Continuum

Looking back upon the last few months, there has been one constant over that course of time; depression is a never-ending, continuous presence that varies in intensity but has yet to actually lift. There may be bright spots here and there, but even with the massive overhaul my life has been going through it's still always in the back of my mind. It's always ready to surface at any moment with even the slightest provocation, and although it may come across as naive, I truly believed a better job and moving out were going to make a bigger difference than they have. I'm told I've improved by the few people that truly know who I am on the inside, but from my perspective it just doesn't feel that way.

Stress has been the biggest trigger, unsurprisingly. Workplace stress and the feeling of being scrutinized for every minor thing have exacerbated the problem to the point that I wake up angry, full of unexplained rage before I've even left my apartment. My worst habits are trying their hardest to come back and are succeeding. 

Irritation

A few weeks ago, my roommate's boyfriend let himself into our apartment to use the bathroom. He thought no one was home, and wore his shoes inside in spite of being asked not to, fully knowing that she and I are both struggling with OCD. He had no idea I was in my room at the time and likely figured no one would know.

While I was wildly uncomfortable with knowing he was coming here without ever extending the courtesy of asking me if it was all right first, I said nothing to my roommate. I figured I was just being overly sensitive, considering they've been together for over a year and I'm the 'newcomer' in this apartment. However, it sparked an anger in me that I haven't felt since working in retail and has flared up every time I see him here.

Now I find myself faced with the same problem yet again, and can't bring myself to confront him in the moment. I can't help but wonder if he does this every time he thinks no one is home, and it makes me feel as though my space is being invaded. It's a strange grey area I never thought I'd experience in any of my friendships; do I bottle it up to avoid making my roommate feel awkward, or do I tell her and take the risk of looking as insecure as I feel about claiming personal space?

Brighter Days

My mood has seen a definite improvement compared to the constant, extreme depression I'd been struggling with ever since moving out. The warm weather and sunny days are surely a part of the equation, but there are other things that are no less important; forcing myself to go out, to be social, to reach out more often and to resist the instinct to sulk have all been helping to pull me out of the rut I'd settled into.

Hopefully this is a mark of improvement rather than a brief period of relief from the low point I always seem to fall back to. Feeling this way is so completely different that it seems foreign, as if I'm not myself. Things seem clearer and easier to take in, instead of the usual sense of being overwhelmed by life itself.

Disbelief

I recently discovered something incredibly unsettling with a card I had paid off and haven't used or checked in a couple of months; my mother has been using it as if it's her own to pay off her bills and buy food. It explains why I hadn't been able to find that particular one before moving out. Although she's apparently been making payments on it, it's only the minimum due and the balance is several hundred dollars. She clearly doesn't understand how credit works, because this is the case with all of the cards in her name as well - maxed out and paying the lowest possible amount each month. The interest charge is usually enough to negate it, so the balance never goes down. And she simply does not understand that. I feel incredibly betrayed by this, especially considering she 'borrowed' $50 from me recently just to prevent the power from being turned off. I also feel like an idiot for ever trying to help her out.

Before I moved out I had paid off everything, just so I wouldn't have the extra worry of outstanding debt on top of rent. Just the idea of being that much in debt thanks to my own mother makes me feel sick.

Adjusting

In spite of having spent the majority of my life dealing with chronic depression, there are still times when it manages to surprise me in ways I would've never expected. Even when surrounded by loved ones on a day that's supposed to be a happy occasion, such as today, depression is a distracting presence even while I'm doing something I enjoy. In the process of discovering how to allow my 'true' self and emotion to show through, I've also discovered that it's becoming more difficult to hide the things I used to be all too good at hiding; anxiety, self-consciousness, sadness, and exhaustion to name a few.

Although I know it's not a terrible thing to show negative as well as positive emotions, I'm still adjusting to the idea that I can be myself around other people. I haven't quite gotten to the point of no longer feeling as though the world is separated between two distinct entities: 'me' and 'them'. How is it possible that even with a group of close friends I still feel like an outsider? Clearly logic can't apply to any situation dominated so thoroughly by negative thinking.

