Hey guys. It’s been a while. I’m sure you’ve missed me, just as much as I’ve missed making dumb wisecracks and watching the little blue bar on my readership histogram go up. I could blame my absence from posting on a lot of things–laziness, forgetfulness, various breaktime activities–but I’m going to tell you the truth here.
I haven’t goddamned felt like writing funny stuff.
Continuing in the vein of truth, I haven’t felt like being funny in a pretty long time. I know what you’re saying–but Kate! You are so humorous, and also incredibly good-looking! Well, kids, that’s what you’d call a defense mechanism. I like writing funny things so I can pretend like nothing is actually wrong.
That’s also where the whole ego thing comes into play. I’m sure most of you know what I actually look like, but if you read my blog, you’ll think that I think quite highly of myself. Not so. Were you to delve into my brain, which I will here personify as a Wikipedia-esque information center, the article about “self-image” would have me illustrated as some kind of grotesque troll figure, hanging out on the couch and eating toaster pizzas like it’s her job.
Those pizzas have gotten so tiny since the ’90s, though. I can’t be wrong here.
I was not a very happy kid. Every so often, I’d have periods of anxiety, but nothing that ever lasted too long. Since I started college, it’s gotten a lot worse. Last summer, I was considering not coming back to school, but with no other options, I toughed out fall semester, had a few bad spells, and returned home for Christmas. Since the holidays, things have been getting progressively worse.
I could attribute my most recent breakdowns to any number of things, like a death in the family or PMS, but it soon became evident that things are a lot more serious than that. I’ve been getting emotional about things I thought I was okay with, silently fuming when my friends blow me off, getting progressively more stir-crazy as I spend hours at a time alone with my thoughts. I’ve been getting angry and upset when I don’t want to be.
I’m going to see a counselor tomorrow and I guess I’m just telling you all of this because I’m a little scared.
I look at my life and I know I should feel blessed. I have a few–not many, but a few–friends who genuinely care about me and a family that, though a bit dysfunctional, is a phenomenal source of support. I go to a great school and if I play my cards right I could have a really excellent future ahead of me. But I’ve been focusing too much on all the bad stuff that’s happened to me, all the nasty things people have ever said, all of the friends who have let me down–and it’s as if none of the good things matter. I’m so disheartened that I’m on the brink of ruining the rest of my life.
I’m not telling you about my problems because I’m looking for attention or because I want you to treat me differently. I’m telling you this because I want this blog to be a representation of who I am, to a degree. While the cynical humor that you guys seem to enjoy is a part of me, so is depression. And as usual, if you don’t like it, nobody’s making you read this or talk to me or whatever.
I’m not sure how much I’m going to be updating in the New Year so if this is the last time I post, then thank you guys for sticking with me, for telling me how much you liked reading my writing, and, if you have been, for being there when I needed someone. I can’t tell you how special you are to me.
Until next time,