I said that I would never "seriously" blog - but here I am. I get it. Finally. People have shit to say. Not a lot of people want to listen. Thus, we blog. I usually write long emails to friends, but I think they're getting tired of it. Hence the blog.
I don't really know where to begin, but I supposedly, allegedly, I'm living "the dream." I'm in Mexico. Living on the beach with a great view, opening a bar in a few weeks, and I'm utterly depressed. It's only been a month and (almost) a half - but I still have the same phobias creeping into my life. I don't want to leave my apartment/casa, I'm depressed, I have self-pity and self-loathing issues - so, I mean, really - what the fuck is the point? I could be doing all of this in Oakland. Fuck living the dream. What's left after that? Scary thought.
I used to work a corporate job at a startup company. I loved/hated it - in that order (towards the end more hate than love) and as soon as that structure ended - so did my "happy" self, which wasn't really that happy at all, but at least I wasn't a bitter, old hag like I am now. I mean, who does this? Who actually moves to one of the most beautiful places on the planet and becomes more depressed than they were when they were living in the states, working for the man, getting drunk every other night, fighting off hangovers... You get the picture. And the guilt. The guilt is overwhelming. It's the worst part, because I know that it's not bad - it's not bad at all. For the record - there is NOTHING bad happening to me right now. It's just this whole part of me that hates myself and refuses to let myself be happy. Ever.
I'm also in a "relationship." I will save that for a later date. I can't even bring myself to go there right now. Not for my sake, but for his. Or both.
All I really want to know is this: how do I get over my fear of leaving the house? I do I get over feeling outside of my skin? Because it's always been here and it's apparently not going anywhere. Depression, anxiety - I can (sort of ) handle that - but the rest of it is something that I can't get my head around/through/nada.
I had such a strange dream last night......it doesn't really matter what it was about but it tells me that I have no grasp. on. reality. I didn't know if my current boyfriend was my real, current boyfriend or my (dead) passed-away boyfriend. I didn't know where/when/what I was. It was disturbing. I don't actually know if I was awake or asleep when I was trying to figure it out. That is what scares me the most. I remembered my tattoo and my current boyfriend's last name in the end - which makes no sense. Nor does any of this really matter. Why? Because tomorrow I'll wake up and it will happen all over again. I'll clean like a maniac in the morning, feel guilty for feeling like shit, and go to my Spanish class (thank god for that - - structure). So, I bid thee (myself) farewell. At least the farmacias are good here. Sedate and recalibrate. Every day.
Buenas noches.
I don't really know where to begin, but I supposedly, allegedly, I'm living "the dream." I'm in Mexico. Living on the beach with a great view, opening a bar in a few weeks, and I'm utterly depressed. It's only been a month and (almost) a half - but I still have the same phobias creeping into my life. I don't want to leave my apartment/casa, I'm depressed, I have self-pity and self-loathing issues - so, I mean, really - what the fuck is the point? I could be doing all of this in Oakland. Fuck living the dream. What's left after that? Scary thought. I used to work a corporate job at a startup company. I loved/hated it - in that order (towards the end more hate than love) and as soon as that structure ended - so did my "happy" self, which wasn't really that happy at all, but at least I wasn't a bitter, old hag like I am now. I mean, who does this? Who actually moves to one of the most beautiful places on the planet and becomes more depressed than they were when they were living in the states, working for the man, getting drunk every other night, fighting off hangovers... You get the picture. And the guilt. The guilt is overwhelming. It's the worst part, because I know that it's not bad - it's not bad at all. For the record - there is NOTHING bad happening to me right now. It's just this whole part of me that hates myself and refuses to let myself be happy. Ever.
I'm also in a "relationship." I will save that for a later date. I can't even bring myself to go there right now. Not for my sake, but for his. Or both.
All I really want to know is this: how do I get over my fear of leaving the house? I do I get over feeling outside of my skin? Because it's always been here and it's apparently not going anywhere. Depression, anxiety - I can (sort of ) handle that - but the rest of it is something that I can't get my head around/through/nada.
I had such a strange dream last night......it doesn't really matter what it was about but it tells me that I have no grasp. on. reality. I didn't know if my current boyfriend was my real, current boyfriend or my (dead) passed-away boyfriend. I didn't know where/when/what I was. It was disturbing. I don't actually know if I was awake or asleep when I was trying to figure it out. That is what scares me the most. I remembered my tattoo and my current boyfriend's last name in the end - which makes no sense. Nor does any of this really matter. Why? Because tomorrow I'll wake up and it will happen all over again. I'll clean like a maniac in the morning, feel guilty for feeling like shit, and go to my Spanish class (thank god for that - - structure). So, I bid thee (myself) farewell. At least the farmacias are good here. Sedate and recalibrate. Every day.
Buenas noches.
