Time to unpack the emotional baggage

December 4th I put in my resignation notice, no not two week notice just “resignation”.  I’m never going back there again, my dad turned in my keys and badge to my work Monday when I had my procedure.  I actually tried to check my work email to see the response and apparently my work email has already been deleted from the system LMAO.  FINE BITCHES, I’M OUT.

(under the cut is some rough shit I had a hard time writing, a lot of it dealing with depression.)

–I started this post a week and a half ago.  Obviously very bitter and angry, even though I was trying to play it off like I didn’t care.  In all honestly, I do care, but only to a certain extent.  I hope by me leaving the county will do an inspection on the horrible conditions at that school.  That’s what I wish for, but I can’t get my hopes up.  I’m honestly lucky I was offered another job getting paid double what my previous job was paying, otherwise I’d still be stuck there at that hell hole.

In the last couple weeks since quitting my job and going through another rough procedure to burn a tumor on my liver I’ve been pretty introspective on this last year, and I REALLY didn’t like it that much.  During my recovery from surgery was when I realized I’ve been depressed for a good half of the year and even though I quit my job, I wasn’t happy.

This is a pretty rough subject for me, because it’s something I’ve dealt with my whole life.  I don’t like bringing it up, I feel it doesn’t define me as a person, and because I’m a woman suffering with depression I’m judged more harshly because it’s probably just “my period” or “being overly emotional”.

I’ve suffered with depression ever since I was 11 or 12, I was constantly bullied in school and isolated for being “weird”.  There were times I wished I just didn’t exist, not wanting to kill myself, but just wishing to just disappear. I thought if anyone really cared about me they’d make that awful feeling go away.  Otherwise they just wanted me to suffer.  I remember when I was 12 I wrote a letter to my parents begging them to send me away to boarding school or else I’d essentially hang myself. Not that I would ever do it, I never understood at that age what committing suicide really was, but clearly I thought it sounded a serious enough as a threat to scare my parents into sending me away to a better school.  Oh yeah, that didn’t work.

It did get my parents to yell at my counselor and then teachers for letting me get bullied to the point of not wanting to go to school.  Now I’m not saying bullying lead to my depression, but it certainly didn’t help it.  I’ve always been bullied, even in Elementary school.  I’ve always been an outcast in one way shape or form.  Hell, I was put in an English as a Second Language class because they thought because I spoke Spanish at home to my great grandmother that it effected my ability to read aloud and my reading comprehension. (Come to find out that was complete bullshit and I was just really shy about reading aloud, also my reading and English scores were off the freakin’ charts.  Booya school system.)  BUT I DIGRESS…

My depression didn’t get serious until maybe high school, that’s when my great grandmother died.  I was 15 and it was the first time I thought my world was going to fall apart.  My great grandmother Bibi was my rock, she was the one thing I thought that would remain constant in my life.  I thought she’d be there for my graduation, to see me get married and have my first kid.  I know it sounds unrealistic, but for me at that time thinking of her dying was the furthest thing in my mind.  When it happened it completely broke me.  I had a nervous breakdown.  I cried for days, I was eventually dragged back to school by my dad, pretty much kicking and screaming.  I pushed away all my friends, because even though “they were there for me and they understood.” I was convinced they had no idea how I felt and I was selfish in my grief and I took it all upon myself, I blamed her death on myself.  The rest of my high school years did not get much better from there…

In the fall of my junior year of high school my parents had come to the decision that my mother was going overseas to Iraq to work as an IT contractor because we desperately needed the money.  The day after that family talk I had a monologue to do in drama class and that’s when I had my second nervous breakdown.  I told my drama teacher what was going on, she was very kind and reassuring and sent me to the guidance counselor.  Bless my high school guidance counselor because she helped me and put up with a lot of my shit, including my barely passing grades and moving me out of classes I didn’t want to take.  It was pretty rough having to deal with my mom not being there for the last two years of high school, but it wasn’t till I graduated that it became a problem.

My mom had relocated from Iraq to Afghanistan, it’s weird thinking that my mom missed my entire senior year while she was in Afghanistan.  I didn’t care much about that crap anyways, I just wanted to get the hell out of school and get it over with.  It was after graduation that shit really hit the fan.  I tried to go to Virginia State University, and after being harassed and threatened I got the Hell out of there within two days.  It was then that I decided with my parents that I would go to a local community college in the spring and before that I would have a lapriscopic surgery on my liver to remove this growth that had been bothering me.  Wellllll, didn’t go as planned, the surgeon nicked and artery and I basically almost bled to death.

