A Summary of the Week

This week has been a mess of emotions. The seminar was on Tuesday, and I woke up that morning with such panic that I didn’t know what to do with myself. I considered my options and realized I just had to suck it up and go. I had to go to work first for a few hours, then drive with a co-worker to Hanger Lane (to cheekily use our London office car park), and then from there catch the central line to Holborn. I locked myself in the toilet and cried for 10 minutes while at work, not knowing exactly why a stupid little seminar in London should provoke such terror. But I’m still getting used to Sertraline. Fucking stuff isn’t working yet.

In the end, the seminar wasn’t that great, but it wasn’t that terrible either. It was quite informal. The tube journey was long, but easy. I managed to find things to talk about with my co-worker, but I wasn’t that chatty. All in all a lot of panic over not very much. I knew it would be that way, but there is a large, irrational part of me controlled by something dark.

The rest of the week is a blur of feeling sullen, pissy, and restless. Also battling with feeling both lethargic and panicky at the same time.

My parents have been on holiday all week, and so I’ve had the house to myself, which is also a reason for the panic. All alone in a house with nothing but my mind. I’ve been staying up late, just because I could. Because the house was mine. (I’m 24 and living with my parents – can’t afford to do anything else, except become a hobo). Last night I watched a bit of ‘The Hills Have Eyes’. Why O why do I watch these horror films when I hate them. I’m sick. It was a stupid film, but it got me panicky, and then I realized I hadn’t texted my boyfriend back. We always text each other goodnight. Since we live about 30 miles apart we text quite a bit. He was frantic and had tried to call me four times, but I hadn’t heard the phone. He was frantic because he knows I’m in a delicate position at the moment. I imagine he must have thought I had killed myself or something. Anyway, it shook me up. I had completely forgotten about him. Completely. And it worries me how much I forget things, how my boyfriend of a year just vanished from my mind.

It’s true, I don’t love my boyfriend as I should. I can’t bring myself to say that I don’t love him, but I can’t wholeheartedly say that I do either, and I don’t know if it’s the depression holding me back. But it’s a relationship I can’t let go of. He understands and accepts me, despite me being a complete weirdo and he loves me despite me being overweight and moody. God knows why he loves me. But I trust that he does. I feel so guilty that while he loves me, and wants me to move in with him, I’m holding back and cannot love him fully. He makes me feel safe though, which is a terribly important thing, especially in the state I am in now. Maybe I will move in with him in Oxford one day. But I can’t afford to think that far ahead.

Heh, this blog wasn’t supposed to be a memoir of depression. I thought I could make it quirky and fun. But given free reign to talk about what I want, I go back time and time again to depression, because it’s all I really have. Day by day it’s washing me further out to sea.