The Blahs

My friends,

How are all of you today? I must admit, I, myself am not doing so well. Those of you who have read my stories, know very well of my struggles with depression. It’s a love hate relationship I must admit. Depression loves me, and I hate it so. Some days are good, some days are bad, some days are just okay, and some days are just…some days, I guess.

I strongly dislike opening up about my feelings. I strongly dislike showcasing my weakness. I strongly dislike being vulnerable. And alas, I strongly dislike sitting in the shit and feeling the blahs. I hate depression so.

Friends, I want to open up a bit. Just a little. I want to share what I go through on a not so good day. I want to share, because there are so many misconceptions about depression. It truly is one of those things, that you couldn’t possibly understand until you are there, until you and sadness are hand in hand, until depression keeps poking at you, until melancholy is the only shirt that wears you. Even at that, those who have gone through this funk or are currently battling the blahs, well, lets just say every story is different.

When I first was diagnosed with depression I was in both denial and acceptance. Make sense, I thought. I had gotten out of a long term relationship, I lost my grandma, I lost my best friend, I lost cousins, I was homesick, and not where I thought I would be in life. I was in denial to my diagnoses because, I didn’t want people to look at me differently. I am one strong, mother fucking tough cookie, and for some Doc to come in spend 10 minutes with me, and send me on the way with one fucking terrible symptom and loads of fun prescriptions, well…fuck.

So it has been a roller coaster. This, my friends, is not a ride I can easily get off. I can’t just snap my fingers and not be depressed anymore. (Although I wish this were the case). It’s a bummer, I know.

Alas, lets turn my feelings on.

On a not so good day I go through…

  • I cry. Here is the thing. I never cry. But on these days, I just can’t help myself. I cry because of all these feelings and thoughts that run through my heads. I will admit though, I do cry quite beautifully. I have often thought of taking a selfie and instragaming the shit out of it with whispers of ‘so sad today’, ‘hard knock’, ‘#loveme’.
  • I create scenarios in my head. Some are reasonable like; ‘what if there is a zombie apocalypse and no one wants to save me, and then I realize that this scenario is not realistic at all and that none of the scenarios are reasonable. NONE OF THEM! And then I start panicking and then…
  • ANXIETY. I get so anxious about everything. I will constantly text or call people who are dear to me, people who I love and care for, AND when they don’t text back or take too long to respond, I keep texting and calling AND start crying because they don’t love me anymore, AND all these thoughts keep building AND stacking AND everything is closing in AND my chest begins to hurt, AND my heart begins to hurt, AND I can’t breathe and all I want is to….

End it.

  • I lose control and then all of a sudden it stops. (but not really). You see friends, I get so worked up inside my head, I can’t get a grip on anything. My footing is lost, and it’s not that I have fallen, it is that I am falling, and falling and I keep falling.

This isn’t fun for me. And although dejection is enjoying every fucking minute of my sadness, I am not.

  • I get upset with myself. I beat myself up. I self sabotage. I don’t mean too. At least I don’t think I do, but I don’t know much of anything anymore.

Recently, I tried opening up to another. He was kind, genuine, and wonderful. I loved him. But as I opened up more about my struggle with being a sad sack of shit, it seemed to push him further away. Although he was quite insightful, seemed to understand and told me of his stories with similar battles, it must of not been what he wanted in someone else. He fell further back, and I fell further down. I thought He doesn’t love me anymore, but misery is company and loves me so.

  • I get desperate. (Yup, pretty much just sums that up.
  • I shut off. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Friends and family will call, I won’t pick up, they’ll message, I won’t answer. I have great people in my life. I really do. But I am not there for them anymore. I guess I just can’t be bothered.
  • I tell myself, I’m too tired for this…

It’s hard. I work at a job where we are told a smile is part of our uniform. {Side Note: Lamest fucking slogan EVER!} My smile, is just a facade. Seriously friends, it hurts to fake smile for fucking 8 hours. Sucks even more once you begin to loathe the place you work.

  • I tell myself I am Batman. But then I get sad because I realize I am not Batman. Not even close, not even 1%. I’m just me. A soon to be 30 year old, spinster, who is lonely as fuck.

Loneliness is a shitty feeling. The other day I had a good friend over. He and I had our traditional Sunday Night Special. We watched a movie and ordered in. I was lonely the entire time. Not because he wasn’t good company, but because I knew after the movie, he would go home. I would be left here, alone.

