I’ve been all over the place, the last few days. Emotionally speaking, that is; I’ve only left the house to pick up groceries. On the one hand, I got a WordPress consulting job I did over the weekend. I really liked my client, she was easy to work with, and she’s planning to hire me again in a few weeks for some small edits to her site once she has more content to post. I also got about 12 ounces spun of my current spinning commission, and am almost done with that. So I’ve been productive and happy about that. I enjoyed all the work immensely.
But in the quiet moments, I’ve been depressed. Depressed about my weight, my debts, the point of existing. Not that I’m suicidal or anything; rather, I’ve just been trying to convince myself that I have worth. This fucking capitalist society makes me feel worthless for not being able to hold a steady job. I know, logically, that that is bullshit, and my life has value outside of that. But to me it’s not about the money, it’s about being a consistent person.
I cannot do the same thing every day for eight hours, five days a week. My energy levels simply aren’t stable enough for that. Because I’m chronically ill, and it’s so fucking hard to accept that even with my intelligence and creativity, I’m so very limited. I’ve been trying to accept it for 20 years now. I get a little healthier, try to achieve something, crash, fail, repeat. I’m not going to try school this summer. I was going to take trig, but I don’t think I can. Which crushes me. Learning calculus is one of those things I’ve wanted to do for decades but either haven’t gotten the chance or else haven’t been healthy enough for.
My therapist says it’s cruel to raise kids believing they can be anything they want, do anything if they’re smart enough. There are so many memes about us burned-out gifted kids who feel we didn’t live up to our potential. A dash of realism would have been nice, not that I’m mad at my parents about it. They really believed I could do anything. They never thought mental illness would be an issue, much less a stumbling block that would affect my entire adult life.
A new online friend was surprised that I feel pointless. She says I’m always doing something, crafting or writing or programming or reading something educational. She had a point. And I regularly help my family and friends in any ways I can, so I’m definitely making at least a few lives better.
I miss being able to donate blood. My elbows are too fucked up. I need to exercise more, do some weights or bodyweight exercises. I feel myself losing some of my strength, and it scares me, but not enough that I’ve done anything about it yet. Another thing I’m depressed about.
Ugh. I’ll stop whining and go spin. At least I can read while I do it, and distract myself from this funk…