I wonder why you can’t
I struggle with myself
hoping I might change a little
hoping that I might be someone I wanna be
looking out I want to know someone might care
looking out I want a reason to be there
I can’t see nothing good
and nothing is so bad
I never had a chance
to explain exactly what I meant - Portishead
there was that commercial for Cymbalta that stated, “Depression Hurts - Cymbalta Can Help”.
last year when my parents kicked me out into my house I thought I’d be okay. it was what I needed and wanted. but you’re never prepared for being on your own.
my parents have helped me a lot. like when Israel broke out of his kennel several times, set off the alarm while I was at work, and my dad had to go tell the cops that it was the stupid dog and not a real emergency. or when they’d come over and fix up the house on the weekends when I was still working as a nanny.
they’ve given me money I can’t repay for a long time so I can pay my bills. that stresses me out even more than not having money.
it makes me angry that this is where I am. it makes it worse that I can’t do this by myself. I was so unprepared. but there aren’t words or advice anyone can give you to prepare you for something like this.
there were so many nights driving home from work in the dark when I would come to a red light and I would be bombarded with all these thoughts. What’s the point of going to work day after day? What’s the point of having a house when you don’t have someone to share it with? What’s the point of living? I wondered what could possibly motivate me to get up in the morning and do it all over again. the answer is always clearcut — the dogs. my relationship with them is fairly simple: I care for them, they love me. I don’t have to do much more than throw them some chicken and say their names to make them the happiest little bastards ever.
it was then that I realized depression is not mental, it has physical side effects. sleeplessness, agonizing headaches, inability to think straight. I would forget to eat. I took pain pills and paid attention so I didn’t overdose. they never helped the headaches; they didn’t even touch them.
Christmas was bad. December my heating bill skyrocketed, I took another pay cut, and I had to say goodbye to Shifra. and I wanted so badly to make it work with her. I loved her and I felt like if I couldn’t keep her then I was a complete failure at everything I thought I was halfway good at. I had a headache for two weeks straight. I ate once a day if I stopped by my parents house after work. at Christmas dinner I spent the last half of it with my head on the table crying because I was in so much pain mentally and physically I couldn’t take it anymore.
and everyone around you tells you it can’t be that bad. “it’s going to get better, it has to.” but it doesn’t! it only gets worse. and then you want to get help but you can’t afford to go to a doctor, you can’t afford the pills to make it go away. and then you get even more depressed thinking about how you know you’re not okay, but it costs money to get better, and you don’t have any.
there are a few days of respite. when the bills aren’t due (yet) and you’ve got two nickels to rub together, and I can pretend that it’ll be okay.
I have nothing to offer someone else. that and a million other reasons is why I’ve never been in a real relationship. I can’t bring anything to another person except this agony that keeps me awake, that makes my whole body ache, and my head feels like it’s going to explode.
my mortgage should be reduced next month. my water and sewage bill won’t be due until August. it might be okay. I hope so. but I’m lying when I use the word hope. I gave up on that a long time ago.
my hands are sore. my fingers are stiff and my throat is tight. my chest hurts—it feels like Israel is sitting on it. my joints throb and my bones ache and my skin is extra sensitive. I felt a little relief laying on the cool, hard front room floor earlier. but there are things to be done, things I can’t put off any longer and no one to delegate to. so it’s time to push the pain aside and get on with the day…what’s left of it.
is it really almost July? where has the time gone?
this is exactly how I knew the summer would pass—too quickly, without any significant milestones, nothing to distract from the tedious day to day. and it doesn’t help if you don’t have money to gas up your car to go anywhere and no money to do anything even if you did go somewhere.
I wish I was 14 again on the East Side, riding my bike, sipping a Slurpee. or drawing on the sidewalk with chalk, the pastel dust clinging to the bottoms of my feet and my fingers, the jingle of a paleta cart passing by and the blaring Mexican music as cars drive down the street. and the only thing I had to worry about was mosquito bites and if I could call Anna to go on another bike ride with me if her mom would let her.
I feel trapped by the memories and I feel trapped by the life I’m in right now. it feels like it’s too late to make it good again.
