What Didn't Kill Me, Never Made Me Stronger

This is going to be a short blog post because I'm just in from work.

I absolutely hate the phrase "what didn't kill me made me stronger". Because that didn't work for me. Seeing my dad go from being healthy, and hard working, doing everything himself, practically saving the world as he worked, to not being able to do anything for himself. To see the cancer take over. To watch him die in front of me. That sure as shit did not make me stronger. 

The panic attacks, depression, anxiety, the crippling grief. That's not making me stronger. It's not making me weaker either per se, but it still hasn't made me more resilient, more capable to deal with bad situations. I was always able to do that. I can bounce back so quickly from bad things. It's just who I am. That didn't suddenly happen when shit hit the fan. And I hate when people say that I'll be stronger because of all this. Like that makes it worth it. 

December 3rd

I am so hyper aware that other people have problems, and that everyone's problems are as important as each other's and that pain is subjective that I forget sometimes that other people don't think like that. I've a friend in college who isn't in a great place right now. But he focuses on it all the time. He talks about it all the time. Unless you explicitly tell him your problems, he will immediately assume that his problems are worse/more important than yours. He doesn't understand perspective. He's so wrapped up in his own doom that he can never seem to see the light around him. And there is so much light around him.
I don't always have the patience to deal with this because it's so draining sometimes, and when I do have energy I like to refocus it on college, or work, or stuff that absolutely has to get done. Sometimes I would love the luxury of being able to be wrapped up in my own head. I know how selfish that sounds. At the same time though it sounds horrifying. He has some dark, dark thoughts. And he tells us about them all the time. He assumes everyone is negative, and when one person does a bad thing, everyone else will do. He had a friend group that he was incredibly close to, and they dropped him like a hot plate when he made a mistake. He always thinks that our current friend group will do the same thing. This drives me up the wall, because it shows that he has a low opinion of us. He denies it, and he doesn't mean to, but he doesn't trust that we will keep him around. Despite the fact that we were there for him when the other group weren't. He doesn't understand how much we value friendship, and how we aren't in fact assholes.
He's also always convinced that he's going to fuck up everything. I tell him that if you think a certain way, and if you think bad things are going to happen, they sure as shit will. He doesn't know the power of positive thoughts. He doesn't even want to. He seems to like feeling like shit, he enjoys complaining about his life, and he loves when bad things happen because they validate his negative feelings. And I hate this. If I thought about all the bad things that happen to me, if I let them get to me 24/7, I would genuinely never get out of bed. I want to get better. I'm sick of my head being wired weirdly. But he enjoys it. He doesn't want to get better.
When good things happen to him he seems genuinely disappointed. I just can't understand anyone feeling like that because I'm so desperate to feel better. I'm so desperate to feel something other than sadness, grief or anxiety. I'm sick of being numb. But my friend loves it, He loves his depression, he loves it when it gets worse. It makes no sense at all.

We Have to Be Greater than What We Suffer

I didn't make it very clear in my first post that I was attempting to write a blog post every day in December. I wanted to do NaNoWriMo in November but my head wasn't in the right space, and I had two essays due that I didn't do so I didn't manage to get it done. My head isn't exactly in the right space now but sure look. What can you do.
Dealing with depression can be very confusing sometimes, especially when it's still new and you can remember times where you were productive, and where you enjoyed things. When you remember playing guitar and loving it, where you could write 20,000 words of a story and it was no bother, when you could work hard, when you enjoyed spending time with your friends, and when everything seemed a bit more optimistic.
I'm not used to being happy and content, and then all of a sudden the weight in my chest comes back and everything is poo again. The worst part is that I don't know how to hide it yet, or control it so my friends notice it immediately. And often I don't know what's wrong, and I don't know how to make it right.

Sometimes it's not even just a weight in my chest. Sometimes my whole body feels weighed down and there's nothing I can do to lighten the load. It's the kind of weariness you can feel in your bones. I test myself when this happens, my arms feel heavy but I lift them just to make sure I still can. And I can. Of course I can. This is a mental health problem not a physical problem, but they overlap an awful lot. Of course I can lift my arm but it takes more effort, it's harder and it can take it out of me. I don't know what 'it' is. When 'it' is taken out of me, I can feel it missing even though I don't know what exactly is missing. 

If I ever feel bad about my own mental health issues, I remember my mothers. She can be stronger than me in a lot of ways, but she has been suffering for longer. She's been on anti depressants since I was born. And recently she struggles to get out of bed, or off the couch. We eat takeaway food or microwave dishes most days because neither of us have the energy to make something sufficient. 

My mam is the kind of person that lights up the room. When she's in good form. If she's in bad form, it's horrible because her mood is contagious and if I'm feeling as shit as she is, I can't help her. I'm used to taking care of my mother when this happens, but now I can't even take care of myself. And my mam would never ask for me to take care of her, she's too selfless, but she's all I have. I can't let her down. 

Depression is not easy to deal with, and I know mine is sparked mostly by grief, but my mam has dealt with it for most of her life. And now she's not able to. And I can't hold us both up. I can't even hold myself up for much longer. 

Why I Hate Christmas

I used to be one of those kids who started listening to Christmas music in July. I would write the first draft of my letter to Santa in January and edit it about 100 times before December was even thought of. I had millions of ideas for Christmas presents for my parents when I had the money. I loved Christmas movies, decorations and the general feel around the holiday. I would wake up on Christmas morning, too excited to sleep past 4 am. This continued until I was 18. Then everything changed.

If you're a child who has lost a parent, I'm sure you'll understand where I come from when I say that Christmas just doesn't have the same appeal anymore. My dad used to run down before me and set up the camera, stick on the fire and turn all the Christmas lights on. Even during the last year when he was sick, he made sure to come down before me and set the scene. Last year was my first Christmas without my dad. I spent the entire holiday going through the motions, just trying to get through the day. I was delighted when I survived the first Christmas. This November it occurred to me that I would have to survive another without him. And another. Somehow it had never really occurred to me that I would never have another Christmas with him again. This has been very difficult to adjust to.

It's being made increasingly hard with the decorations up, the holiday adverts on tv, the music. With my mam having started watching Christmas movies in August because nothing can kill her Christmas spirit. She's stronger than I am. I've let it kill mine. It's not that I hate Christmas. I love getting people presents, and showing people just how much they mean to me. I love all the songs, and the movies. I love my Christmas tree and our usual decorations. I love that everyone is a little bit happier this month, a little more generous, a little kinder. I hate that I can't share this with my dad. I hate that I can't buy him the James Bond box set that I always wanted to. I hate that we can't complain together about my mother watching Christmas movies in the summer. I hate that there will be another New Years Eve without him, and then another new year. 

I'm not trying to be a grinch, I'm not trying to be a downer on your holidays when I say it's too early. I'm just trying to avoid the pain for as long as I can. So this year, maybe try to have a little extra sympathy for those who complain about Christmas. For those who give no reason, but who hate the holidays as much as I do. Because you don't know the battles people face everyday. And they get harder at Christmas. So please don't pressure me into doing Christmassy things. I'm not ready. I don't know if I ever will be.