There is a spider on your shoulder

Here's the most exciting thing that's happened to me in a week (besides moving and getting ready for school and training for my new job and watching a lot of TV)

Anyway.


I went to work, suspecting nothing.

I was three minutes early, because lately I'm just that kind of person.

I went to go do dishes like a good little employee

(actually easiest job because all you have to do is close the lid and let it wash the dishes for you)

I still suspected nothing.

Lily came around the corner. Looked at me, and calmly informed me:

What do I do?

She said it so calmly that it couldn't be true. 

Actually if she were trying to play a trick on me she wouldn't have said it so calmly. She would have acted scared.

What if it wasn't?? 

Curiosity got the better of me. I looked at my shoulder.

Now I know how completely irrational this fear is. 

I really have made great strides in conquering my fear of these tiny little things.

In fact, I can now actually kill my own spiders on a good day.

But today I just wasn't feelin it. Mostly because this spider was so close to my face.

So naturally, I froze.

I couldn't move.

But I REALLY wanted this spider to NOT be on my shoulder. And since I had no use of my limbs I did the only thing I could think of.

I screamed. 

I'm embarrassed but that is exactly what I did. 

But at least I didn't scream like a little girl. 

No.

I screamed like an adult woman in the forest with an axe-murderer. 

And it worked. Lily brushed the spider off my shoulder for me. 

And I didn't die.

But I gave my boss a migraine.

But I didn't die.

I kind of feel bad for the spider now that I think about it. I mean what if he really had no ill intentions? 

And instead I just screamed at him. 

How rude. 

He probably chose my shoulder because I looked like a reasonably nice blonde lady who would tell him what time it was. Instead I caused his death.

So... I overreacted.

Someday I hope to get to the point where I can look that spider in the eyes and calmly say:

Depression with a Purpose

In case you didn't know, and you probably didn't since I've never announced it publicly and I might seriously regret doing so later, I have been trying to cope with depression and some anxiety problems. I am terrified to post this. I have read and reread it so many times that I'm sick of hearing my own voice. I am letting you in on my little world, but it seemed like a good time to do it because of the recent passing of Robin Williams (heart broken) and also I haven't slept all night so it seems like a great idea right now.

If I've already completely scared you out of reading my blog, don't worry. This blog was not made for me to complain to you about depression. But I must warn you that it's not going to be all sunshine and unicorns either. I desperately want to explain myself to people who might have seen me troubled or that I might have hurt while I felt troubled.
(There actually will be unicorns though)

For those of you wondering what could have happened to make someone who seems as happy as me all the time (unless I know you really well and you have seen me sad before) do not worry. Nothing incredibly terrible has happened.
Honestly I really  haven't found a reason for this depression. So I'm sorry if you've ever tried to help me and I just seemed frustrated at you. I didn't mean to be mean. I'm just as frustrated as you are.
However, I can think of reasons for why God has given me this trial specifically (depression with a purpose is so much easier to handle)

Purpose #1 I have this trial in order to understand what other people go through and be able to help them in the future when I know how to handle this more and see when this mood is coming for me.

Purpose #2 To help *normal people understand what things like anxiety and depression feel like. It's not an easy thing, and it drives a knife in any social relationship because depressed people are angry and bitter sometimes when they really don't mean to be.

*everyone has their own trials, so when I say normal I just mean never having experienced anxiety or depression

Anyway I really want to build a bridge between depressed people and the rest of society.
A really good one.
Like a Golden Gate bridge...

... of understanding....

in people's brains.
(I suck at metaphors)

Purpose #3 I can draw (okay that was a bad example) and sight is a pretty effective and memorable way to communicate to people. Pictures really are worth a thousand words, plus there are few who have the time or stamina needed to read a thousand words about depression... so I drew a unicorn... and I also wrote about a thousand words... I have a lot to say.

So those are some good purposes for my depression.
Now to give some reason behind my depression.

If  I've ever given you a list of problems I blame for this sad feeling, and you have responded by telling me how much of a beautiful person I am,  and I've turned and given you a face like this:

I am so sorry.
(Photo creds to my sis who I was mad at for some reason when she took this <3)

This was probably because I was not feeling beautiful at all right then, as is a normal occurrence with depression, and hearing you flat out contradict my belief in my ugliness only made me feel all the uglier.

