Wednesday 4/27/16
Hello, new low, I have reached you.
I donāt really have anyone to talk to now, so Iāll just post this to imaginary people, because that makes sense. Iāve been recently struggling with one of my more serious bouts of depression, itās been hard. Iāve tried little things that usually make me happy like reading, art, eating better, and getting out. They have helped momentarily, or not at all, but the feeling never lasts. For instance, I was trying to reconnect with my dad after one of his tantrums last weekend had everyone mad at him. We were going to pick up my mom from work, and had found something to talk about. Well, we were talking and my dad was backing into a parking spot on the side of the building. He hit the railing to the steps next to the parking spot, and damaged the carās quarter panel quite a bit, around $500 worth of damage. Yea, body work for a little are is A LOT. Well, he blamed it on distractions, i.e. me, as usual. Real self esteem booster right? Fast forward crying myself to sleep because I failed at making myself feel better, managing to make myself feel worse. I then had the idea to finally get to making him these donuts his mother used to make them. She died last year, and we all really miss her a ton. She was what held the family together, and without that gathering place, I donāt really see my family anymore and am EXTREMELY lonely as Iāve moved far enough away from my family 3 years ago. So, I spend hours trying to make the dough just right, following the instructions I found online to aĀ āT,ā and what do I get? My dad whines that he has to get off the couch and look to see if itās right, and fry them. Yes, I am very bad with cooking oil. One finally gets done and he tries it. What does he have to say?Ā āItās only 50% like my momās.ā 3 hours after I start making them, and thatās what I get. NoĀ āgood effortā or anything, just that they arenāt like his momās. Glorious.
On to today. The boyfriend (thatās a story for another day) was supposed to come over because we hadnāt seen each other in a long time. I was going to do things that needed to be done like exchange a pair of shorts for a bigger size (due to social anxiety and my fat fucking body..sigh, another story, another day), maybe finally plant my peonies, change my sheets that I got chocolate on two weeks ago, finish frying my dadās donuts, and most importantly of all I was going to stage a trial thesis defense. Just before he leaves, I get an email. Itās my adviser asking where I was and if I could make it to my thesis defense. I immediately freaked out. I ditched my phone and grabbed my chromebook (it has the cutest lucky cat sticker on it..thank you ht.com). For the last two weeks I have been planning for (it was going to rain) and telling people that my defense was tomorrow. But, bringing up the document with everyoneās appointment times on it, I see that I was completely WRONG. Wonderful right? So, there I am in tears, writing an email back to her telling her I am so disgusted in myself. If only I could have told her everything I wanted to. Iām just so low right now. Iāll probably look back and see how much I was over-reacting, but I canāt change the past. And, after a phone call to the boyfriend, that seems like it will hold true, because I was informed about my crazy reaction. I just donāt think that many people would understand being socially anxious and then having to stand in front of two highly intelligent professors with their full attention, and explaining and answering questions about a thesis to them that I havenāt poured my all into and havenāt even properly covered because I stopped caring. And then to have to do the same thing again with more people and more teachers on Friday for 2.5 hours. Itās unbelievably embarrassing. I had planned to just then skip both the defense and later presentation if I could get away with it and still pass. But, I just received a reply from my teacher saying that both are mandatory to pass. Great. Now I have to go in front of people Iāve already embarrassed myself to without even being there the first time. All this for a fucking piece of paper. Hate this school, like hell Iām going to graduation.Ā
