(no subject)

[rachg82]

So, I saw the way eternaltimtams did her yearly review--posting quotes, and commenting--and I thought "Hey, what a nifty idea." And hey, my name don't mean "sheep" for nothin'! Hee. So, sit down, grab a snack, because this is quite the read. Bathroom breaks and stretching are recommended. Hee.

I'll put the excerpts in italics, and any comments in normal text. Everything up to Sept. 12th is from my old, private journal (which I recently typed up, and backdated onto my LJ). What a year, yo. What. A. Year.

Dec. 31, 2001:

"I am definitely not sorry to see this year end. Maybe years from now I will be able to look at this year as one of pain, but learning or any of that, but it has been one of--if not the worst--years of my life. . .I don't really know how to feel tonight. About 2001, about 2002, about anything for that matter. The little optimist in me, who I traditionally turn to, wants to try to look forward to this year. Celebrate that I've made it through what I have, whole and still breathing, and think positively about good things that could come. But it's very hard. I've had so much disappointment, I don't want anymore."

Jan. 11, 2002:

"My emotions have been totally all over the place this week. I've been trembling again and feeling so lightheaded at times I feel like I will fall over, even when sitting. I don't know if that's stress or not eating, or what. I've tried to get back to eating normally, but my appetite is just messed up. And I don't give myself the time I need in the morning. Plus, I just have no desire. I used to love food. Now it just seems this big nuisance. I think the trembling and all that though is also a lot to do with stress too. It gets worse when others are around. Sometimes even the thought that I will have to do or write something or pick up something in front of others sets my heart racing and the dizziness can get worse once I notice it and get nervous about it."

It's pretty crazy, really, to look at that and see that within the span of a year, I went from not even knowing I was having panic attacks--or what the cause was--to taking five months off work, going through therapy, taking time off school, and finally getting back to work and being where I am, now. Dang.

Jan. 28, 2002:

"I've been trying to look forward to this psych. appointment, but part of me is so afraid it won't work. But I read this thing on the internet tonight that really shook me. This guy had experienced so many of the same feelings I have, that I've never attributed to depression."

The only real reason I put that in here, is because what I read that night had such an impact on me. It was also the beginning of me starting to see that others weren't all perfect; I started realizing other people sometimes felt the same things I felt, and it was like an earth-shattering revelation to me. It also caused me to start doubting some of the negative beliefs I had about myself, and life, for the first time ever.

Jan. 30, 2002:

"I am on academic alert, and if I don't get my act together this term I will go to probation and not be able to register next term. I don't know what to do. . .I've missed like five health classes in a row. This always happens when Mom loses it. I just stop functioning. She just got home after a week in the psych ward"

Feb. 4, 2002:

"I've been having trouble falling asleep; I lie awake, feeling like my body is on fire with restless anxiety and I itch all over and worry over everything. When I do sleep, I always have bad dreams. . .I was so depressed last night, all I did was lie in bed for hours. I couldn't even eat dinner. Ended up just having a bowl of cereal, which I barely tasted. I am either full of anxiety and feel like screaming or going crazy, or I am so empty and dead that all I can do is sit and stare blankly around my room, listening to the clock tick-tock by and feel desperately devoid of hope and energy. . .

I decided that I don't care what happens at school right now. I will speak to an advisor and explain what's going on, hope they won't put me on probation, but even if they do I am taking some time off. Now. I will keep my weight training class, because I enjoy it, and don't find it too hard to go to, and I might keep the anthropology one, but health I'm dropping."

Feb. 6, 2002:

"I saw the psychologist today, and it was really good. He was really nice and listened to everything I said. I thought it would be maybe awkward or intimidating, but after like the first second it totally wasn't. All this stuff just flowed out and he was really easy to talk to. Another thing I liked about him was that he didn't just listen, he really talked with me and gave me good feedback. It was so validating to feel like I was understood for once"

Feb. 9, 2002:

"I started the Effexor yesterday and swore I could already feel the difference. After the initial drowsiness, I felt calm and, later, almost elatedly happy (though I admit the Olympics were on, and I always get ridiculously excited over them), almost like I felt buzzed or something. It must've been largely placebo though, or some other thing, because today I just felt on edge and fuzzy-brained"

Feb. 11, 2002:

"I have had 2 panic attacks in the last 3 days. I wish these would stop, or that I could stop them better when they come. I haven't tried the Ativan yet, I hope that helps until I can get a hold on them on my own. I'm really afraid to work at this point, especially if the Ativan doesn't work. I don't know what to do."

Feb. 14, 2002:

"I feel like I need to get in touch with God again. I don't always feel that same bond and connection when I pray these days. It used to give me such strength, I need that back. I feel like God is purposefully sitting back right now, because I need to work some of this out on my own. Like when a chick is hatching, you can't help it even if you want to.