But, on a positive note, I've realized the recent spike in depression wasn't enough to overshadow everything. Being able to not only feel love, but feel loved in return is something new. What I had been experiencing before was a watered down version in comparison, apparently. It had been that way with everything except depression and self-hatred for a very long time, and I imagine the probable numbness to other strong feelings was a side effect of already being at my limit emotionally. I'm sure there were other factors involved, such as being afraid to allow anyone in and being too scared to open up, but I think it's safe to say that's no longer the case.

In all, I've felt overly emotional and conflicted ever since I moved out, but I don't regret it. I have no choice but to face the codependency issues with my mother head-on, and have just come to truly realize how bad the house was compared to living 'normally'. Now that I have a calm place to go to when feeling overwhelmed, everything else has become much easier to handle.

Breaking

Getting my life in order has proven to be much more difficult than I thought, and although two major events have improved it in ways that were once unimaginable, the anxiety has been at an all-time high in spite of the progress I've been making. I experienced a complete shutdown for the first time in a very long while, and found myself unable and simply not wanting to speak to anyone or do anything for several days. Interaction with anyone felt pointless, and thoughts of no longer wanting to exist have come back. Anger has returned as well. I'm told this is probably the result of directly challenging myself to live in a way completely opposite to what I'm used to. I now have the freedom to be open, sociable, honest, and no longer have wear a mask to hide who I am. If all of these things are nothing but positive, why does it feel so terrible?

What's most concerning is the fact that good experiences only help for a short time, a day at the most. After that, depression and self hatred find their way back into every waking thought. It seems uncontrollable. It's impossible to feel like I've made giant leaps in the right direction in spite of being told so by those whom I trust most. I find it difficult to avoid defining myself by their opinions, only because I feel I can no longer trust my own terrible opinion of myself.

As far as my current environment goes, it's helped immensely in calming down from the panic attacks that have been  happening almost daily. Calming down wasn't even an option in my mother's house. However, I keep catching myself in moments of dread any time I see a mess, regardless of how small. It's hard to avoid thinking I'll turn out like my mother just because I left something on the kitchen table rather than putting it away immediately. This fear arises with the most mundane things, such as noticing a pile of unfolded laundry my roommate happened to leave behind on the sofa. Seeing the sink full of dishes that were not mine. Finding dust on the kitchen counter. An endless list of things that most people don't care much about, and yet OCD mixed with the fear of becoming a hoarder makes it torturous to see anything out of place.

Reinvention

It's been approximately three weeks since I moved into my apartment. Over that course of time, I've felt anxious, scared, excited, isolated,  and depressed. But most important of all, I feel free. Depression and anxiety are still a really big part of my life however, and I feel a bit naive for thinking a new environment was going to make most things easier to handle. The panic attacks have returned with a frequency that is very concerning, and have begun to occur even while I'm at work.

Regardless of that, I don't feel the same kind of panic that arises when someone wants to visit. I can invite friends over for the first time in several years, and my roommate isn't someone that thinks of me only as an extension of herself. The anxiety I've been experiencing is of a different nature than what I had dealt with back home, and now seems to be rooted more firmly in my own issues with confidence and self worth rather than an immediate outside source, i.e. my mother's hoard or the deteriorating condition of the house.

Although I've seen a definite improvement overall, it seems there's still a lot of work to be done.

Apprehension

Now that everything has fallen into place and nearly all of the packing is done, I've had a lot of time to think. Usually, this isn't a good thing; I tend to focus too much on negative thoughts rather than positive ones. It's become difficult to remember that even small things have the potential to make life better, or to think of what things could become if given a chance to grow. Deeper friendships, a better relationship, all of it seems so distant while I feel so emotionally numb. With worsening depression has come the instinct to recoil back to the emotional wall I used to be so comfortable hiding behind. Speaking my mind and opening up once again seem pointless, and it's been so much easier to go through the motions than to continue experimenting with being open and connecting with people.

