All my losing weight, throwing up, and general unhealthiness has not been an eating disorder. It was (and still is) just plain depression.
I think it was previously suggested to me that it might be, but I was in denial. I mean, depression? Depression is for high school kids who cut themselves and dye their hair black. I’m not depressed. I don’t want to be depressed. That’s so useless.
When I’m throwing up, I think, “Why is this happening? This is so dumb.” I guess this all goes back to me not really liking to show my emotions. I don’t want people to fret over me or help me. I don’t want to take up people’s time with childish emotions.
I just didn’t want to be associated with the word “depression”. That’s not who I am. I’m not that stereotypical picture. When I was young, in my late preteens, I thought I was depressed, and I wished I could have a psychiatrist. Recently (but not too recently; that is, before my depression), it occurred to me that I didn’t feel that way any more. I felt… pretty… normal.
Also, the thing about a psychiatrist is that I don’t feel like they could tell me much I don’t already know. I already understand myself pretty well. I still make lots of connections about why I am the way I am, but I basically “get” me. (Now that I’m an adult, I have more responsibilities; but I don’t want a job or to do other adult things, because I still want to be a child, because I feel if I’m an adult, I won’t be special; I was always complimented for being good at doing things at such a young age; now, what if I haven’t improved? I’m no longer special; also, this may seem obvious, but it just occurred to me that I rather liked being seventeen because it meant I was grown-up, but not an adult). To get back to the psychiatrist thing, I also feel like there’s much too much to tell about myself, and I don’t think anyone could understand me as well as I can understand myself in such a short time.
Anyway, depression sucks. I don’t do anything. I don’t have motivation to do anything. When people suggest that I do something with them, I don’t want to do it, and I make excuses — but if I do do it, I tend to feel better. I cry a lot. Mostly because of the, “This sucks. Why is this happening?” thing. I throw up.
Yesterday was terrible; I threw up everything. Potato chips don’t taste good coming back up. You can also see little baloney bits when you throw them back up. I need to stop myself from eating cherry popsicles and red Kool-Aid, because I’ve cried over seeing that come back up, thinking that it was blood. When all you’ve eaten is popsicle and you throw it up, it feels like foam. I’m getting to be an expert on throw up.
Also, is “throw up” a Canadianism? It’s hard to Google, because I don’t feel like that’s what people call it. Puke? Vomit? What’s the scientific term for it? None of those seem right.
I’m checking out some depression forums to see how other people feel. I have a lot of the same sentiments as they do. I can’t stand going to the teen depression forums, because that is where you are getting the emos and preteen me’s (excuse the apostrophe; it doesn’t belong in a plural, but it’s for clarity) who don’t know what depression really is. This is really it.
I don’t like reading people’s sob stories about their girlfriend/boyfriend, their job, a death in their family… whatever typical things cause depression. I don’t have a sob story. My story is I have four months with nothing to do. How awful for me, right?
I feel like I could “snap out of it”, as they say, if I just went back to school and I was doing something for most of the day.
Anyway, this sucks. I suppose I’ll go to the doctor’s (again) soon so he can give me some more pills I can’t swallow.