Explanation?

After the string of previous posts on here, I’m pretty sure none of this is going to come as a surprise to you, and you’ve probably already guessed, but the whole reason I was away for so long was because of how depressed I was.

Am, I guess. Since I don’t really feel much better.

Sigh. I’m so frustrated with myself, all the time. I’m so depressed yet I’m not doing anything about it. For example, I know I’m depressed. I’ve been depressed to varying degrees since before I was a teenager. I was hovering close to rock bottom when I moved here to England, and slowly built myself up a little. Then when my ex and I broke up, I plummeted, wishing myself dead all the time, and hating all of the Gods I’m not even sure I believe in, when I woke up each morning for not killing me in my sleep. I wanted to die SO BADLY, but I was too weak willed to do anything about it.

I’m better now than I was then, but in the past six months to a year or so, I’ve felt myself slipping back.

So, I was just at a point where I lost interest in everything. I didn’t read blogs anymore, nevermind bother to write in my own. Even though blogging is deeply cathartic for me, so it’s probably the worst thing I could have done given the circumstances. Nothing specific actually happened to make this happen, it was just a long, slow process, and eventually I just stopped bothering. A couple friends texted me to ask if I was alright, because I’ve been MIA from Twitter and Facebook and my Beauty Blog. I’m not a quiet person, so clearly something was wrong.

But I just nod and smile and say I’m fine, I’ve just been tired and haven’t felt like blogging/tweeting/facebooking. And it’s not a lie. I am SO tired. Those of you who have been reading my blog will know that this is nothing new, per se. But I’m just tired on a whole different level. I’m tired of struggling. I’m tired of living my life. I’m tired of BEING.

That doesn’t even make any sense. I guess what I’m trying to get across is that I’m still deeply depressed. But I need this. And I need to refocus on my goals. For me “Stopped caring about anything” includes watching what I eat, and I’ve been eating in strange phases for the past while. I’ll overeat, then starve, then eat normally. Which is fucking my body around, but at least my metabolism is working, or at least it should be.

What I need to do is refocus on my goals. I need to rein myself back in – again, I know – and MAKE myself care about this.

Because Ana cares about me. Because you care. And even though I’m a massive disappointment to myself, it hurts to think of disappointing you.

So here I am.

Now… I’m just at a point where my mentality is almost extreme indifference to everything. I simply can’t find it in me to care. Which is good I suppose because I also have this indifference toward food. Right now I can take it or leave it. And I’m choosing to leave it.

I can’t remember if I already wrote about this here before or not, but I’m going back to Canada this summer. Not to live, but for four weeks. The two weeks I spent there last time were nowhere NEAR long enough at all, so I’ve worked it out with my manager to spend an extra week (originally I was booking for 3 but he’s agreed to let me go for 4). I’m looking forward to it, but if I have to go there at my current weight, I’ll be damn tempted to kill myself rather than let my friends and family see me STILL SO HUGE.

This is random as well, but while I was sitting at work waiting for a call, I was thinking to myself… none of this feels real. The things around me feel fake. I don’t even know how to verbalize it. Like… there’s a thin but solid hazy shroud around me, separating me from the people and the world around me. It’s not solid and it doesn’t distort my vision, but it just SEPARATES. I look at things but I don’t feel like I’m really SEEING them. That I’m actually CONNECTING to the world in any way.

And you want to know the retarded part? Even though I don’t want to continue feeling like this, I still refuse to go to the doctor to actually seek help about it. It’s like, if I don’t have to go to the doctor and I’m not actually diagnosed, I can continue ignoring it. It’s not REAL. I’m so fucking held down with the way the people close to me perceive me. Like to go to the doctor and be put on antidepressants makes me less of a person. My family will fawn over me asking oh, why does she feel like that, I can’t believe she’s depressed, blah fucking blah. They won’t leave it alone. And it will somehow distort their image of me. At least, that’s the way I keep thinking. So I can’t. I won’t.

I’m not even making sense to myself anymore.

Lots of rambling – you know my style! – just to say I’ve been gone, I’m not doing so hot right now, but I’m here, and will continue to be here. Because lord knows I NEED this and I NEED you, or I’m royally fucked.