Wanderlust

I've been doing a lot of introspective thinking lately, mainly on ways to overcome not only the stress and anxiety from my current job, but also the crushing depression that always comes back every two or three weeks. I have a tendency to avoid being active in any capacity outside of work while feeling low, which results in a bubble effect due to having a more limited social experience than usual. During these periods I'm my own worst critic, and I often struggle with feelings of worthlessness and invalidation. Stressors at work exacerbate the problem and make it difficult to climb out of a depressive episode once I'm firmly entrenched in one.

With more exposure to good experiences outside of that bubble, I've realized it's easier to get out of a bad mood when there's more positivity to draw from compared to the negative reinforcement that tends to happen on a regular basis at work. Being outside in good weather seems to be the most effective method so far.

All of this might seem obvious to most     I always knew the best route to learning to live with depression would involve committing to being more physically active, but during my lowest point it feels so futile to even bother trying.

Monachopsis

Throughout my life I've always felt alienated, separated from everyone else and plagued with the feeling of being alone. It's always felt as though it's me versus 'them', whoever 'they' might be. While I was still living with my mother I believed that this sense of displacement would lift once I moved out, and that I would be able to work on having a social life that didn't revolve around hiding the truth or having to explain why I couldn't invite anyone over.

Once I did move out, I realized it wasn't going to be as easy as I thought. My roommate didn't clean, ever. I refused to clean up after her mess considering I had just spent the majority of my life doing so for my mother, and I felt ashamed of the way the apartment looked as a result, as if it were my fault rather than hers.

Moving again, I found some peace in another apartment in the same neighborhood. That arrangement seems to be much more beneficial in terms of coping with anxiety and depression, but I still struggle every day. There's still the persistent, crushing loneliness I feel in knowing my experiences separate me from 'normal' people. I still feel like my inexperience in being a good host shows, and that in turn makes me more self conscious about the cleanliness of an apartment that's already very clean. It's difficult to emotionally understand that the state of my living space isn't a direct reflection on who I am as a person, because I allowed my mother's hoard define me for over two decades.

Although things have improved tremendously, I'm at a loss as to why loneliness and anxiety persist.

Almost a year later, here I am.

I've neglected this blog and writing in general for a long time. There are always the usual excuses; feeling too tired after a long day of bullshit at work, not knowing what to write, etc. But there's also the fact that even though it's been almost a year and a half since moving out, the trauma that came from living with a hoarder is still something that affects me deeply. Nothing ever feels clean enough, no matter how much I've tried.

A lot of things have taken place in the past year, some of which I'd like to forget. Last summer was particularly hard to get through. My roommate at the time had decided to not only force me to move out in order for her friend to move in, but to lie about the reason why. She claimed her mother had been abused by her stepfather and needed a place to stay, which was unnecessary in my opinion, but in the two weeks that it took to find a new apartment she also turned into the most inconsiderate, disgusting and self-serving person I've ever met in my life.

Anxiety and depression were at an all time high at this point, and there were several times throughout last July and August that saw a dip in my performance at work. The anxiety made me feel too sick to eat, and I ended up losing a lot of weight. While searching desperately for a new place to live, my former roommate and I were fighting over my part of the security deposit, which she wanted to keep regardless of having no valid reason to do so.

One of my friends had mentioned he was interested in looking for a new apartment as well, so we decided to start searching for a two-bedroom to share instead. I figured it would be easier now that both of us were looking at listings, calling realtors and viewing apartments. Unfortunately after an entire week we had come up with only one vaguely promising listing, which ended up falling through shortly after. We resorted to walking in to every real estate office in the neighborhood in person, only to be told nothing was available. I was ready to give up. It felt like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Luckily, my friend and I managed to find an amazing place only a week before I had to move. Since then things have been better, though I still find myself struggling; depression and anxiety are still a major part of my life, and the process of finding out how to deal with it hasn't been an easy one.

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.

