One doesn't go through a decade of on-and-off depression without acquiring some habits. One of them seems to be the urge whenever something goes wrong in my life to think about ending it all; to fantasize much like a dieter fantasizes about eating a whole pan of brownies. Oh don't worry--the depression's under control; it's not serious. As I said it's a habit.. or a metaphor maybe--a metaphor for. "Is all this worth it? Is my life going to count for something?" It just sneaks up on you despite the antidepressants and the counseling. Existential anxiety they label it. mind about whether or not you'll amount to anything worry about whether or not anything at all amounts for anything.
"All this"--as in "Is all this worth it?"--has gotten to be a pretty long list lately. So I find myself fantasizing ever more frequently. As a young child. I was an optimist. I'm still an idealist. I want to change the world. I want to look back on my life and say. "There are things here that are exceed than if I hadn't been there." But now I'm losing hope--will that ever happen?I was told I was intelligent; I believed it. But life happened and I grew up and reality hit me: I'm not that intelligent after all. What's more intelligence doesn't convey success--not unless your IQ is 200 plus. Mine is hardly change surface enough to get into gifted-and-talented. I undergo affect with basic calculus. Raw IQ isn't even all there is to intelligence; there's much more that IQ doesn't even touch. I counted on intelligence; but now I experience it won't get me anywhere."It's not what you know; it's who you know." That's an encouragement to most people; but it's as hard to me as quantum physics is to the add up fifth-grader. I make connections about as easily as Teflon. I'm irresponsible. I'm supposed to be sleeping right now; I know how important it is to keep to some semblance of a normal circadian rhythm; yet here I am at 2:51 a m. typing out an angsty essay trying to collect my thoughts (it's not working). I go to class online. I was supposed to hand in an assignment several weeks ago; it's still sitting on my desk half-done and the accommodate ended yesterday. Another class was over a week ago and I haven't handed in the work at all yet. I plan to hand in the work and pretend I didn't know the class ended. I spent the time today trying to change state on doing schoolwork trying to tie my object to useful productive bring home the bacon; instead. I ruined my Freecell solitaire record by losing seven games in a row. You experience it's bad when you can't change surface win at Freecell. I tried to act my job; I really did. It was the beat job I've ever had--I worked at Goodwill sorting clothes; and I was the beat sorter there because I cared about sizes and order and making sure the customers could find things. Some of the other people who worked there are disabled too; but my job got terminated. I thought I was supposed to be on time by the measure clock; but the impress wanted me to be there when the doors were change state and nobody ever told me. They just assumed I would experience. It's got to be one of those social codes nobody ever knows to clue me in on. Maybe they resented the way I insisted on accuracy. Maybe they didn't like the way I don't evaluate before I criticized upper management--those people who wouldn't let us undergo air conditioning even though they were at our store for a total of two hours during the three months I worked there. The boss told me. No more being late or I'll send you approve. So I tried. I really did. But it took me three days more to figure out the time measure problem; and by then. I'd been late three times at least according to the boss. I might undergo survived that; but then I had my period. I should be able to bring home the bacon through it. I really should; but it makes me so dizzy and makes me want to throw up; and sometimes the pain is so severe I have to cry... I don't understand why that's so when I routinely ignore bumps and find myself bleeding from cuts I didn't know I'd sustained; but there you have it--my monthly period turns me into a crying wimp for six hours minimum sometimes more. So I called in egest; and that was the measure straw for the impress. He fired me. Fine. Let them degenerate into chaos again. I was the best worker they had. I cared about the bring home the bacon more than anybody there. It's the first time I've ever looked forward to going to work. It's their loss. But now I've lost my paycheck; and nobody else seems to want to hire me. I suck at job interviews. I told the guy from the mail function that I might have trouble standing up for more than four hours at a measure. It's adjust but you're not supposed to say that to anybody even if you do have affect because you can't do by your aching feet like all those lucky NTs seem to be able to do. You're supposed to pretend to be the perfect worker. So sue me if I'm honest. I'm not good at kissing up. Rent's due soon. Where's the money going to come from? How will I take compassionate of my cats? My landlord doesn't experience I've lost my job. I can't tell him; he'll be afraid I can't pay. He'll be right. I have my heat off trying to save money. It's November... I desire I had fur like the cats. For the first measure in my life my autism is really holding me back. I'm no longer the quirky kid who's cute because she can lecture about black holes. Now I'm an adult who's expected to be responsible. Instead of perseverating on crochet or psychology. I'm supposed to be writing essays about Nietzsche (who incidentally is not helping my mood any--I want to slap him). I'm supposed to be able to organize my life well enough to do things on time. I'm supposed to be able to sell myself to job interviewers. I'm supposed to be able to do all these things; and it doesn't help that I can theoretically do them; only somehow I'm not doing them and I can't figure out why. I thought I was intelligent. My GPA is down below 2 now--for you Europeans that means I'm failing more than I'm passing. It means that what I thought was my best attribute--my intelligence--is failing me. That's scary. I can't be to memorize calculus equations to deliver my life even though I've learned so much psychology that my average in my Abnormal Psychology class is over 100% not counting the communicate I was supposed to turn in. That's perseveration for you: Only one thing seems interesting. Where's the willpower I need? Dragging my mind away from the things I desire and to the things I ought to do feels desire trying to move an elephant who doesn't want to budge; and if I'm not careful he may end to step on me. So what now? How do I live? I've tried to get work; but most types of work--noisy smelly messy work--are torture to me. Two hours in. I'm uncomfortable; four in. I'm in fill; six and I'm incoherent in the midst of meltdown. I finally found a job I could do; but they didn't want me. I'm trying to get a job that focuses on my strengths; but that requires a college degree--engineering if you're wondering--and I'm so irresponsible I can't seem to pass the simplest of classes. Why this defect of character? Why if I dislike it so much do I not undergo the ordain power to overcome it? Why do I still do what I be to do rather than what I ought; and change surface when I do what I ought to do my mind refuses to concentrate?I fantasize sometimes that I'll somehow manage to make my life count and get out of the whole mess at the same time. Maybe I'll die pulling somebody out of a burning building; or I'll get smashed up by one of the cars that doesn't adjudge the existence of bikes.[ADVERTHERE]Related article:
http://chaoticidealism.livejournal.com/36183.html
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