Going to bed at night is probably the hardest for me. For a little while, I had someone who slept over quite often. Although we were intimate, it was the cuddles and sleeping side by side I really enjoyed. It was peaceful. I felt at peace with myself.

When he wasn’t there I would try to have sleepovers with other men. It wasn’t the same. The cuddles were different, the intent behind the cuddles was different. There was no comfort. I wasn’t at peace with myself.

On a not so good day, sleeping aides help.

Friends, I am sad. This whole ordeal, this funk I am in, these blahs I am battling are, well … I feel as though it is breaking my heart. Maybe it’s because my heart has cracked recently, maybe not…but I am so sad.

  • I look in the mirror. I realize, I am not the girl my parents raised me to be. I realize I am not the person my grandma would be proud of. I realize I am a shitty, terrible, selfish cunt and I shouldn’t even be here. I shouldn’t be a functioning human being. I shouldn’t exist. I didn’t choose to be born…why the fuck am I still here?

My thoughts get darker.

Suicide is something that I am familiar with. I’ve lost family members and friends to this. Before, I used to think, how selfish. Don’t these people know who they are hurting? But then I realized something. Once you get into the world of melancholia, you get to a point where one option arises. And although there are other options out there, the longer you are entrapped by that world, the more that option is the only choice for you. At least this is how your mind sees it. I will admit, I have thought of that. I have yet to get to that point to just choose that. But that thought is always there.

  • I get homesick.

My entire family is back in Ontario. Back in a place they call their home. I have nieces and nephews, who hardly know me, some I haven’t meant. I see photos and videos on Facebook of ‘family times’. And well, it’s just a ray of sunshine over there.

I haven’t seen my family in just under 2 years. Although they constantly reach out and ask me to come visit. It just isn’t that easy for me. In fact, most times it makes me feel terrible. I feel bad I can’t be there. Sometimes I get annoyed with them and I want them to stop. My life is out here, I want to be out here, I want to have a family out here in this beautiful city, why make me feel guilty about leaving yours!?!

  • DRUGS!

Drugs don’t help. In the beginning of this phase, I was heavily medicated. Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, Lexapro, Doxepin, you name it, I had it. Basically, in the unlikely scenario of a zombie apocalypse happening, I could dope a whole city up on happy pills and suddenly zombies become fun!!!

Before the summer, the Doc, decided to stop it all. Stop all my fun stuff. Stop me not feeling. (I like not feeling.) 

Introducing, coke! No, I am not referring to Santa’s favourite beverage. I’m referring to the the lil’ sniff’sniff ya know… My whole summer was spent snorting cocaine. I won’t lie I enjoyed it. It made me more social. I was euphoric, I felt on top of the world, but I tell ya, coming of that stuff is the worst feeling. Killing kittens would be easier. Coming off this high and getting smacked with reality I was sad, I was in agony, I hated my life, my anxiety was full throttle and I couldn’t fucking sleep. I didn’t want to be awake a feel.

After the summer, I decided no more doing lines off some whores ass crack {Side Note: My coffee table is such a whore). Just in time for the Doc to load me back up again, this time with Marplan and Celexa. (I haven’t touched these guys yet).

Friends, it’s really hard. Like I said, I am one tough motherfucking cookie, but fuck. I know this too shall pass. I know at some point I will get to my happy place, but right now, its really fucking hard. I’m down in the dumps, battling the blahs, but I will see you guys on the other side.

This may have not been a good day for me. But I know there will be a good day eventually.


Money, Puppies and Chewbacca Cries For Help!

I went to bed pretty darn late last night. Now, for me late is 9:30 pm, 11:30 if I take my noon nap. Anyways, so I was up until about 1 am. Two girlfriends and I cried our eyes out for all different reasons. No feel good cries either. Sometimes I hate having ovaries, and feelings, and girlfriends and eyes that aren’t really crying just…..sweating it out.


I went to bed late, but woke up butt-fuck early. I simply couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and finally around 6 am I went to take a leak and couldn’t go back to my sweet, sweet, uncomfortable slumber land. I have a head ache, I’m officially/unofficially off my medications, my heart is racing, I’m sweating and just have a not-so-good feeling.


I am in my Sunday best (even though it is Wednesday). My Sunday best is comprised of sweats and moccasins.I haven’t had my coffee, my hair is not brushed and my make up still on from last night looks like a sad sad panda.sadpanda_large

I am waiting outside of the TD Bank. As soon as the doors open I burst through like a child running away from Disneyland. I head up to the first bank teller I see and completely unload.