In the end, I do sense God's presence in what I'm going through. What smarter, better way to get me to face my problems/emotions than to shove them in my face, make them mess me up in school, and embarass me in public (ME, Ms. Please Don't Draw Attention To Me [Last Name]) with panic attacks? God knew if he didn't step back and let me hit rock bottom, then I'd never get help, and continue on with my life, half-miserable all the time, until I'd have some major nervous breakdown at 30 or something, when it'd be way worse."

Feb. 19, 2002:

"I've taken time off work for now, so that I can work on getting better and then go back little by little. . .

. . .I keep worrying that I'm going crazy, and fucking everything up. I have to concentrate on a brighter future though. I've been praying and trying to keep faith that, as bad as everything seems now, it'll all get better. I know when I am better at dealing with my anxiety and panic, the depression will naturally improve as well. I'm just going through a rough patch now. Hopefully I'll be able to use this all to help someone else someday, or be a better person. In some ways, I feel I already am. . .

. . .I've realized a lot about myself lately, that all along I've been my own worst enemy. . .

. . .I feel great love and appreciation for those who have stuck by me, and see that I am loved. I have a greater compassion for others who are hurting and the desire to help, because I know how it feels. As I recover from my panic, my anxiety, and depression, I'm going to keep getting better and there's going to be a whole new life for me, a whole new Rachael."

Feb. 24, 2002:

"I can't seem to get thoughts of killing myself out of my head. I know I should tell someone, but I feel like I can control it and don't want to make everyone worry about me more than they already do. Still, it scares me. It seems like it would be so easy, sometimes. Just a long, easy sleep. So tempting. I don't want to die, but I can't stand to live. I keep trying to pull myself out of it, remind myself of the bigger picture and all that, but I still feel empty and desolate inside.

I don't know what to do. Should I be doing things that I'm missing here? I know I'm only about two weeks into treatment here, but I want to be able to work. I want to be out in the world."

Mar. 1, 2002:

"Though I agree with what my doctor said today (that I should try other things, maybe biofeedback, and going to this anxiety clinic downtown), it depressed me because it felt like "I can't help you, we're getting nowhere," and I felt bad, like I'd personally failed, though I know that's not fair. He's right, I should see someone who specializes in all this. I just want to be better now. I don't want to be afraid all day. I don't want to tremble and feel dizzy all the time. I just want to be able to work and have a life. I hate that I can't beat this on my own. And the depression is always right there, saying "You never will get better, this is it. Give up, failure." I can't give in though. I swore I wouldn't. I am trying too hard to fail. Especially with specialized help, if this clinic has that."

Mar. 4, 2002:

"This weekend was not good. I am feeling very depressed. The bad kind where I can't carry on conversation with others, don't even want to, can't think straight, feel dead inside, and want to swallow my whole bottle of Ativan to make it stop.

The subject of school and insurance came up with Dad, Friday night. Contrary to what I've been told, I am not covered, because I'm not going to school full-time. And I don't think I can handle going back full-time right now, I can barely handle leaving my house. . .I want to go to bed, but I don't want to wake up. I hate this. I don't want this. All I want is to get better. And now even that is hard. I feel like I'm going to snap, break into a million pieces. I'm suffocating.

All weekend, I couldn't stop itching. I itched until my skin was red, and burned hot beneath my clothes. My anxiety has been like a constant buzz inside me, a constant electric current waiting to spark into a flame. My emotions are so great I can hardly bear their weight, and yet I feel dead inside and can't even muster up the spirit to cry, now. Friday night, I cried till the corners of my eyes were raw from being wiped at, and even all the next day the skin there stung. I laid in bed, muffling my sobs into my shirt sleeve so that Kyle wouldn't hear it in the next room."

Mar. 5, 2002:

"I am so heartbreakingly lonely, yet I don't know what to do to change that. And I push the world away. I don't even want to talk about it anymore to others. I don't want to be a burden, and depress everyone around me. Or to deal with them not understanding and not being able to explain. The depression makes me want to get in bed and never get back out, stop eating, hurt myself to the point where someone will have to step forward and save me from myself. Take me away and fix me. I feel like no one around me knows how bad I am right now, how dangerously depressed, but I don't want to tell them. There's no guarantee it'll get better anytime soon, and they'll get tired of hearing it. Or I'll later be embarassed I exposed my vulnerabilities like that, and wish I hadn't. Feel stupid for it.

I feel like I've had a nervous breakdown or something. I don't know or understand who I am now, or how to get better. I'm overwhelmed, and frightened by the possibility that I will never get better. I couldn't bear that. I feel on the edge of totally losing it. I want to do anything to make it all stop. Get drunk, dope myself up, I don't care."