What I think you might be thinking at this point: Ummm, Why??? When you feel sad and ugly don't you WANT people to contradict you and tell you you're beautiful Abby??

It might work sometimes, but most of the time, no, because I'll just feel like you weren't even listening to my problems (wow I'm so dramatic) These problems will seem extremely trivial to you, but I recommend not to laugh at them or quickly brush them aside because yes most of them won't have any truth in them whatsoever, and I'm aware that they don't.
However, the reason I'm so emotionally and irrationally attached  to those little problems is because they are the tiny thread of reasons I have been able to come up with to help explain to you why I am feeling like absolute crap.

I mean,
It is so much easier for me to explain to someone:
"I'm really sad because I think I'm ugly and not talented and broken"

than to say the truth which is: "I'm really sad because I'm depressed."

Yes. Yes it does. 

Confession: I really have no reason for why I have depression. 
I have a great life. I have two parents that love me as well as siblings that are there for me too. I live in a happy safe environment. I go to an awesome school and am lucky enough to be able to have the means to be majoring in something so potentially useless as art (I intend to put it to use though)

I'm really still trying to figure out why I get so painfully sad sometimes (I can promise you I've explored many different reasons such as diet or sleep patterns and so on), but my dear friend with her blog called Hyperbole and a Half can back me up here. You've probably seen her drawings on the internet before, and like maybe if I actually met her we would be friends, because she's hilarious and likes to draw and also has depression so that's like three major things we have in common, except that she's better than me at all three of those things. But anyway. Just click on that link and read at least the first part.

In the meantime, I know I'm really not a mean ugly bitter person. In fact, most of the time I'm a pretty pleasant person to be around. So I'm not trying to be rude to you at all when I refuse your wonderful well-intended help and compliments of "stop being sad Abby you are beautiful and wonderful and talented and strong."
I may give you my hate stare if you say this to me when I'm in the wrong mood. I may say things I really didn't mean. I know I have some great potential, I'm just mad because not being beautiful or talented or strong were the best reasons I had for feeling chronically sad.

So I've ranted about this for quite long enough, but I just want to let people know that I really honestly truly don't want to be miserable all my life, but it probably won't look like that to you. Because in a sense I am looking for reasons to be sad. However, that is because if I found the reason, depression wouldn't seem so hopeless; If you can find the reason to an illness then that means it can be cured and overcome. Which oh my gosh that would be awesome and would save me from so many awkward social situations.

So I'm going to work on that. And definitely try taking some free counseling this semester. But for now I take hope in the fact that I have some really good times even with this strange empty emotional baggage I carry. So far this trial has improved my understanding of other people far better than anything I've ever experienced before. It also helps me really appreciate how amazing every single human life is.

Feel free to leave comments or even message me privately if you've ever felt at all like this. I think we could help each other.

why I don't think I can write

I'm a great talker. I love to rant about lots of different subjects, and I can go on for minutes and often wear people down with how much I talk. But I can't write.

Or at least, I don't think I can.

I used to think I could. I believed in my writing capabilities so much that I wrote some of the worst poetry known to man. Or at least the sixth grade. and seventh grade too. 
I'm pretty sure I destroyed that book or else I would indulge you with some bad poetry, but it wasn't even funny bad poetry, it was just bad, which isn't funny.

The funny thing is, I did win one poetry award in high school. I think it was like 3rd place or something, or maybe just an honorable mention. Either way it made it into the state poetry book that year. It was a poem about my inability to come up with any inspiration for a poem, and I had two awesome english teachers that helped me think through it until I had a solid enough piece to enter into the contest. Honestly I still hate that poem though. So I'm not going to share it either.

So I gave up trying to write anything deep and meaningful and decided to stick with what I was good at: limericks. Also comic strips. Those two were the only assignments that saved my grade in creative writing class. I will show you a limerick I wrote. Only because I can remember it.

There once was a handsome young quail,
Who applied for position at Yale,
His request was denied,
The quail was deep-fried,
And served with a sampling of snail.

Shut up quail you didn't even go to college.

 We also had to keep a journal where we wrote at least one page every day. Looking back that would have been a great opportunity for me to practice my writing. I did follow the assignment, however I filled most pages with nonsense and no thoughts in particular just so I could finish my homework as quickly as possible. I just let my thoughts wander as much as they wanted. The result? A pretty worthless book of thoughts, but also a new found love for writing. Sure I didn't produce anything of meaning, but it was very therapeutic for me.

