Too many worries, worries too much


Hello all,

I guess many people who are dealing with a depressed state of mind and body will recognize the feelings that go with the title of my post today. But seeing I can only speak for myself and I don’t want to pretend like I know you and like I know it all, I won’t do that. I will write this post from my own experiences, as I have done all my post previous to this one. And I always mention when I am quoting someone and/or when it is not my personal view on things. As I wrote before in posts, this is merely a way for me to vent. A way to share some of my daily struggles and thoughts. But also a way to reach out to others, to exchange ideas and visions on things I blog about. I do hope you’re interested in what I have to “say” today… And of course, I am always open to comments (if you haven’t commented before, please check the “About commenting” link in the Blog Info section on your right, thanks).
I always used to be someone who made a plan and stick to it. But for the last few weeks (or should I admit to it and write months) I haven’t been able to stick to them. I still make the plans in my head but I never get around in doing all I wanted to do. I worry about letting myself down. I worry about letting others down. And those worries seem to distract me from getting all I wanted to do done. So in a way, my worries are the reason for more of my worries. They interfere with my other thoughts, the ones that get me to get up up and do the stuff I wanted to do.
I worry about getting a job.
I worry about going to my GP and (maybe) get a referral so I can finally know for “sure” what is “wrong” with me.
I worry about getting diagnosed and that it might get in the way of starting a new job/career.
What if I need meds/treatment that will interfere with a new job (not that I have one now, but it’s all “what if…”).
What if people will treat me different IF I get diagnosed?
What if getting diagnosed feels like getting labeled and it will only bring me down more?
I want to lose weight, but food can comfort me so much…and I need to lose at least 10 kilo’s (about 22 lbs).
What if people think I look fat and ugly, will they judge me on that?
Am I only judging me on how I look or do others do it too, but maybe secretly behind my back?
So many questions that raise more worries inside that thick head of mine. And so many worries that they raise more questions. It’s like a vicious circle that never seems to end.

I have never been very unsure about myself. I have been unsure about others towards me. But not about myself. I have been bullied almost all the years I went to primary school (age 4-12) and also the first few years of secondary school (12-15). In the fourth year there, the bullying seemed to fade and I thought I was finally making some progress. But then, at age 16, my grandmother died while at vacation. The last words exchanged between me and her had been harsh, seeing we had an argument. One I could never make up for… A few months later, I had so many hip problems and pains, I went to my GP. He send me to the hospital for pictures. A month before my 17th birthday (in my final year at secondary school), I was informed that I needed a huge hip reconstruction by surgery. If I wouldn’t do it, I would become a permanent invalid, in need of a wheelchair, 27/7 around the age of 18. My final exams were passed, just, and I prepped for my upcoming surgery.

Surgery went OK, recovering was hard. And I had to start college. Which was a disaster as well, bloody blimey wheelchair! After almost one year of college, I dropped out. I met my (our) current BF and things seemed to go a bit better. I started a new education and all went OK, or so I thought. In the beginning of my relationship with my (our) BF, his ex was bothering me a lot. She was so needy and clingy and that really made me sick. She dumped him and now he found someone new and in seconds, he was interesting again. That brought along many troubles and worries. And I still couldn’t cope with the death of my grandmother.

Then in January 2000, my BF’s dad died suddenly and unexpected. His mum was diagnosed with cancer, a fight she had to lose in February 2001. She wanted to die at home, so with professional help, my BF and I did all we could to honor that wish. It put a huge strain in my college work and all, and I decided it would be better to work more hours at the store where I’d been working part time after school hours. Seeing I had moved in with my BF to take better care of his mum, I wanted to provide my own income and not live of his. So I quit school and worked more. Things were going OK and I thought all was well.

In 2001 I also switched jobs, due to a new boss at my first job. Things were going OK and as said, I thought all was well.
Then in 2003, we had to go to court. We were being thrown out of the house we were living in because the  firm we rented the house from decided that we had no right to live there. Even though my BF has lived there all his life with his parents, till they died. But according to some stupid rule, if you don’t share the household with your parents for at least 30 years, you didn’t have a long term living relationship and they can kick you out. If only my BF had been given the chance to live for 30 years with his parents instead of 25/26 years… Of course there was always the chance of us getting a place of our own, thus him leaving his parent’s house. But they died on him before he turned 30… So stupid…
So that was a huge setback and we needed to find a place of our own. And I guess most of you know that if you can look for a house while you have plenty of time, it can be fun to do so. But we were also under time pressure, which caused some friction there and then.
But we found a place, a rented one, which would serve as our home while we kept on looking for another home, one we wanted to buy together. We found one, got the money and all settled and after a few weeks, we were moving once more. Which was hard, very hard to do. But now we would have a real place of our own. All we would put in it, would be ours. So with the help of some family members and friends, we moved again and started to make this house a real home.