Mar. 6, 2002:

"Well, I found out that I am still covered under Dad's insurance. Unless I get married, I'm covered until I turn 25, regardless of school. Thank God, and I really mean that. Thank. God. I wonder if the whole insurance debacle was some kind of test, God making sure I was going to stick with it even if the going got tough, or maybe His way of getting Dad and I to actually talk. This is the first time he and I have ever discussed something of a personal, emotional nature about myself, like ever. We never talk."

I was hoping Dad and I would start talking more, after this, but it didn't really pan out. I don't know if we'll ever have the kind of relationship where I'll talk to him about personal stuff.

Mar. 8, 2002:

"I miss feeling like I have a place in the world, that I belong. I don't even feel like I exist anymore. I could be gone, with no friends to miss me. Amy maybe, but who else? I feel so sad over it.

It's so hard for me to make friends now. It's hard enough to meet people at PCC, or anywhere really when you're alone and underage, but it's much harder when you're so depressed and afraid to be out. I'm always on edge around others, hoping they don't see how inherantly fucked up I am, or ask about my life and find out how pathetic it is. . .

. . .I feel so awkward around people now, like I don't know what to say anymore. I feel like I've been in a coma or something and woken up in a different era, so I've got to go around trying to act normal like everyone else so I don't make an ass out of myself, feeling out of place and not knowing what to say ever. I used to be so good at making conversation with others; now I feel so quiet always, cut off from the world, and tucked away all stiff somewhere inside myself. I try to act casual, make small talk, but it's forced, and I feel like my wrong-ness is written all over my face. They'll see it, and not want it. I wish I didn't feel this way."

That whole excerpt says a lot about how I often felt, this year. The last couple years, really. Especially the "tucked away all stiff somewhere inside myself." When I read that, I can close my eyes, and it's like I'm back in that moment again, because it's so clear.

Mar. 9, 2002:

"I'm so depressed that I can hardly bear it. I don't even know where this week, or year for that matter, has gone. At times I have difficulty remembering what year it is at all. The only way to remember the day is by what's on TV.

I try not to, but the thought of doing something drastic won't get out of my head. It tortures me. How much would I have to take to overdose? It's frightening, how I am. I don't want to be dead; I can't bear to live. I'm so lonely, but I don't want to go out anywhere. I know that even if an old friend showed up on my doorstep, wanting to go out, I wouldn't be able to be my old self and it would be awkward.

I feel so removed from the world. I feel like everything's ruined, and can never be better. . .Nothing stops the pain. No one around me really even understands what I'm going through or can help. I can't help myself. All I can do is stay alive, keep going through, one day at a time. And pray that this will end soon. Otherwise I will end up dead or in a hospital."

Mar. 11, 2002:

"Corinne says that I'm too hard on myself. I don't think I've been hard enough. I deserve to be left behind, abandoned. I deserve to die alone, or live my miserable life in oblivion. How much longer will Amy even be around? Why do I have to be how I am? Why did all my friendships have to end? How can I get out of me the wrongness that seems to infect every aspect of my life? It is me that is wrong. Disgusting. Useless. Needy. Always making mistakes. The anxiety and self-hate was so suffocating tonight, all I could do to ease it was scratch my nails into my arm until there were raw marks stinging in their wake.

I try to think a way out of this, and it seems the only solution is to take a gun and put it in my mouth. I don't want to die. But I can't take this. Not one more day. I hate my life. There's no way out. I'm trapped. My escape used to be school and friends. Gone, and gone. Work was always a good place to forget. Nope, gone now too. I want to get out of this house, but I can't.

I am so lonely, yet I just want to be left alone. I don't just miss my old friends, I miss me. I was depressed then, but it was different. There is no joy in my life now. Only mourning. Emptyness. Such deep, utter sadness, it rips apart my insides. Such aching, heavy fatigue. No desire for anything. I am not even a part of this world. I don't deserve joy. I am not even good at getting better. I fail even at this. They say, if you are depressed, to hang in there, "You can be treated! You'll get better!" But, as usual, I do not fit in with what is normal for others."

Mar. 13, 2002:

"She's always angry. I went up there and she told me that my problem was excessive laziness, that's the disease I had, and why I wasn't working. Because I'm lazy. . .

. . .I got back in bed and locked my door. I didn't go to class. I kept thinking more about killing myself. Thinking how I'd do it. Wondering if there'd be peace after death, or more suffering. I came very close to trying. I was thinking about calling some kind of hotline or something, when my sister came over (Mom had left by then). I felt like it was God stepping in saying "Don't do it, Rachael. Here's your sign." Instead of not saying anything like normally though, I actually told her I'd wanted to. . .