Isolation

It's easy to believe no one else can empathize with being so depressed that it overrides every other emotion. Depression can make everything else seem fuzzy and unfocused, blurring out the details to the point that happiness or anxiety become too similar to differentiate. Likewise, depression can also make it easy to forget that there are people that might genuinely care about your well-being, even if you've already become ambivalent to the idea of still being alive.

Even with therapy and a lot of support, I still struggle with being in that state of mind every day. It makes me wonder if I'll ever reach a point of actually feeling as though my life and everything I'm trying to accomplish is worthwhile.

Validation

From as early as I can remember, I have always been treated as something that exists solely to bend to my mother's every whim. If not, I was always the scapegoat instead. She would pretend to be the epitome of a martyr parent to everyone on the outside, the self-sacrificing mother that would do anything for her child. Yet on the inside, she would use that same act to guilt me into making sacrifices for her instead. She would (and still does) remind me of all the 'sacrifices' she's made to justify everything she knows she shouldn't be asking me to do. How else can a mentally ill parent come to terms with emotionally blackmailing a twelve year old into handing over all of her money just to cover the mortgage? This particular thing happened often in my childhood, if only because she could never stop herself from buying more shit she didn't need.

On the other hand, whenever I bought something for myself instead of donating everything I had to paying the bills, she would make sure I knew what an ungrateful, horrible person I was. Buying anything other than food for myself was, as she once put it, like biting the hand that fed me.

I believe part of this stems from the fact that she sees me as just another part of the hoard, an object without its own thoughts or opinions, and growing up being treated as such explains a lot about why I have so much difficulty with finding validation in myself. It also explains why she reacts with skepticism or negativity whenever I accomplish something for my own well-being rather than hers. It might be a subconscious thing for her, but that doesn't make it any less damaging for me.

From Chaos to Calm

I often find myself struggling with mindfulness, a method that supposedly allows one to find a space between anger itself and the explosive or implosive reaction it causes. The intended result is the ability to reflect on what caused the emotional response before acting out, therefore being able to express it in a healthy way. For someone like me, who lacks patience nearly all of the time, this is one of the most difficult things to accomplish in the midst of an episode. What also makes this difficult is my inability to focus on something, anything, other than how angry I feel in that moment. I've been told I can be very stubborn about certain things, and I suppose that happens to be one of them.

More than a small part of me wants to hold on to that anger because doing otherwise still feels like giving up or giving in. So much of it comes from feeling invalidated and unjustified, to the point that I've felt compelled to force my view of what's 'right' on the people I believe don't know better. There have been times in the past when I would become preoccupied with that idea, which is ironic considering how much bullshit I've allowed myself to accept whenever some sort of wrongdoing was directed at me instead of someone else. Maybe that in itself ties into the pattern I seem to have of ignoring my own needs and focusing far too much on those of specific people, to the point of becoming codependent.

While most of the anger I feel seems to be random as far as catalysts are concerned, I understand that some of it does come from a logical place. For example, take this series of events; an inability to sleep, followed by being woken up by the sound of mice digging somewhere inside the walls, which causes an anxiety attack, and is then followed by being told by my mother that this is a problem I should've taken care of months ago by helping to clean the house. Even in that situation, I'm now able to see that being angry about it is healthy and even constructive. Lashing out as a result, though     not as much.

In just over a month I will have been in therapy for a full year, and can see that some progress has been made in that time. And yet it bothers me that the way to finding mindfulness is still so challenging. regardless of the amount of work I've done to find just a shred of calmness within myself.

Expressions of Anger, Healthy and Otherwise

I wasn't always an outwardly angry person. Rather than the explosive reactions I've been displaying lately, I always turned the anger inwards to avoid making anyone else feel uncomfortable.  For the majority of my life I felt as though it wasn't my place to express that anger even if I had a right to do so. I had no idea how unhealthy and self destructive this actually was, since it was the only coping mechanism I'd ever known.

However, feeling inappropriately angry is an entirely new thing. It's surreal to be so acutely aware that it really is inappropriate and unhealthy, rather than having a perspective so distorted by low self-esteem that I usually believe everything I do is a mistake.

