Why can’t I just ask for help? Why can’t I tell anyone that I need a therapist? That I’m falling apart and need far more help than I’m getting?
Things are bad. I’ve been kind of in denial, hoping that if I didn’t name it, it would go away. But instead of going away, it’s getting worse. Depression.
Right now, I can’t make myself care about anything, even the things I was most passionate about. My sister, who I love more than anything in the world, is getting married, and I don’t care. I’m seeing my sisters for the first time in 5 years, and I don’t care. I want to care. I act like I care. I go through the motions, but the truth is I don’t care.
Same with work. I love politics. I love feeling like I have a voice and I’m doing something that matters. Except now I don’t care. I don’t want to fight. It all feels totally pointless. I feel like I can’t really change anything, and no one cares what I have to say because I’m sick and crippled and poor and useless. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen regardless of my involvement. I feel like I have no power and no purpose.
There was a phone bank last night, and I slept through it. On purpose. I knew it was happening, but I just didn’t care. I couldn’t force myself to cold-call 200 people who just want to get me off the phone as fast as possible. It all felt pointless, and I couldn’t bear to pretend it meant anything. So I ignored the calls and texts and Facebook messages. I just laid there in bed, half asleep, sweating under my comforter. It’s the only place I feel okay at all, curled up and covered up, wrapped up safe from the world.
It feels like the world is just too much to deal with right now. All I want to do is hide and sleep, but since I can’t sleep, I watch trashy TV shows on Netflix for 12 hours a day. That’s what my life is. That’s all my life is. I haven’t done any work. I don’t have any friends to go out with. Nobody checks to make sure I’m actually okay. I haven’t looked for new roommates. Things are falling apart, and I just can’t care because it’s all just more than I can handle. The world outside my bedroom is more than I can handle, and no one in my life even notices anything is at all wrong with me.
I wish I could just die. I don’t want to kill myself; I just want to be not alive anymore.