. . .I'm so worried about myself. Now that I've talked to Corinne (though I felt afterward even more like dying, because all I'd done is upset everyone and make things worse, wishing I'd kept my mouth shut) and seen how upset it made her, I can't hurt myself. I have to resist it. It's so hard. I'm still surprised she cried. I just didn't think she'd be emotional about it. I never believe I'm that much to anyone. Don't ever think I'd be mourned if I were to die.

I'm worried about myself though, because I can't beat this on my own. I have no interest in anything, no desire to live. I am so dead inside. Except for those rare moments, I cannot smile and mean it. Being hugged feels empty to me, and I'm limp and stiff all at the same time in their arms, uncomfortable returning the gesture. Everything is overwhelming to me, and Mom, one who could really help me now by supporting me, doesn't understand."

Mar. 27, 2002:

The brief high of optimism I had last week, as I started this new temp job, has faded. I am still happy to be working, but it almost feels like "So, this is it?" like a letdown. I am still depressed. Maybe not as bad obviously. I'm able to get out of bed for instance, and talk to others. But I still have the thoughts of hurting myself, though they are less frequent and I'm better at ignoring them. I still feel sad, irritable, and bad about myself though. Still lonely. No pill could fix that. So I feel hopeless. I feel guilty about Sears. What do I do? Quit? I don't know.

What if this clinic can't help me? What if I'm always anxious and afraid? What if this is as good as it gets, and I'm just not destined to be happy and loved like others? I am so afraid of not having what it takes to get better, make a life for myself, and falling back into depression. I'd like to say I would keep trying, but I don't know what it would do to me."

Apr. 27, 2002:

"I've seen the doctor a couple times now, and it seems to be going well. I have made a couple of improvements with the Social Anxiety; I've signed my name twice in public, and eaten with a fork in public twice as well. And I've succeeded very well at my temp job, as well as drinking in front of others. . .I can't stop worrying over everything though, and that--plus the constant anxiety I feel--is a real problem. And the depression hasn't been responding really. I worry about that too.

Will I ever feel better? Will I ever be normal, and happy? My future stretches out before me so hopelessly. I try to paint a happy picture in it and it turns to grey. It causes such anxiety and depression within me, I feel like I vibrate with it. I want to scream or slap myself to stop. Cover my ears and hide. But you can't hide from yourself. How will I live my whole life like this? How can I bear it? The thought of my whole life being wasted--sad, unfeeling, alone, and pointless--makes me so depressed I can't stand it. Death frightens me so much. I have such trouble these days believing in an afterlife. But, just like when I was a kid, I nearly have a panic attack at the thought of both eternal life and eternal nothingness. Both overwhelm and terrify me, make me feel I will go crazy if I think about it longer than a second. Does anyone else feel this way? Scared even of Heaven? Will there never be peace for me?

I feel like I'm losing my connection with God. I used to feel His presence when I prayed, but it's harder for me now. It makes me feel guilty; I want to believe, but sometimes I doubt. Is there anyone up there at all? Is there any point to any of this? A higher meaning or order to things? Someone who watches and cares? Is Earth just a tiny dot in the universe, alone, and to be forgotten after we all die?"

May 5, 2002:

"I am feeling very stressed by everything right now. I wish I could say everything will turn out well, but sometimes, most times, when I look to my future all I see is a long, empty path into nothingness. Failure. I see me, alone. Having settled for a job I don't like, or one that doesn't fulfill my potential. Forgotten. No successful relationships, no friends. Nothing. And what awaits me after that? Let's not even get into that, I don't feel like having a panic attack right now. Though I worry about it all the time.

I try to enfuse my outlook with life and positivity, but somehow the emptiness draws me back. Numbness and sadness all at once. Optimism is replaced by realization: There is nothing to look forward to. I am back to my grey world. No joy, no desire. Stretching out before me in all directions. Followed by panic. Then by depression. And finally, again having to continue regardless. Day after day.

On top of it all, I feel like I'm trying to run from everything but it's all right behind me and I know I can't win. I'm juggling a hundred balls and know I can't keep up, so I have to decide how to get out of it without it all falling on my head, and what can be saved.

I walk around with a forcefield of worry surrounding me like an anxious aura, crushing me. I try to concentrate on just one worry, but they're all starved for attention and leap on me at once. Like a radio overwhelmed by too many frequencies. The roar becomes more deafening as time goes by. But I cannot turn to just one channel. So nothing is solved. My worries are a stuffed closet, piled to the top, and everytime I try to pull just one out, it all comes tumbling down on me.

I try to explain this to others, but I can't. I don't know how to explain to them that, for me, looking for a new job, going back to school, getting a license, anything really, makes me feel like my brain is numb while my body is on fire. My mind is full and empty at the same time. How do I tell them that things that are--for them--simple, make me want to grab my head and shake?