It's strange to think I used to feel secure, even briefly happy, although that was six months ago. I felt capable of opening up to people and wasn't afraid of it. Now, I feel the complete opposite. My theory is that a lifetime of being treated a certain way by both of my parents, as though I had always been incapable of making decisions and was inappropriately emotional, is the underlying cause of it. Why else would all of these old feelings come up with such a vengeance if it wasn't because I've been challenging the false identity I've worn my entire life?

Progress, Part Two

In less than a week I'll be on my own in an environment were peace is much easier to find. Six days, to be exact. I've continued to pack and prepare for the move, which in itself has been challenging. Not physically, but emotionally. The most mentally exhausting aspect of sorting through my things has been having to face the memories they might bring up, and bad memories are often easier to recall than good ones.

I picked up the keys from my soon-to-be roommate today, and that alone managed to stir up some conflicting emotions. While I feel sure that this decision is the right one, I can't shake the anxiety it brings. Why does it require so much work to feel secure in my choices, while doubt is so much easier to come by? Even at work, it's so much easier to fall into a negative train of thought than it is to believe I'm doing well there.

Regarding the process and how my mother has been handling it, she's been helpful in my search for the basics I'll need such as a bed, linens, etc. I'm surprised about that, to say the least. I also managed to work up the nerve to ask my aunt for help, which was no easy task. She's offered to lend me her van, which has taken a lot of the stress out of this entire process. I've noticed it's still very difficult for me to reach out to anyone regardless of the positive results I've gotten, though. 

Progress

The day I'll be moving out is approaching fast, and while the reality of it is finally sinking in I'm still feeling incredibly anxious. My mother's initial reaction to the news that I'd be leaving was one of anger and resentment, unsurprisingly. Her reasons for why I shouldn't move included money issues and safety concerns, though the best one of all was her perceived likelihood that I'd never be able to see any of my friends or family due to the distance. To put this into perspective, it's a twenty minute drive from the house to my apartment. Though, over the last couple of days she does seem to have come to terms with it, though. She's even asked normal questions like 'How close is it to the train?' rather than 'How will you ever be able to support yourself?'. I feel as if this moment of rational thinking on her part is short-lived, but that could also be my own issues with her past behavior coming up.

In spite of the overall lack of support from her, I'm still looking forward to being able to live on my own terms in an environment over which I actually have control. The idea that I can have friends over without being ashamed or self-conscious is still foreign, though I'm genuinely excited to find out what that's like.

Conditioning

Over the span of two weeks I've looked at apartment listings, visited one, and by some amazing stroke of luck had found the perfect place at the perfect price in the neighborhood I've been dreaming about living in for ages. Anyone who lives in this city knows how ridiculously difficult it is to find a comfortable apartment in a safe area that's actually affordable, and the fact that I actually managed to do so makes me feel as if it's too good to be true.

I always imagined I'd be overwhelmingly excited to have the opportunity to get out and be on my own, but now that I have no choice but to face the reality that I really am leaving, a lot of very uncomfortable emotions have surfaced instead. Codependency and its related issues, as well as guilt and depression, are all coming through more than usual. Self-doubt is also screaming for attention. I'll have to truly accept that I can't save my mother from her own demons, and that no amount of logic will ever overpower her hoarding instincts. Aside from that, I'll also have to face the likelihood that my own issues are still going make getting through each day challenging, albeit less challenging than they are right now.

Before starting therapy, I'd never given much thought to the more subversive forms of negative conditioning that could be a factor in why I still struggle with things that are, in my opinion, very simple. Certain landmines are especially difficult to identify until they've already been set off, while others are known but seem uncontrollable once triggered, like some kind of Pavlovian response. I still struggle with being confident that I can function on my own, that I can be independent, or that I'll be able to survive. Being depressed is still a constant, regardless of being able to find peace in an environment that isn't chaotic or unhealthy. The idea of having people come over, which I haven't been able to do since I was very young, still brings forth all kinds of anxiety even if I won't have to worry about hiding my mother's big secret anymore. The list goes on, and on, and on.

Only time will tell how living somewhere else will turn out.