right now about the fact that I'm simultaneously lonely and apathetic about even trying to have a relationship (even if I knew where to look). Picking at anything blemish-like on my arms won't help my frustration over my job sucking. Etc. etc. etc. I just feel anxious, uncertain, jittery.
I should have gone to bed when I got home; but I wasn't tired. The new hours at work are fucking with my sleep cycle even more than usual. And now I feel so keyed up I can't even contemplate going to bed.
I feel like I should make a list of all the things I need and want to get done. But I know when I finally do crawl in to bed, they're all just going to spin around endlessly in my head anyway. Making a list is only going to lead to a different sort of spinning, one pondering priorities and lack of time and lack of resources, and the hopelessness of certain things anyway.
I'm so tired of acting happy. Part of the reason I've dreaded going to work lately is because I have to act happy--not just to customers, I can fake that easily enough. But my friends at work know something is wrong, and I don't have the words to explain it. I can't even explain it to myself. Which again is a sign my meds need adjusting, so I should just shut up and go to bed and make the appointment Monday morning.
I'm going through another slump, another bout of feeling .... I don't know, flat. Like breathing is an effort, like doing anything takes a huge effort. And I don't know why. There's nothing wrong, goddammit! I've got a lot of homework, and I've got a lot of bills, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. And yet all I want to do is slump around my house, doing nothing. I could quite contently flop on my couch and stare at the ceiling for hours. I slept for nine hours this afternoon because of this.
I don't know what to do. I'm already on happy pills, after all. And like I said, there isn't anything actually wrong. So why the hell do I feel like this? Why do I feel like crying every time I have to go to work, and why do I struggle to do something as little as clean the cat boxes? It's absolutely idiotic.
Of course, telling myself that doesn't alter my brain chemistry. I guess it's time for me to go to the doctor about my dosage again. Let's see how long it takes me to fight through the depressed feelings to actually make that appointment.
My dad's girlfriend has moved in with him. That basically means I'll never see him alone, because she has no life--she has no friends and doesn't talk to her own family. Kind of takes the shine off spending time with my dad if most of that time will involve being nauseated by them playing kissy-face.
It doesn't help that I found out she's the one who let our dog out and didn't watch him. Oh, and the same day I found that out, I discovered why my mom was acting so weird a couple of years ago. Turns out her husband has a little problem with crack.
Awesome.
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One of my favorite chick-lit books, Confessions of a Shopaholic, features the main character going luggage shopping and feeling as if she's entered an entire new world of things to buy. It always kind of made me laugh, because how often do you even look at your luggage? I have a sturdy blue suitcase somewhere--I say somewhere because I don't know if it's at my dad's current house, our old house, or with my mother. I haven't seen it in years. I just don't think about luggage, I suppose because I so rarely travel anywhere that actually requires it.
I guess it could be kind of fun though--there's some Vera Bradley luggage that's actually sort of pretty. And there's some kind of hot Hartmann luggage in a red crocodile that I like. Not that I can remotely afford it, of course! But someday .... someday, I'll have a matching set of luggage, and trips to take it on, and a couch that doesn't have huge patches of exposed foam on the arms from my cats, and .... someday!
Enough dreaming, time for me to get to work!
One of the many things I miss about my life pre-school is disposable income. I used to be able to shop! I accumulated quite a few purses, and a ridiculous amount of clothing, and 75 necklaces, and shoes. Oh, I love shoes! I have a couple dozen pairs of them, which I now have nowhere to wear, but I love them anyway. I can't afford any more now, and I don't need them, for sure. But that doesn't stop me from browsing sites that have designer footwear for me to pine after.
Like this black shoe! Look at it! There's so much going on with it, it's crazy. Buckles and beads and netting and suede and a thin high heel that I wouldn't be able to walk in, and the weird double-sole thing in the front. But I love it anyway. Would I buy it even if I did have an extra $200? Well, probably not. If they were only $60? Yeah, I'd try it then. I'm just a sucker for pretty shoes. My mom always was too, and I resisted it for the first 24 years of my life, but now, well, I'm a shoe girl.
A seriously lacking in funds shoe girl, of course.
I don't know what was up the last few weeks, but I'm starting to feel more level now. I did kind of go apeshit at work on Sunday and started yelling and crying, but there were actual triggers for that so I don't feel so bad about that!
I don't know if it's because of missing those few days of my Prozac, or stress from midterms, or what, but I finally feel like I'm back to normal. Work has been more tolerable the last few days, I haven't been having panic attacks, and things are just generally better. I feel like I can breathe again.
I've felt really depressed for the last month or so. At first I thought it was PMS; then I thought it was because of the dog sadness; then I was sick. Now I'm not sick, it started before the dog died, it went on too long to be PMS and would be DMS now.
And I still just feel .... just plain depressed. I'll be sitting around reading or whatever, and suddenly have this panicky feeling of dread and start flipping out. Or I'll start sobbing over nothing. Or I'll sit on my couch and stare at the wall blankly for long periods of time. I don't understand what's going on. It's so incredibly frustrating, because I'll be crying and saying to myself "there's nothing wrong, why am I crying? There's nothing wrong." It's interfering with my life: I'm struggling to study, struggling to get anything done around the house, struggling to maintain a happy facade at work.
I'm hoping it was PMS, then it was because of the dog, then it was because I was sick, and now it's because when I was sick I forgot to take my happy pills for about three days. I'll give it another week or so and if it's not better I guess I'll go back to the doctor. I feel like I'm going insane.
Every fat women gets it at some point in her life. People can't just say she's pretty; it's always "you have such a pretty face!" or, god forbid, "you'd be so pretty if you lost some weight!" The people saying these things think it's a compliment, or they think it's encouraging in some fucked up way.
It's been a long time since I've heard that crap; I think most of my family just gave up on "encouraging" me to lose weight with those comments. Actually, I can't think of the last time (before this incident) that anybody said anything about my appearance other than a general "you look nice".
Last week I was talking to a friend of mine after work. I don't even remember what we were talking about, but I made some reference to being fat--not in any derogatory way, just as a statement of fact. That's when my friend told me that apparently when I started working there, a bunch of my coworkers were sitting around talking. Somehow the subject of me came up, and the general consensus was basically that I have such a pretty face.
Weird to know that goes on behind my back.
I got my first tattoo last week. I'm thrilled with it, I love it, but I almost canceled because half an hour before my appointment, my dad called to tell me that our dog is dead. Or at least, he's almost certainly dead, he ran off into the forest a week before and never came home. I didn't want my tattoo associated with finding that out, but I'm glad I went through with it. I spent the next couple of days bursting in to tears at inappropriate moments, unable to stop thinking about all the terrible things that could have happened to our poor puppy. He was originally my mom's dog, so I had to tell her ... but I couldn't tell her the truth. I lied and said he died in his sleep so she wouldn't be as upset as me.
Now, of course, I can't cry to my usual support person about why I'm so upset, so I'm still struggling with it. But I did the right thing, her heart would've been utterly broken. Like my dad's is, he blames himself and he's just miserable. It just fucking sucks all the way around. I still can't really talk about him without crying.
And then I got a cold, just when I was starting to feel emotionally better. I've spent the last two days resting and sucking down juice and tea, and I think I actually feel worse than when I first got sick. Whining will end ... now.