Sometimes I can't even say what exactly I'm worried about. I just feel extreme dread. Apprehension, and ascending panic. And then trying to picture a happy ending to it all? The depression takes care of that.

Even if I take care of some of my social phobias, what then? What could I make of myself? I never succeed at anything. Underneath it all, I am good for nothing. Not as good as others. I have always felt it, others have always known it. I am not as capable, not normal. Helpless. I will probably never find the dream career I would want. I don't even know what I want to begin with. I try to picture what I would want if I could have anything, but even then, I feel empty at the thought. Will I ever be happy? Will my life just be a big, long waste? Another sad, tragic, nameless life to be forgotten? People say "It'll turn out all right", but that's not always the truth. For plenty of people, life is cruel and long. They die a horrible, sad death after horrible, sad lives. Will I be one of them? I don't know how to avoid it, I don't know what to do.

I am such a failure, so pathetic. I failed myself once, and ended up at PCC. Then failed again, and couldn't even cut it there. Now look at me. I am--on the outside--revealed as what I always feared others would see on the inside. And where am I going? Every path, no matter how good, seems to go nowhere. The same ending. I can't write anymore tonight, really. I am just so hopeless, overwhelmed, and lonely. There is no one who could understand or help. No friend to care. Only one and she will be gone soon too, I'm sure. She will move on to live her life with the others, and I will go on to my end. Every part of my soul is crying out, and there's no answer. It's growing tired, and parts have lost the voice to cry out at all. I don't cry anymore very often. I have no tears left it seems. How is it possible to be so sad, and yet so empty all at once?"

That was the end of my old, private journal. It was hard to go through all that, and pick things, without making this even longer than it is now. Heh. But I think I succeeded fairly well; the quotes kind of show what a roller-coaster the first part of this year was for me. And how many times a brief up would be followed by a crash back down. The progress was very slow, and still is now. But I've come a long way.

Sept. 12, 2002:

"Hmm, so, I've never done this whole LJ thing before, but Dosidella signed me up for it tonight, so that I'd be able to read other people's journals, and respond to them. I'm not sure if I'll end up writing in it very frequently, but eh, who knows. My long-windedness knows no bounds! I could always use more places to ramble. Heh, watch as this becomes some massive novel. . .

So, the last few days have been a bit crummy. Got banned at TWoP (not for actually doing anything at their boards mind you, or even planning on doing anything there, yeah long story), which really sucked. On a positive note though, lots of people have been really supportive and kind to me since yesterday (when it happenned). Emailing and IM'ing me, just to see how I'm doing. I really appreciate it."

"Watch as this becomes some massive novel", heh, famous last words!

Sept. 16, 2002:

"Today, I got to thinking about this friend of mine, who recently moved to the "former friend" category."

This year, I lost my last and only friend in "real life." I honestly don't know what I'd have done this year, without all of you. I can't really even imagine.

Sept. 19, 2002:

"I'm about ready to kill my pants. The fuckers are still falling off my hips. I've been eating the fattiest crap! And, yet, I'm still the same weight. 95 motherfucking pounds. Which I'd be happy with, actually (well, not happy, but I don't want to gain weight, that's for sure), if it weren't for the fact that I have to pull up my bastard pants every other second. It's so annoying."

Ah, the pants debacle. Hee. Finally resolved, thankfully before any customers were accidentally mooned. I'm still 98 pounds, though, because of how I tried gaining weight then to make the pesky pants fit. Hmph. I like how I care about three pounds. Gee, I'm not a perfectionist or anything!

Sept. 23, 2002:

"I'm stressing over the insurance thing in general. Will I have the money? Will I have it every month?

For a long time, this year, I was without health insurance. When Dad got laid off this summer, it was a blow to not only him, but Mary and Kyle and myself, as well. I no longer had the option of receiving child support, even if I went back to school, because I knew he wouldn't be able to pay it. Considering I'd been off work for five months (using up money in savings, then), and was paying off money I owed to Joe and Mom from that period (I just gave them my last check, this month. We're FINALLY even), on top of everything else, I was real stressed out for a while over money, this year.

Sept. 26, 2002:

"And right now, all I'm doing is trying, trying, trying. Trying to make money. Trying to solve my problems. Trying to ignore all my thoughts, the voice inside me that tells me no one will ever love me, that I will be alone forever, that none of my efforts will mean anything in the end. Trying, trying, trying, when I don't even know where I'm going. . .Sometimes I just feel so tired of it all. I feel like my whole life--my past, my future--is weighing on my shoulders. All the times when I thought I was going somewhere, but discovered I was farther behind than when I started. All the drama. Me, my stupid problems, my crazy family, my Mom, all of it. I think of these things, and I feel so alone. And I'm afraid to tell myself it'll all be okay in the end, because I don't really believe in fate, and I've been disappointed by life too many times in the past to say that to myself, with no doubts. So all I can do is just take it day by day. And hope that I'll look back on this someday, from a happier place."