This newfound awareness is helping me learn what appropriate anger feels like in comparison, at least. For example, getting uncontrollably angry at crowds of people for being in my way, for standing exactly in the middle of the sidewalk, or for seeming unaware of how to walk properly: inappropriate. This is what living in a city is always like, I should be used to it. I know I shouldn't want to punch a man for exiting a building and then promptly standing directly in my path. I probably shouldn't have also yelled 'excuse me, asshole' at him, but it happened as if it was an uncontrollable instinct.

On the other hand, being angry about growing up in a hoarder's house with leaks in the roof so big the rain pours in: entirely appropriate. There's a stark contrast between these two types of anger, and I've finally learned how to recognize it; one is uncontrollable, the other is motivating.

Counterintuition

Over the course of this year, I've learned that what I think of myself is often the complete opposite of what most people think of me. I've been told that when I err on the side of being what I consider slightly distant, I actually come across as cold. What I consider to be too needy or too emotional is apparently still, in its own way, somewhat detached.

There seems to be much more than a fine line between healthy caution and unhealthy paranoia, especially when interacting with other people. The more I work towards overcoming depression and anxiety, the more I see that there's a huge gap between these two extremes. In my mind, I seem to be afraid of falling into some sort of uncanny valley between being too detached and not detached enough. I sometimes become preoccupied with avoiding the point along that spectrum that would make me come across as off-putting, but where exactly does that point lie? And where does 'normal' really lie within that, anyway? How can I figure out how to find that space in between too much and too little if I can't even trust my own judgment of my own actions?

But, that's not even the most important question. There's one thing that needs an answer most of all      how can anyone overcome being their own worst enemy?

Paranoia

For people struggling with major depression, I've noticed there often comes a time when nothing happening on the outside can influence what happens on the inside. Regardless of how much praise and encouragement one receives, that nagging voice of self-doubt does its best to destroy any positive feelings resulting from it. Other times, what's happening on the outside can override everything. I tend to switch between these two extremes; feeling no different from positive or negative outside influences, and feeling the same no matter what due to the constant state of restlessness that soldiers on within me.

It's a unique experience to be able to hear mice gnawing away inside one's mattress while lying on it, or to be required to empty water from the tub into the sink every day because the drain of the former no longer works. Sometimes these things have a way of staying with me, reminding me of how much I feel as though I've become stuck in this horrible, chaotic environment. It makes me question my own abilities in areas that have absolutely no relation to my home life. It makes me wonder why anyone would want to be friends or in a relationship with someone that, from my perspective, can't even get their own life together long enough to find a safe place to live.

With that in mind, it's still difficult to believe anyone would genuinely want to get to know me without having some kind of ulterior motive. This feeling has gotten much worse ever since I stopped taking antidepressants, to the point that I've gone back to thinking of myself as a horrible, annoying and ugly person that doesn't deserve anything good or positive. Although I had once known no other way to think of myself, having a brief period of relief from such extreme self-loathing has given me a new and somewhat odd perspective. Now it feels as though the medication had made it easier to lie to myself, had given me a false sense of confidence, and that I truly am as pathetic as I feel.

The reason this new perspective is odd comes from being aware of some sort of newfound duality within myself. On one hand, I consciously know I'm not as awful as I think I am and have always been my own worst critic anyway. On the other, loathing myself so deeply is so familiar that it seems right. When someone treats me unfairly, I immediately believe I must've done something to deserve it regardless of all the work I've done to get myself to believe otherwise.

Being off an antidepressant after feeling slightly better from taking it is a new form of hell I hadn't thought I'd ever know. Instead of being relatively even-tempered with occasional periods of sadness, I'm now angry and sad constantly. It's like being set off without the ability to ever calm down. Insignificant things are getting under my skin again, and I hate it.

A recent visit with my psychiatrist has left me feeling a little hopeful, though also skeptical. I'll be starting a different antidepressant that will possibly have a better outcome with less side effects than the one I had been taking. I don't even care if I have to take several different medications at once at this point, I just want some relief from hating myself and everything so much that it's mentally and physically exhausting.