These are slightly edited ramblings of mine when I was in a really bad state of depression late last night. A little about depression, a little about the afterlife. They’re closely related.
It’s near impossible for me to hear Christian music without getting really depressed and angry. Everything from Casting Crowns to Steven Curtis Chapman. It all reminds me of what a failure I am. Their lyrics about struggling and God getting them through it all reminds me that I am very, very alone with my depression, because I can’t “use” God to “get through it.”
Christianity has harmed me so much, yet I still continue to believe in God because I fear that I won’t have a good afterlife and be able to be with my loved ones if I deny God. Because, my youth pastor once said that there’s one sin God can never forgive: Denying God.
The very belief system I want to leave still holds me captive. And it’s all over the issue of the afterlife.
I hate myself for not being able to leave. I hate living in fear. I utterly despise my crushing, obsessive thoughts about God and the afterlife. Because I still (unfortunately???) believe that a divine Creator exists, and will punish me to an afterlife in Hell for denying Christianity.
Forgive me, God. For I have sinned.
It’s hard to know who to trust.
The depression came back hard last night. Maybe it was due to the fact that I’d had my first meeting with the counselor earlier that day, and I was even more stressed out with all the issues we’d discussed. She was very kind and supportive, but that didn’t stop me from getting home and relapsing hard a few hours later.
It’s hard not to think about something when you’re trapped in it, physically and mentally.
I went through about four hours of sheer irritation, twitchyness, rage, and sadness. I got really emotional in the shower, and wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. After I got out, I felt really exhausted. It wasn’t the normal kind of physical exhaustion. It was the depression creeping back, draining me mentally so I wouldn’t be able to put my focus on anything else but sleep. (Yeah. THAT went really well too.) My rage was directed at my family, unfortunately. Anyone messing with me too much would get yelled at.
I hate when I do that.
Then, of course, there was the whole “I can’t feel anything and I need to cut” issue that came back up. I decided to not cut and just press a cold Gatorade bottle onto myself to give myself chills. There, I felt something, dumb brain. Happy now?
I don’t have much else to say about last night. I’m not gonna be one of those people who’s all “but I think it’s gonna be okay!” because I don’t know if it is. Just wanted to get it out there and say I’m not doing well.
So…I’m afraid that I may be pregnant. There, I said it. While my partner and I have discussed this and both think that there’s a minimal chance of it due to some circumstances, the chance of it is still kind of there. And I’m afraid.
My mother still thinks my depression is caused by the computer. During a confrontation the other day, she stated that “you were never depressed until you had a computer.” Bullshit. Complete fucking bullshit.
I’m off of Twitter until the 12th, and even then, I may not get it back then. I’m going to stay with my aunt for a week or two, and she doesn’t have internet access at her house.
My mother still thinks Twitter is a bad place. She wants me to move over to Facebook, because obviously Facebook isn’t toxic as fuck for me.
I’m overwhelmed. I haven’t heard back on my job application yet, and since I don’t have a driver’s license, I’m basically stuck here at home. I’m stressed out of my fucking mind right now. I’m trying to bite my tongue with my mother because I don’t want to get my internet and computer taken away entirely (still don’t have my phone back. Grr.), but I can’t take this much longer. She’s micromanaging everything and in over-controlling mode again since she discovered my virginity loss. She won’t let me make any decisions for myself, hence why I have to rebel so much.
I don’t know what to do.
Sometimes, I think this whole thing is worthless. Y’know, the whole accepting myself and trying to make it work with my faith. When I have so many people around me drowning out that little voice in my head that tells me to accept myself, I start thinking that, yeah, maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m just another confused teenager who has strayed way too far off the path of “righteousness”, the rigid fundamentalism I’ve been surrounded by for years. There’s a reason there’s so many rules. I’m in so much emotional pain because of my rebellion…right?
There’s people who say that’s not what it is at all, and some people who would affirm the fears I’ve expressed above.
While I appreciate the support the “faithfullyLGBT” community has for me, I’m still overwhelmed by the lingering voices of negativity in the back of my head, the voices of those who’ve rejected me and broken off our friendships over this. I’m still plagued with self-doubt, wondering if God is displeased with me and if I really am an awful person in Their eyes; irredeemable of love and forgiveness.
Goodness, it’s been almost two months since I’ve been on the Internet. To be honest, it wasn’t “as bad” as my last major punishment (had my Internet taken away for a whole month), but I really missed everyone. I’ve missed writing for my blog, participating in Twitter, and really just being able to keep up with everyone.
I won’t whine and bitch too much about my situation. The jist of it all is this: I woke up one morning to my laptop and phone gone from where I’d left them the previous night. Mom informed me that as soon as I gave her a list of my passwords to everything (and I mean everything), my laptop and phone would promptly be returned.
What led to it? It’s a rule that she know all of my social media and email passwords. Plus, my having any secret social media accounts is a bad thing that I have been previously punished over. She wasn’t too pleased over my locking down my pixiewritergirl Twitter, but when I changed my Gmail password (an innocent situation), she’d had enough.
As of the writing of this post, I just gave her my passwords tonight. In return? She gave me the password to my phone (in addition to taking away my devices, she’ll always change their passwords as a precautionary measure.) Unfortunately, she’s forgotten the password to my laptop, but she says she’ll fix it when she gets back from the store.
Anyways, we made an agreement that I wouldn’t do any social media while she’s gone to the store tonight. But I don’t think writing this blog post counts? 😉
I’ll be back on Twitter soon, I hope. Assuming I remember my password…
When I can’t see beyond the darkness, and suicide after my father died from cancer seemed like a really, really good idea.
When I can’t stop hating myself because I feel like I’m such a major, ugly fuck-up.
When the thoughts of “Why do I even try?” don’t go away.
When I have an anxiety attack in the middle of the night and fantasize about what my funeral would be like. (What I’d look like in a coffin, etc.)
When there’s days of constant, self-harm daydreams.
When I’d like nothing more than to be found in a tub with bloody thighs and a blade in one hand.
When I know I’m so far gone on some days that no one can pull me out. It’s scary. Damn scary.
When it robs me of all hope and even though I have people who love me, I feel like I’m not good enough for them. I feel like I deserve to die.