Sept. 30, 2002:

"I'm so happy, I could explode! Guess what I found out tonight? Starting tomorrow, I'll be covered under my stepmom's insurance!!! It covers dental and vision too! And I think it helps pay for prescriptions! If it does, I'm gonna die from joy. I pay two hundred dollars a month right now, for prescriptions. And I've been so worried about the whole health insurance thing in general. Especially since I have a cold right now, and I've been worrying over it turning into an infection.

Sweet motherfucker, this makes me a happy girl!"

Oct. 7, 2002:

"I decided what this society could use, is a little lesson in Yanomamo conflict resolution."

This fall, many a rants were written, about my job. But it wasn't all bad, because the 'net gave me a place to vent it all out, and even put an amusing or lighthearted twist on it. You know, like stick-fighting employees at Sears. Hee.

Oct. 9, 2002:

"I'm feeling down today. I spent time last night, looking at old letters and shit from friends, and thinking about myself and others. Now, I'm having one of those days where I feel very much alone, hopeless, sad, and self-hating. Wanting to just get in bed, and sleep, to make it stop. . .

. . .I've been feeling like maybe retreating, lately. I get this urge sometimes. I've told y'all at meta about it before, I think. . .

. . .Am I going to be alone for the rest of my life? It seems likely. Am I going to succeed at anything? Seems unlikely. Right now, the only "friends" I have, are over the internet. . .You all are such good people, that I think some of you vaguely care about me, but that reflects more on you guys, than it does me. And, the thing is, I was thinking about this, and it hit me that most people at meta probably don't give a shit about me. I mean, I'm sure they'd care if I died, but most probably don't read my posts. . .I feel like I should step back, and not make an ass out of myself any more. Which is not to say I'm not posting there anymore. It's just I'm feeling insecure."

. . .(later, same day). . .

"I feel so blessed, to have such kind, wonderful people in my life. Who are there for me, and support me, when I need them. I still have a hard time understanding why I'm so lucky, thinking there's a catch. You're all just good people, or damn, I don't even know. But the thoughtful words and love mean so, so much to me. It's enough to make me almost believe I'm not quite so "wrong" after all. Well, almost. But it's a start. Just, thank you. That's all I can say. I didn't expect this kind of support and love from people. What a pleasant surprise."

The same old insecurities that have plagued me in relationships for years bothered me again this year, with my online friendships. For the first time though, really, rather than pushing my emotions down and not talking about them, I expressed them honestly, and was shown support. I still get that way, but I'm working on it. Knowing I have people I can be honest with though, means an awful lot.

Oct. 11, 2002:

"I guess her and her boyfriend are sort of back together, again. It's a very weird, confusing thing. Because she says they're together, but "sort-of." I think she's just afraid of him wigging out on her again, so she's treading lightly."

My sister and boyfriend had a few potholes in their relationship this year. Only a few months ago, no one knew if they'd get back together. Now, they're getting married, and expecting a baby.

Oct. 17, 2002:

"I'm not supposed to be late, or call in sick, for the rest of the year."

The point system at my work gave me some problems, this year. I was very worried for a bit, about whether I'd be able to keep my job, and not lose more points. I'm still there, though. Had to work while feeling very ill a few times, but I did it.

Oct. 21, 2002:

"Every year, it's like the migraines just get worse. They practically rule my life, it feels like, sometimes. It's bad enough, having mild ones every day. But I can deal with that. But, constantly also dealing with ones that bitchslap my ass into bed all day? I just worry how I'll be, like ten years from now. What if they're worse then? What if my tolerance has risen so that I need more and more pain killers? What if nothing helps at that point?"

My migraines this year did get worse. It's something that concerns me, but I try not to worry about it. There's not much I can do, you know?

Oct. 23, 2002:

"Me: HiI'mabigfanandIthinkyou'rereallyfunny,ohmyGodI'mtalkingtoDaneCook!

*blushes, and runs off*

Him: Jigga wha?"

Heh. He never wrote back, though! *sniff*

Oct. 25, 2002:

"I asked Mom if Poppy ever said anything about wanting Nanny to be with someone else, after he died, and almost started crying, as I asked that. She said he did, so that's good. I guess maybe it's just hard, because it's only been a year and a half or whatever. I don't know what the afterlife really is, but I hope Poppy doesn't look down and think we've all forgotten about him and moved on."

. . .(later, same day). . .

"I got my debate on, and went Poppy on Mickey's ass (Joe's uncle, who is STILL HERE, by the way). Hee."

