In Which I Realize That I Am Depressed

July 20, 2012

 

Wow, huge revelation for someone with depression, isn’t it? No, I don’t really know if I’m more depressed than normal. Maybe the correct word for how I feel is “frantic.” I told Wyson something the other day, and I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t. You see, I keep telling people, hoping someone will help me. The fact that I told Wyson just shows how desperate I’m getting. Wyson is not a licensed therapist, nor does he have a way of getting me to one.

Most of this post was written on the 19th, but I’m tahnkful to God I didn’t post it because parts of that were….hateful. So now it’s getting edited/added to today, the 20th.

Most of this is just me venting. In case any leaders are reading, don’t get to upset, I have to vent my negative feelings somewhere if not to anyone in the program.

Yeah, I’m that paranoid. God there is something awful wrong with me.

And….it’s really starting to bug me that I don’t sell a whole lot of books. It’s not just the money thing (although that is a HUGE part of it) It’s also like… I feel pointless. Even from a ministry standpoint, if I’m not selling any books, or praying with anybody (no one’s really seemed open to that) if people are just shutting me down before I can even speak, what use is it for me to even be doing this?

And then Joana’s words come back. I finally figured out what REALLY bothered me about the way she handled it: she was attacking me. It was basically just an Abby bashing session, only worse, an Abby bashing session using the BIBLE. There was not one good thing said about me in that whole meeting. Just: Abby is bad.

I can’t even convince myself it’s not true, because the bible says the exact same thing. Abby is bad, there is no good in her.

And when I realize that, I wonder what the point of even living is.

Recently, a friend decided to put some distance between me and her because…well, BPD is ugly. I don’t blame her in the slightest, and I’m not angry. But it contributes and it kills, because it’s just one more thing that is wrong with me, and I don’t want to live with BPD any longer.

It all adds up. I’m just so numb… maybe that’s part of the reason I’m not selling a whole lot of books?
I feel hemmed in on all sides by fear. Fear in the field, fear in the “home.” Honestly, I prefer the fear of going out to the field (only houses though) than being in The Nuthouse, because…. well, I can’t quite put my finger on why. Maybe it’s because I feel like “home” ought to be the one place you can go to for comfort and support, but here I find only hate. I long, I ache, for someone I love and trust to put their arms around me and tell me something good about me. That there is good in me after all, and that I’m not a horrible person who just drags everybody down and doesn’t deserve to be here.

Which, if I’d been capable of speech, I’d have told her that A LOT of people don’t deserve to be here. I could mention the one kid who sits there at every business he canvasses and texts, “but not for more than 5 minutes because then I get a guilty conscience.” I could tell her of those who, like me, have chickened out at businesses or skipped houses. I could have told her (well, reminded her, really) about Will, who, when he has kitchen duty, will frequently just walk off and leave us. If I had been capable of speech, if I’d not been jerked from my lovely bed way too stinkin’ early, maybe I’d have told her all of this.
But maybe not. Maybe that would’ve seemed like I “had a bad attitude,” so it’s probably good I wasn’t capable of much speech.

But there is no one. There is only anxiety, always the anxiety. The anxiety that either I or someone else will do one small little thing and I or we all will end up getting punished for it. Anxiety that what I say will be taken the wrong way, that a joking statement or even a compliment will be taken and jumped on as “having a bad attitude.”

Callie pointed out that I signed a contract to follow the rules, not to be treated with respect. But I didn’t think you had to put BASIC HUMAN DECENCY in a contract. I thought that that was….well, basic human decency.

I’m staying inside to write this tonight, because it’s wet. God doesn’t love me, so none of the rooms are open besides the two main ones, and I am NOT staying in the main girls room till I absolutely have to. So I’m in one of the hallways, and hearing all their jabber is….I dunno. It’s like this rush, this intrusion of stimuli.

So, this part is written on the 20th.

Wyson successfully pulled me out of the kitchen. This makes it official. My official job is now working on those testimonies. And now that I have more time, I can bother more people for testimonies outside of worship like Wyson suggested.

It’s weird, because this is like telling me that my work on this project is valuable. But then they are constantly wanting to kick me out…

This is going to make my life SO MUCH EASIER. I am extremely grateful, so much so that he can’t know how much. It’s not just that working in the kitchen was getting me down, it’s that…well, the work is beginning to pile up. Now that I have more time to work on it, it shouldn’t pile up so much.

So, I asked James to tell me exactly what was discussed about me in the leadership meeting this morning. I didn’t know at this time that I was out of the kitchen, so I was thinking more along the lines of, “well Abby, they’re talking about your chore…” Instead he comes back with, “well, they want to kick you out, because you’re not selling enough books.”

o_0

“But I thought I was doing better?”

“You’re attitude is better, but your numbers have gone down since satellites. There are 3 people who are really struggling, it’s not just you, but you are one of he 3.”

“Well it’s not due to lack of effort on my part” I mean, what am I supposed to do, FORCE people to buy my books?

“I know that, and that’s why some of us, including myself, argued against it.”

“let me guess. You and Wyson are for me, and the others are not?”

Good old James. I can always count on him to give me an answer.  I can’t think of anyone else who would tell me what went on yesterday morning. And this time, I could tell by the look on James’ face that I was right about who was for and who was against me.

And that’s…depressing. I feel like writing the leaders a nice letter:

Dear Leaders,
Please stop trying to kick me out. If I didn’t have to worry about that, I wouldn’t be so stressed, and then I would sell more books.
love, Abby.

Think it’d go over well?

Yeah, me neither.

Seriously, why am I so awful at this? I thought I’d get better. I thought I’d work really hard and do all that they told me to do and that I’d sell a bunch of books and never ever have to worry about getting kicked out, having enough money, AND I’d know I’d done a lot for Jesus.

I have 3 more weeks. I really do not want to get kicked out at the 8 week mark. That would just be so….wrong.

Now I feel even more pressure to sell books, which is going to lead to me selling LESS books, because I think it’s been too much about money lately. Maybe that’s why less people are buying (although I personally think REDACTED was just better territory, which it was). Maybe they can see that I only want money, because I’m scared I won’t be able to afford therapy. Scared I won’t be able to afford school. Scared that…well, that I won’t have a lot of money.

So, yeah. That was….really long. I’ll make brownies for anyone who actually read through all that. That is why I am depressed. So depressed. I feel like I am just numb and…I want to sit down and cry and I can’t, because tears won’t come.

I know I need Jesus, but, I also believe in going to a doctor when one is sick. With mental sickness, that means a therapist. It is my personal belief that, in my situation, a combination of both is necessary.

I have a zillion and one things to do. I’m still behind on testimonies, and now that I have “extra time” they are expecting me to keep my stuff neater, which is very difficult because there’s just no place to PUT it all.  That’s another thing I have anxiety attacks over: I have no place to put/organize my stuff. I hope Callie comes quickly so I can get a whole suitcase out. That would free up so much. I’m also hoping she’ll steal me away for a bit…haha we’ll see, I know.

Anwayy, this blog post needs to end, because who wants to read about someone who’s depressed?

I’m sorry everyone. If I did have a point, I lost it, and this post went NOWHERE.

Help Me

I wish I could get that object back from Wyson. I really do.
Help Me

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2 thoughts on “In Which I Realize That I Am Depressed

  1. Praying for you too! I’ve never been through the program to know what the relationship should be between leader and canvasser but maybe writing a letter to them with your observations of their behavior would be good. 1-maybe they don’t know how they’re affecting you and maybe they’re hurting others too. 2-writing means you don’t have to speak. Pray through it, God will give you the words to say.

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