Moving Out

Eight weeks ago I was laying on my couch all day. My kitchen sink was clogged, the garbage disposal broken. Dishes were piled up and growing fauna with the heat. The vacuum was sitting upright in my living room, but hadn't been used in months. Sunflower seed casings surrounded the floor around my bed due to late night dinners that were never cleaned up. Laundry lined one wall with no means to wash it because my washing machine was broke. Computer/electronic leftovers taken from piddling tinker ideas lined another wall. A chair was overflowing with junk mail. I was downloading movies and TV shows to watch all day when I realized I was stuck.

Saying "I'm depressed" can mean many things. It can mean "This sucks" or "I'm sad" or "I'm overwhelmed" or "I don't know what to do with my life". Common phrasing usually indicates an existential crisis, not a mental disorder. It almost never means what it should: "I have depression." I'm totally fucking disabled to do or think anything. In my opinion, no one should ever admit to a mental illness because the "outside world" misunderstands that someone with a mental illness is crazy. That we have a fundamental life fault. Loving intentions from family and friends use the phrase "I'm depressed" in the same meaning, despite their intention to help. For reference and fun, see this post from Hyperbole and a Half. Basically, I have no reason for being the way I am, but I am depressed. No excuse. No reason. No chemical imbalance. No medication. No drug addiction. All guilt. All shame. All embarrassment. All the time.

Help cannot be found or even sought for when you're stuck. You need a first. You need to feel severe pain or severe pleasure to shake you from the mental mud. The first step is a step backwards. Destroy something, shock yourself, boom the immediate. Your first step is necessary but cannot be used except as a first step (so they say) it must be cut off immediately after taking your second. Alcohol, drugs, jumping in ice water, kicking someone's ass, etc.

I destroyed my pride and called my parents for help. I boomed the immediate by throwing away almost everything I owned. Then I moved just to get unstuck.

Bad Therapy is Bad

When you know what you should be doing but you're not doing it, someone telling you what you should be doing is not helpful. Likewise, someone telling you to think positive thoughts whilst avoiding negative thoughts because it's better for you is not helpful. Telling someone to do good things and not do bad things is not helpful. Telling someone to exercise and take pills to solve their problems is not helpful. Telling someone that they're choosing to listen to their "bad self" as opposed to their "inner self" is not helpful. Telling someone they're choosing to continue to be abused by people in their past is not helpful. Telling someone their lack of faith in God is a choice for treatment that they're neglecting is not helpful.

I was told all of these things by my therapist today. There is so much more fucked up shit that he told me as advice, not to mention the emotional support I gave him to deal with his grief from his wife.

It's funny that people are told to tell suicidal people to "seek help" when the help available is so full of shit. Think positive! The Lord provides! You'll only not believe unless you choose to, then it's your fault. Fix yourself, you can do it! Your inner self is awesome but you're choosing to listen to the devil inside you!

Fuck these therapists.