Then, around September 2005, I collapsed while walking. I was in a lot of pain and called the hospital where I had gotten my surgery in 1997. They made an appointment for X-rays and all. After reviewing those, they send me to a specialized hospital where I got another hip surgery in January 2006. After about two weeks being home again, my stomach hurt so much that I couldn’t eat nor drink for 3 days. On the third day I called the hospital because I felt horrible. The next day, in the morning, I was back there and got a belly scan. Within an hour I got a bed and a few hours later I went into surgery. An abscess… A big one…

So well, things do tend to go bad. And when they go bad, they end up pretty f*cked up for me, most of the time. Seeing, when they had to remove a screw that was placed in my hip in November, when I woke up after the surgery, I was in pain a whole lot and it seemed I was internally bleeding… They missed that… So I had to be rushed back into the OR and all. When I came home later, my ribs were hurting so much, that I went to visit my GP. I had two crushed ribs, and a few days later, I found out why. There were two huge bruises forming, one on the lower part of my ribs, and one on my pelvis. They appeared to be large hands… So I figured that the screw was reluctant to leave my bones, they had to force me down to get it out, which caused the internal bleeding and the crushing of my ribs. So with all this information, I called the hospital and asked about it. Their answer: “You must have done something wrong at home that caused the bruisings and crushing, we don’t know anything about it.” YEAH! Sure… I have asked someone to pin me down a day after surgery, just for the fun of it…

I only do some mild auto-mutilation (the banging of my head against hard objects, I have written about this before, check my older posts) but not like they were suggesting. The hospital, well, surgeons and their help, made many mistakes and they didn’t take responsibility for any of them. Which made me never want to go back to that hospital! And to all who ask me about it, I only tell the bad stuff. If they would have told me there had been some difficulties retrieving my screw, I would be fine with it. But they lied and blamed me for their errors… So again, it shows that if things tend to go wrong, I am usually the one feeling f*cked up in the end.

Ah well, all that has happened to me, all these experiences, I guess they also are to blame for who I am today. I am learning to cope with loss and the feeling that I never do anything right. That all the things around me go wrong, simply because of me. I know these thoughts will be converted into worries. I know these worries and thoughts are trying to take over my mind completely. And a times, they win. I will get a huge headache attack and my mood goes down the drain and I feel so lost then. I know that I can also draw some strength from these experiences, because I was able to get through them, even though some left me with scars that will never completely heal and/or fade away. But seeing the positive things is hard at times, and at certain times it seems even impossible to do so. I guess that to some of you who are reading this now, it’s very easy to recognize these things.

But I worry about our GF and her ability to deal with her burn-out. I worry about finding a job. I worry about getting diagnosed (need to go to the GP first). I worry too much… There is simply so much I can “easily” worry about. So I guess that is why it’s so “easy” to do for me. But then, why is it so hard to think about other things to make all this needless worrying go away? Why is it so hard to appreciate the positive things? Is it because the bad things are overwhelming the positive ones? Or is it because it’s so much easier to “accept” the negative things?

I guess to figure this out, I need to read some more in my “Overcoming Depression” book. And I guess also some more writing in my new Journal. Last night, I filled the first page before going to bed. As I wrote in my blog then, it was something I really wanted to do before going to bed. So I seized that thought, that wanting, and pursued it and I made it happen. And yes, it was only a mere page. But it did feel good to let my fountain pen slide over that fresh paper…

As I was typing the end of this post on my laptop while sitting in the garden, my battery life expectancy is rapidly lowering and I want to post this before it really dies.

I will leave you with a wisdom quote about expectations.

“Love is what enables us
to bridge the gap of disappointment

when others don’t live up
to the expectations we have of them.”

Abigail Van Buren


~ by Lonely Wallflower on March 25, 2010.

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