Depression Talk

Just a big old blank. Just a whole bunch of let down, like, I just devoted the last six months of my life to something and it ends and then what? Like, you’re supposed to be happy? Or ecstatic? Should you jump around screeching that its over, or should you go back to clenching your fists and hoping you don’t have to deal with it again?

If its just a big old lump of nothing, does that count as a feeling? Does nothingness fall under that category? Should a person be guilty for experiencing nothingness over a momentous occasion? Does that mean the real feeling I’m feeling is guilt?

So far, though, a whole lot of nothing.

It was just one of those regular nights. We celebrated July the Fourth last night, with fireworks and a barbeque and friends and family. Happy Independence Day.

I got to chat with my best girl, my T who I love so much, and the Berry Queen and my mother were playing music in the background, and she told me that he said my name.

And I felt all floaty and wondrous and lightheaded and grand.

And then when I realized that I felt that way because I’d been holding my breath since she began on the topic of him, I started breathing again and everything returned to normal, and I told myself to grow up and move on and not be such a nitwit.

But I still have smile when I think of it, because its not often that someone with a PBR shirt says my name.

I live in a near constant state of fear, one that I don’t really understand. I constantly fear that I am not a good enough friend, that I’m not a good enough worker, that I’m a bad Aunt, that I’m a bad daughter or sister…

I don’t know why this fear comes over me, or why I feel it so often. But still, it remains, and any criticism of anything I do makes me want to curl into a ball and weep.

Just another part of being obsessed with everything.

Sleeping has been a problem for me most of my life. Namely, the problem is that when I’m sane, I can’t get enough of it, and when I’m Insane I can’t get any at all.

I’m living away from home right now and the Bery Family has a wonderful bed for me here. It has a new matress and flannel sheets and a down duvet. I think they’re trying to convince me to move in here forever because I do handy things like play with the baby and manage their fields. If only they needed me for more than three weeks out of every year, I’d be set.

Getting out of bed in the morning is especially difficult while here because the sheets are just so… flannel-y. So luxuriously soft, as though they were made from the down of day-old chicks. As though you’d washed the finest sheep with Infusium Conditioner every day of its life and then shorn it with shears made of gold.

Berry season is also particularly difficult because I wor from seven in the morning until eight at night. Regardless of what you do for a living, when you do it that continuously, you’re tired.

And now every day I have to tear myself out of this bed, and some days I literally have to be torn, and it pains me to know for the rest of the year, my bed will be empty, my sheets without my sunburned and peeling body.

I think of my bed and my sheets and the lovely duvet without me for eleven months of the year, and I feel a little bit sad.

I met someone this weekend, quite unexpectedly as it is Berry Season, after all, and how do you meet someone when you devote your life to fruit?

I got to leave the berry farm for a little over fourteen hours this weekend and it was a great relief to discover that the world is still turning beyond Field #7.

This individual I met wears cowboy boots and has a belt bucle and showed up tp the stag I was at in a PBR button-down shirt. For those of you not in the know, the Pro Bull Riding finals are the highlight of my year, and anyone who knows what they are — other than my parents — is really a special person in my eyes. Someone I’d consider offering my second last beer to, even.

He drives a tractor for a living and has a big ol’ pickup truck and wears a ball cap and I got to thinking about it, and who’s kidding who? I can’t date someone. I hate dating. When people breathe near me, I want to smack them. When people sit beside me, I feel claustrophobic. I detest the awkwardness of dating, the formality of it, the expectation that you should lean in for a kiss goodnight. And by the way, how are you supposed to know if you’re on a date with someone that the other party actually WANTS to be kissed goodnight?

But at the same time I’m thinking that it would be awfully nice to have my phone ring at some point. This is not typical of me at all.

I think the PBR shirt has clouded my judgement.

My legs have been itchy these last few days, an itch that will not go away no matter what itch cream I apply or which medications I take. The itch taes over me and I am no longer able to function because I am just so damn itchy and the scratching takes up all of my energy.

I had an experience the other day that made me shriek into the telephone like a crazed and maniacal idiot. My voice reached decibals that only dogs can hear and I became an Insane person who someone else hung up on.

I just can’t stand rude behaviour from other people. I detest people who treat other human beings as less than they deserve to be treated as.

And as a result, my legs are itching like crazy.

No red, purple-ish bumps as of yet, but I’m expecting them to pop up any day now.