I Am Depressed More Than People Realize
Every morning when I wake up, my day begins with taking care of everyone but myself.
I don’t have kids, I have animals, but they are still a huge responsibility. I wake up, sometimes to find messes such as poop or vomit on the floor, something torn or broken, and if I don’t clean it up, no one will. Then I go about feeding them. And I don’t usually get to feed myself until about a half hour later. Sometimes I’m interrupted to do something else. But that’s not the whole point of this journal. While I’m doing all these things, I’m thinking about my life, and what I should be doing in order to accomplish my main goals, like finding a better job to pay off my debts and be able to afford things we need. I’m trying to think positive, yet can’t help but feel down on myself at the same time as I look at the beautiful house that isn’t in my name because I don’t have the income to help pay for it; all gone to crap because we barely maintain it. I can’t do this on my own, and my boyfriend who owns the house is always working, though he does spend time on trying (and trying is the word, because it’s become overgrown and we don’t know how to fix it) to maintain the yard. When he comes home in the evenings, he is so mentally tired from his software engineering job that he sits in front of the computer again and plays video games until he’s wound down for the night. I have waited all day for him to come home, and the little time we spend before he goes back to the games is after I’ve made dinner and we watch a show. Then I let him get back to the games because that’s what he most wants to do. I turn around and sit back at my computer to type a story or play a game myself. It has become our regular routine, and the excitement has slowly begun to die. Occasionally, there’s a movie night. And sometimes we go out with a few friends or to a party. But it just feels as though we’re not living each day as though there could be no tomorrow. And the messes around the house just pile up, and I’ve given up on keeping it nice. Every time I clean, I find messes on the floor or counter the next day. The cleaning I did went unnoticed. Sometimes there are either clothes on the bathroom floor, wet towels strewn across the bed, dirty socks, plates or cups filled with liquid from the night before, things left on the counter which belong in the cabinet or have been used and are now trash, food wrappers, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, but not all at once. If I leave it there, it doesn’t get picked up and will continue to grow with extra messes. I feel like a house keeper, but I’m not. I can’t deny that I make messes too, but it’s hard to care about keeping it nice when I clean up my messes and find someone else’s the next day as though the clean house didn’t matter. I used to care more, but now, it’s hopeless. And I keep wondering why I’m allowing myself to live like this. I stayed with this man to make a relationship work again after it started to fall apart. And now I feel as though neither of us care anymore how things go. We’re just living in filth and the depression is heightened by the beautiful house turned to a white trash paradise.
I don’t have kids, I have animals, but they are still a huge responsibility. I wake up, sometimes to find messes such as poop or vomit on the floor, something torn or broken, and if I don’t clean it up, no one will. Then I go about feeding them. And I don’t usually get to feed myself until about a half hour later. Sometimes I’m interrupted to do something else. But that’s not the whole point of this journal. While I’m doing all these things, I’m thinking about my life, and what I should be doing in order to accomplish my main goals, like finding a better job to pay off my debts and be able to afford things we need. I’m trying to think positive, yet can’t help but feel down on myself at the same time as I look at the beautiful house that isn’t in my name because I don’t have the income to help pay for it; all gone to crap because we barely maintain it. I can’t do this on my own, and my boyfriend who owns the house is always working, though he does spend time on trying (and trying is the word, because it’s become overgrown and we don’t know how to fix it) to maintain the yard. When he comes home in the evenings, he is so mentally tired from his software engineering job that he sits in front of the computer again and plays video games until he’s wound down for the night. I have waited all day for him to come home, and the little time we spend before he goes back to the games is after I’ve made dinner and we watch a show. Then I let him get back to the games because that’s what he most wants to do. I turn around and sit back at my computer to type a story or play a game myself. It has become our regular routine, and the excitement has slowly begun to die. Occasionally, there’s a movie night. And sometimes we go out with a few friends or to a party. But it just feels as though we’re not living each day as though there could be no tomorrow. And the messes around the house just pile up, and I’ve given up on keeping it nice. Every time I clean, I find messes on the floor or counter the next day. The cleaning I did went unnoticed. Sometimes there are either clothes on the bathroom floor, wet towels strewn across the bed, dirty socks, plates or cups filled with liquid from the night before, things left on the counter which belong in the cabinet or have been used and are now trash, food wrappers, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, but not all at once. If I leave it there, it doesn’t get picked up and will continue to grow with extra messes. I feel like a house keeper, but I’m not. I can’t deny that I make messes too, but it’s hard to care about keeping it nice when I clean up my messes and find someone else’s the next day as though the clean house didn’t matter. I used to care more, but now, it’s hopeless. And I keep wondering why I’m allowing myself to live like this. I stayed with this man to make a relationship work again after it started to fall apart. And now I feel as though neither of us care anymore how things go. We’re just living in filth and the depression is heightened by the beautiful house turned to a white trash paradise.
41-45, F