You see folks, last night at around 11:30 pm I went to the bank to deposit my hard earned mula. Now, it may seem odd that a young lady like myself is out depositing funds this late. But that is the way I roll/ I usually work nights so after each shift I drive to the bank closest to the homestead and deposit money. It ranges from xx amount to xxxx amount. So last night, after a busy night of work I deposit a significant amount of x’s into my account. The issue here is as soon as I put the money in the machine it read “Temporarily out of service” No joke. My wad of coinage closed the bitch down. No receipt, no money back and checking on my handy mobile banking app it showed no money whatsoever had been deposited. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!! Clearly the little munchkin behind the machine had other ideas and decided to eat up my wad of green. SEE YA LATER!!!

So this is why I am here stroking out at the bank teller. I’m pleading my case, my ovaries are taking over and the waterworks start streaming down my face. Not only that, but the bank teller is pretty cute, and as I mentioned before I am not the most graceful of criers. I sound like Chewbacca rubbing one out. (So not lady like).

So the bank teller informs me that this stuff happens all the time and that I am not the first. Well, that is just fucking dandy, good to know my money is entrusted into this bank, really. It would have been nice to know the odds, ya know see the stats of how many people have their hard earned money taken away by these dirty machines. (Just throwing this out there…built by Jews?) 

I am also informed that they filled out an ‘investigation’ form for me. Well, fuck. So will we be expecting Horatio Caine or the Scooby Doo Clan waltzing in here to solve the mystery. By the way….THERE IS NO FUCKING MYSTERY!!NOT AT ALL!! I DEPOSITED MY MONEY, YOUR MACHINE TOOK MY MONEY, NOW I DON’T HAVE THAT MONEY!!! MYSTERY SOLVED! I basically paid the bank to rob me.

Okay, so form filled out. I am then told it can take anywhere from 1 to 2 weeks. WHAT. THE FUCK. I am not waiting two weeks for my money, this is why I came in late the night previous, so I could have it straight away. If I knew I would have to wait that long I would have kept the bills rolled up in my tube socks. (Side note: I always have money on me. I have bills behind mirrors, in books, under my pillows, in my record player and tube socks apparently…I once found 200$ in a fanny pack I had boxed up to give to the Salvation Army, but last minute decided to keep my fanny pack. Thank goodness too. 200$ well spent at the casino playing slots….JUST KIDDING…I don’t play slots).

Crying, sad panda getting sadder, I’m spewing my poetics about their dumbass machine. I’m HERALDING my advice and apparently the bank strongly dislikes advice.


Nap time at home. You see, whenever I am upset, stressed or having feelings I pass the time by konking out. Seriously, who wants to be awake and feel the shittiness that is life. So to add to this deep shit that I am soaking up, I get a phone call from the ex asking if I had taken Plum.

Just to clear things up, when the ex and I were together we were a family of five. Him, myself, Olive our maniac of a kitty, 10956634_10100468573986933_1848671186757172107_nBarrie St. Bernard and his little sister Plum. When we broke up I took Olive and Barrie St.Bernard while he left with his dignity and lil Plum and possibly a cactus.

So I get this call that Plum is missing. She wasn’t at his homestead. She must have gotten out and is going on her own little adventure. My heart just sank. Suddenly, everything I was so worked up about prior to, didn’t matter anymore. My lil baby was missing and the last thing I wanted was to see Plum’s mug on a milk carton or worse.

Barrie St.Bernard and I bust into Robin (our beautiful Jeep) and hit the road. At times like this you kind of wish throwing banana’s peels at cars was not only legal, but actually worked. So as we are flying down the highway, the ex calls and informs me that Plum has been found and she is in Juvi/the pound. Thank goodness, she is safe.

So I meet the ex and his mama at the Animal Shelter. A few hundred dollars later they bail her out of jail and also licensed her. Apparently, Plum has been an illegal alien in British Columbia for the past 6 months. Oops… I ask too take Plum for a day or so, which the ex agrees too. Even though she doesn’t live with me anymore the thought of anything happening to her kills me and I just need to hold her a little closer today.


At home, with my puppies. My head ache is fading. I have a bottle of wine and I’m watching the pups play with one another in the backyard. Sure, as soon as Plum was found all my thoughts of the whole bank issue was swarming in my head. But in moments like this, these things are rather medial. It is just money in the end, and it will work it’s way out. Plum is my family and I could have lost her today, but I didn’t and I would rather my family, than money.