So what made me think I was a bad writer?

Well, I didn't pass the AP English Language and Composition test.

I had studied for it so much. So much that I neglected to study at all for my AP Biology test and had to give up trying to take the AP Calculus test (I still passed the Biology test so don't worry.) And then when I finally took it I felt like I had totally rocked it. Like there was no way I didn't pass it. 

And then I got my scores back. I didn't pass. So I concluded: I only think I'm a good writer, when in reality other people don't understand what I'm trying to say. So I'm a bad writer.

So I had to take the freshman college english class. It was quite a challenge. Not because the class itself was difficult, but because this was the year I really experienced depression. Now that I wasn't in high school with a clear goal (that goal being get into a respectable college so that you can fit in with the rest of society and be successful) I suddenly had almost no motivation to go to a class full of people I didn't know, learning about stuff I had already learned (and I know there's always more to learn, but the depression was making me question what the point of learning more would be), having to walk to class through the middle of one of the harshest winters I'd ever experienced, while also being the sickest I had ever been in my life (physically ill, not just psychologically) and on top of that working about 25-30 hours a week (should have saved up more money for college) Basically I didn't want to go to class. 

And so instead of thinking logically and laying out all the factors for why I was getting a bad grade in this freshman writing class, I determined that I must just simply be a bad writer. All the other writing classes and essays and poems I had written prior to this class were obsolete in my mind, because I decided this college class was superior to all other classes before it, just because it was a college class. That was silly. Grades do not determine how good you are at something. And actually, it doesn't even matter whether or not you're good at it, just that you're learning and improving. 

The only way I get myself to write now is to treat it like I'm having a conversation with someone. I used to struggle with this a lot because I rely so much on the feedback people give me while I'm talking. Nobody's there to correct me if I say something dumb while writing. What if I say something dumb? (I sometimes do) What if it's not perfect? (it never is)

Anyway I've ranted about this for quite long enough, but if you ever feel like you can't write, I recommend writing about why you can't write.

Excuses

Excuses for why I can’t successfully maintain a blog

1. Who even reads this

2. I love making excuses

3. My life is not interesting

4. I talk a lot. I talk a lot about my not so interesting life. I love to rant

5. I don’t own a Mac therefore I’m not artistic enough for a beautiful blog

6. I hate rereading what I’ve written

7. I’m only 20

8. Typing is still a struggle

9. I'm busy 

10. I’m a perfectionist. My writing is not perfect therefore no one can see it

Reasons why I want to be a successful blogger

1. I secretly hate making excuses

2. Attention is nice

3. Doing something productive is also nice

4. I like to make people laugh at my problems

5. It’s the perfect way to vent without annoying anyone (you’re choosing to read this after all)

6. It makes me seem smarter (oooh she has a blog)

7. I love reading other people's blogs

8. Writing makes me think. It's also therapeutic 

9. I love making lists

10. I have opinions and I like to share them

11. Oh and I want to change people's lives

I'm starting another blog

When I was six I had a journal that I wrote in pretty often. Then my sister found it and (can you believe it) read it. I was horrified. I ripped it up into tiny little pieces and threw it all away.

I really wish I hadn't ripped it up and thrown it away. But I did that all the time growing up. I’d start a journal or a blog, write in it furiously for a good while, and then forget about it. Sooner or later I’d come back to it and be embarrassed by what I had written, and either delete the blog or dispose of the journal.

So I’m starting another blog. But this time I’ve learned my lesson. It doesn’t matter if my life isn’t amazing enough to write about, or if I accidentally admit something I’m ashamed of, or even if (heaven forbid) somebody actually reads what I write.

What matters is I write. 

I just finished reading George Orwell’s 1984 (because they never made me read it in school and I had plenty of hours to kill traveling home from the east coast) and even though it was depressing, I loved how the first thing that starts to separate Winston (main character) from the rest of crowd is that he starts writing. And his writing is terrible. He doesn't even use punctuation and his thoughts jump everywhere and you feel almost as jumbled and frightened and frustrated as he feels. But it lets him see himself.

For me writing is like looking in a mirror, and sometimes I hate doing it, but those are the times when I really need to look at myself and acknowledge all the stupid and all the awesome things I do. I probably sound more dramatic than I mean to sound, I tend to do that, but I needed to write today. So thanks.