Why am I getting into all this? Because it lead to a pretty fucking awful spiral.  Months after my recovery I tried going to school and I did pretty awesome with the classes I took, but after the summer that’s when things went south..  In September I suffered with some pretty bad migraines, I’ve had migraines ever since I was 8 but it wasn’t like this.  They were constant, and really annoying.  To make things worse, my depression was at full force to the point where I didn’t even want to get out of bed.  So I went to a neurologist and that’s when he prescribed me a blood pressure medication for my migraines and Effexor for my depression.  Yay!  I was finally on medication for my depression!  I’M GOING TO BE HAPPY!  NOW I CAN FUNCTION LIKE A HUMAN!


My dosage started out at 75 mg of Effexor, by the end of October I was on 150 mg and I was a full on zombie.

Here was my schedule:

3:00 pm: wake up pick up sister from school

4:00 pm: make tea eat Nutella on toast

5:00pm-8:00pm: sleep

9:00 pm: go out and get fast food to eat because dad doesn’t make dinner

10:00pm-2:00am: stare at the computer screen and chat with a few friends

This went on for at least 4-5 months.  Thankfully my mom came home and noticed something was very wrong.  Come to find out the blood pressure medication I was on and the Effexor combination turned me into a zombie.  I had lost a total of 10-15 pounds, my face was pale, and I was not healthy looking at all. (side note: If I ever see Nutella it makes me seriously sick, because that’s all I ate while I was depressed.)

I saw another neurologist and I got off both the Effexor and blood pressure medication, and since then have never been on another medication for my migraines or depression.  Neurologist waved off my depression as my B-12 levels were low and that could be fixed.  So yay I wasn’t depressed??

I knew this was bullshit, but to be honest if I could escape and not be labeled as depressed I’d gladly take it.

Since then I’ve had several relapses, it’s a vicious circle that happens for no reason or triggered by stress going on in my life or a traumatic event.  I guess that all leads up to I’ve not been okay this last year…

It started at the end of August, I had a sinking pit feeling in my stomach about going back to work and the school year starting up.  But it was okay!  If I could just stick it out a year I could leave the county and do whatever.  Cue several weeks later; me crying in the bathroom every day at work, getting kicked, bit, spat at, slapped in the face by children.

I know I mentioned back in September about not really being okay and I was going to start working on my story, well work got worse, and the stress made me sick.  I went to Baltimore Comic Con pissed off with a sinus infection and it was then I made a promise I was going to put out a concept book and take off work till I finished it and apply for other jobs as well.  I finished the concept book in two days and printed it in time for New York Comic Con.  Now I should have felt really proud of myself, but in reality I didn’t feel anything.  I tried to “feel proud” but I didn’t feel accomplished.

Then New York Comic Con happened… I hadn’t quite fully recovered from my sinus infection and it was at this point I think from all the stress of the con and lingering work I ended the con with a serious case of bronchitis.  My con had not ended on a good note and here I was sick and miserable and feeling like utter shit.  My self confidence plummeted and I hoped I would not make it home because that convention didn’t make me happier or make me feel better about going back to work and being abused.  I thought being surrounded by my friends would make everything better, but after being slapped in the face I didn’t know who to trust.  That’s when I started to hate myself and wonder what I did wrong to deserve that.

November wasn’t much better, I had a huge nervous breakdown at work and the pain from the tumor in my liver just sent me over the edge.  After Thanksgiving I did not return to work and I was on pain pills till my procedure.  I was counting down the days for my tumor to be burned. I plotted it’s demise, because once my physical pain was gone and I was off pain meds I would be happy!  …Eh not exactly.

It was during the week of my recovery when I lost 5 pounds, completely lost my appetite, and that is when I was afraid I was in dangerous territory with my depression coming back and knew I had to get the fuck up and do something.  But what I didn’t realize was I had been depressed since August.  This wasn’t just because of my procedure, this has been going on for 4 months now and I had just realized it was serious.

I’m going to try and be more open with people, be honest and tell them how I’m feeling.  Because the whole “I’m fine” bit just isn’t doing it anymore.  If I’m not okay, I will reach out.  I’m not going to lie.  I feel by lying I make people more worried or make them wonder if I’m really “okay”.  I want to see if I can find someone to talk to more about my depression, no medications, just talking.  I did quit my job, so that is a step forward, but it’s certainly not the last step.  With my new job I am now going to be able to work on my novel more, which I know will make me happier in the long run.

About a week ago I heard this song and it didn’t make me feel 100% better, but it certainly helped.

Since the cats out of the bag, I just wanted to thank everyone supporting me these last few months.  Even though I wasn’t vocal about it, and I should’ve been I still had my friends who dealt with me and my problems.  Thank you all for listening and taking the time to read this freaking thesis.



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