Bad things happen to good people, children

Having a large extended family is great on holidays and birthdays.  The horrible part of having such a large extended family?  Their deaths.

My dad has 8 siblings, and my mom has 13.  Each of my aunts and uncles have healthy amounts of children of their own, who in turn have 5+ children each, like good procreating Catholics.

Leo Saavedra, 4-years-old

This morning, I received a 5 am wake-up call that my 4-year-old nephew passed away from asthma complications. He had fluid in his lungs and they couldn't do anything to save him.  Over Easter, my 25-year-old cousin kicked the bucket suddenly.  These things come in threes, so I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Who's next?

Sometimes, I wish I didn't have feelings.  It would make going through life a heck of a lot easier.  Maybe then events such as these would not affect me so much.

When bad things happen to good people, it makes me sad.  When bad things happen to children, I just lose hope.

A day in depression

When you have a mental illness, it is difficult to tell others when you are suffering.  It is incredibly nerve-wracking, as you never know what reaction you are going to get.  With depression, not everyone understands that on the outside you might look okay, but on the inside it’s a sad, sad place.

Sometimes, I can’t get the words out of my mouth.  I suffer in silence.  I escape from reality and want nothing to do with the world.  I do everything in my power to avoid people – I don’t get up, answer the phone, or interact with people.  I barely eat, sleep, or talk.  And listening to someone?  That takes too much effort.  

Since entering college, I have had to tell many professors when my depression spikes so they know I am not just cutting class.  I hate each and every time I have to do it.  In my head I imagine all the responses I could possibly receive, and my stress level skyrockets.  It makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide, which is the opposite of what I need.   

The worst part of the cycle is the feelings of inadequacy, of weakness for not being able to handle emotions.  Then I feel worse for falling into that trap (again) and I feel like a piece of garbage.  I fall deeper into the depression the more it goes on. 

Wednesday I hid.  I did not go to class.  I avoided as much as I could Thursday and Friday.  I lay in bed all weekend, until my husband came home from work and made me get up.

Today I had to make the decision of going to class or not.  I did not want to, but there was still something that forced me to go and attempt to listen for two hours.  I was nowhere near 100%, but trying to be.  And you know what happened?  Even though I had to leave halfway through it for a break, I was still able to pay attention. 

And telling my professor why I missed class?  It was not the horrible nightmare I envisioned.  I do not know if he could sense how uncomfortable I was or if he just saw the sadness in my eyes, but he was beyond kind in his response.  So kind in fact, I cried.

Not because I was sad, but because I knew he was one of the few who understood.    

Writer's Block

I hate it when I can't write.

It is not the lack of ideas either.  There are too many thoughts running around my head on a regular basis.  The problem comes when it is time to extract and organize these ideas so that they make sense.  Whenever I can't do this, it is frustrating.

I can go through multiple drafts, mainly with only a couple words scrawled on paper before they end up in the garbage.  It is worse if I am working on a computer.  I just type and delete, type and delete, and nothing gets done.  It always happens with the writing I care about most.  

Maybe it is time for a break.