My Grandpa died, March of last year, so his absence was still felt pretty strongly this year. In some ways, it gets easier with time, but then there'll be moments where time just doesn't matter. It'll hit just as hard as ever.

Mickey--Joe's uncle--smooched off us for over a month. Nice guy, but I'm glad he left. Heh.

Oct. 26, 2002:

"I need to get the worry over the stupid, fucking "line busting" crap out of my head. It's seriously making me get all anxious, when I think of work. And that's something I was just starting to enjoy not feeling, when I thought of work, these days."

Though I've gotten better at handling quite a bit with my social anxiety, the "line busting" issue was a reminder that I haven't made a full recovery. I was able to go back to work, but still had trouble from time to time.

Oct. 29, 2002:

"The Doctor was nice, and knowledgable enough, so that was good. We decided to raise my dose of Effexor to 150 mgs., which is the next dose up (only about 30 mgs higher than I'm at now, so not too big a deal)."

I struggled with depression all of this year. And, while I did improve, it was very gradual. It was definitely not a quick fix. I'm still dealing with it today, but I'm much better right now than I was this time, last year.

Nov. 4, 2002:

"Squeal! You know, when dosidella told me she was going to buy me the season 6 DVD set for the X Files as an early Christmas gift, I appreciated the sentiment, but kind of thought "No way, man, those are crazy expensive. She'll probably not be able to. But it's awfully sweet to think of it." But, dude! I just got it in the mail! My Mom was up there laughing at me, because I was like "Jenna kicks ASSSSSSSSSSS!" and dancing around. Hee! I love you, Dosi!

Wheeeeeeeeeeee!"

Got the best gift I've ever gotten from a friend, this year. That crazy dosi, being all generous! Speaking of dosi, she was a big part of this year. You know how I said that I learned this year that others felt some of the things I felt, and how amazing that was to me? "Meeting" friends like her, and other MI friends from meta, was huge for me. I'd told like a few friends about my depression before, but I'd never had friends I could talk with about it, who understood. And dosi, herself? Never had a friend like her, period. The first part of this year was spent feeling painfully lonely, mostly friendless. I haven't had any "real" friends, this latter part of it, but I've met some very special people, online.

Nov. 10, 2002:

"I barely saw my little asshole of a brother all weekend. Heh, yeah, I don't really think my brother is an asshole, but still! Man, I know that as a kid grows up, they start spending more time alone and with friends, and less time with family. I know this, in my brain. But it doesn't keep me from pouting. *pouts* He used to want to spend every second with me, when I was over! Sniff. . .

. . .My cat, though? I'm worried about. You know how I said she's been staying out so much, lately? Well, Mickey said he let her out Friday night, and she didn't come back till six o'clock this evening. And she's not even eating that much."

My brother's grown up a lot, this year. Before I knew it, he was out with friends all the time, and suddenly I was able to really see that he is about to be a teenager. He's still my baby brother, though. That'll never change.

And *sniff*, my kitty. Puss 'n boots got old real quick this year, too. It was like she was fine, one minute, then suddenly not. We tried getting her to the vet and make her better, but we didn't have the money. Then we got pet insurance, but it turned out to be kind of a scam, becuase no one would even accept it. Then we took her back again, and got the money for medication they said she needed, but it appears it happenned too late. Poor Tabbers. She was old, though. She lived 17 good years.

Nov. 13, 2002:

"Dude! Ms. dosidella just called me, and we talked for like two hours. She sounds nothing like I expected her to! It was craziness."

Nov. 17, 2002:

"If you minus my Mom, the night was nice. Corinne and Lance and I made a lot of jokes, and laughed. But of course Mom couldn't just be normal, for her Birthday. God forbid! First, I guess she forgot to take her lithium for a while lately, and also did it with whatever it is she takes for ADD, and has been without her estrogen hormones (she takes it, because she had an ovary removed) for the last three days. So, she's a barrel of laughs. Angry!Mom. Yelling in the restaurant and being pissy over fucking everything!Mom. Good times! Oh wait, except NOT. And of course don't forget the talking to herself, ranting and raving, and screaming and crying over like nothing. Right."

After the drama during my birthday, last January, there were a few times when Mom had problems, but there were less this year than the previous years.

Nov. 20, 2002:

"I've got French comin' out the ass!"

I was able to look up some of my Dad's family's history for the first time ever, in November, which was great fun.

Nov. 22, 2002:

"The wind will whip around the front of my hair and completely ruin what the flat iron accomplished, so that it's all wavy and shit by the time I look in a mirror. Not only that, but the sleek and shiny thing? Yeah, whatever. I get to work and look in the mirror and there's just a gnome standing on top of my head, giving me the finger.

What's worse is that guy I'm sort of lusting after, at work? Always ends up seeing me, when I look fugly like that. You could put it in the books as a scientific principle, and call it Rachael's Law. If my hair is poofing and frizzing like a mofucker? That's when he'll walk by. Guaranteed."

Mmm, my lovah. Hee. Still crushing on him, now, and Rachael's Law was proven wrong a couple times, but has stayed true most of the time.

Nov. 25, 2002:

"My moods are kind of all over the place, these days. And, while I know I'm doing better than how I was--say, a year ago--I wonder sometimes if some of it is just cover. Like, good moods, sure, but focusing only on them, and distracting myself from anything under the surface that still exists. . .

. . .Honestly, I get lonely. Like, chest aching, throat closing in, lonely. Missing old friends so, so much. Feeling so alone and removed from the world. Feeling like any sense of importance or connection I think I have with others is imagined, and I'm going to be officially alone sooner or later. It's really only a matter of time."

Despite how good online friends have been to me, I still struggle with insecurities. I still have a hard time looking at my future, and believing I won't be alone. It's scary to hope.

Nov. 28, 2002:

"I went and had Thanksgiving dinner at my Nanny's for the first time since Poppy's been gone."

Nov. 30, 2002:

" Oh, and I think I just might go ahead and do that typing and backdating of old journal entries thing I was mentioning before, because I thought it sounded kind of neat (because I'm all about things being complete, and it would make my LJ all nice and old! Heh. It would be like a Year in the Life of Rachael! Well, that and because--like I said before--hey, you never know, maybe what I went through then might be of interest to some random person on the net? Probably not, but lemme tell you a little story about a man named SHHH), and sonneta (who rocks the party that rocks the body) said she'd be interested in it. *sniff* So, yeah, rock on."

Dec. 6, 2002:

"I HATE PEPPY. I just ARGGGHHHHHHHH! Can't even finish the sentence because I'm incoherent with the RAGE! I hate her. Hate. Her. HATE!"

I think that speaks for itself. Hee. Says a lot.

Dec. 12, 2002:

"Rachael's feet: Oh, the pain! Why must she torture us, so?

Troll, chillin' in a pair of lederhozen: This is why The Project was set in motion, my friends. If you join our side, you can have your revenge!

Feet: Oh, well, I don't know. She did ask for that foot massager last Christmas. . .

Troll: And how many times has she used it? Hmm?

Feet: Uh, once?

Troll: Thank you. She doesn't deserve you two. All you do is work, work, work for her. And what do you get in return? Pain! Fight the power, feet! Fight the power that be!

Feet: *look at each other, and nod* We're in."

Poor feet. I've abused them so much, this year.

Dec. 14, 2002:

"I might be an aunt!"

Dec. 16, 2002:

"I'm not sure, but I think this guy might've been flirting with me today, at CrapDonalds."

Well, another year, and still no boyfriend and hot sexin', but I did get hit on a couple times. Once by a girl! Heh.

Dec. 17, 2002:

"Remember how my cat did this thing while Joe's uncle was staying with us, where she'd want out all the time, and stay out for days on end, not eating? She's doing it again."

Dec. 18, 2002:

"rachmarieg: a sleepy one year old in footie pajamas, holding a teddy bear and a blankie
o TinkerI3ell o: sucking his thumb!
rachmarieg: asking for his ba-ba!
rachmarieg: (bottle)
o TinkerI3ell o: pointing at a dog and going "woof woof?"
rachmarieg: reaching his arms up and asking "hug, mama?"
o TinkerI3ell o: you suck
rachmarieg: haha! *does touchdown dance*
o TinkerI3ell o: I'll get you next time, Claw"

Dec. 24, 2002:

"Then I was walking back downstairs, to put my stuff in my locker, and Peppy stopped me on the way there, and hugged me! She was like "Rachael, I wanted to thank you for all your hard work lately up in kid's. It looks so good. You can really see the difference." and then wished me a Happy Holidays. I was so knocked on my ass by that one."

Dec. 25, 2002:

"It was like Christmas Barf. How festive."

Dec. 29, 2002:

"and Dad grabbed him and pulled him off the couch, and slapped him across the face."

So, there you go, ladies and gentlemen. 2002, in all its epic, long-ass glory. Heh. Isn't reminiscing fun? This year was, well, something else. I hit absolute bottom, then the bottom got pulled out from under me, and I fell deeper. When I thought things couldn't possibly get worse, with me still surviving, they did. But I'm still here. With the help of faith, friends, my sister, and a great doctor. And, while things are still imperfect now, and I still struggle with the anxiety and the depression--I'm still friendless in real life, I'm still not in school--things are better. I learned an awful lot about myself, and life, this year. I wouldn't want to go through it again, but I'm grateful for the lessons I've learned, and the strength I've gained. Not to mention the people I've met.

Here's hoping next year has a little more laughter, and a lot less tears.