Masturdating with B: Throwing Myself to the Wolves

Credit: boredpanda.com

Yes, I realized what I just did there, and yes, I totally did that on purpose. This is me we're talking about after all...

For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of masturdating, see the above picture, it is when you go out on a date with and by yourself. Which is what I've been doing a lot of within the course of the past week.

Now, considering how angry and bitter I've been feeling lately whenever I've been out and about and surrounded by others, and how anxious and uncomfortable I am in the presence of others in general, why in the 'verse would I possibly do this to myself? Well, for one, that's just the way it's worked out this past week. I've had appointments to go to and errands to run, so I decided to see if I could actually go to a restaurant...by myself...as someone who is still (and probably will always be) full(er)-figured...and eat in public. I know! The shock!! The horror!!! How dare she?!?! Well, it is Halloween season and everyone loves a scary story. Actually...that's not entirely true...I can count off on one hand the number of people I know who love horror as much as I do... And as a second major point, and some of you will probably take offense to this, if I were to actually wait on my friends to do anything remotely fun in public, like go to the movies or try out a new restaurant, I would die of old age. For example, I am currently trying to organize a get-together to celebrate reaching my first goal weight, but do you think that anybody has really responded? So far, I've had one friend ask me what I want to do (however, what's the point of me wanting to do anything, if the people I want to do it with can't even be bothered to answer the simple question of whether or not they want to attend this get-together to begin with?!) and another wants to hang out with me in private (which is always nice and needed and appreciated...but not really the expected reaction to that particular inquiry). The rest of the people (granted, I have yet to invite another person, but I was going to wait until I had something more concrete planned, although I'm probably not going to get a definite answer out of them either...) have either been remarkably silent (despite having read the message) or haven't even looked at the message for whatever reason (probably because everybody's switched to Snapchat and WhatsApp and I was stupid and posted the message on Facebook...).

So, long story short: I don't know why I have friends. I don't know why I bother wanting to spend time with or talk to them sometimes. I love them, I really do, but occasionally I have to wonder about the people in my life. There are times when I basically equate them to my appendix. Sure, they're probably supposed to serve some purpose and did at one point or another, but they tend to just exist most of the time and if I'm not careful, they might potentially become inflamed or burst and send me to the ER and be the death of me... I have a knack for the visual, I know...and you're welcome. I guess I've just slowly been coming to the conclusion (yet again) that I'm simply not as important to some people as they are to me. Which is why I'm one of the few dumbasses who has to fend for and entertain themselves... Mind you, like I said before, I'm writing this knowing that it is potentially hurtful to some, but that I also still deeply care for these select few individuals and it's not like I'm suddenly fed up with them or have given up on my relationships with them. I am more than aware that some of them feel bad for seemingly neglecting/ignoring me, I know that they have their own lives and obligations and social activities (as they should and as I expect them to), and as much as I care for them and am mostly forgiving (well, I try to be at least...), it is precisely because I care for them, that feeling ignored/neglected/rejected/dejected by/because of these people stings all the more and this therefore sounds more bitter and accusatory than it is meant to. So, my apologies to anyone in my innermost circle who is hurt/offended by this, feel free to approach me about it (and if I counter with the whole "It's okay...I know you're busy/dealing with stuff too" shtick, call me out on my bullshit and tell me to fess the eff up and open up about how I really feel). This is just me processing my feelings/impressions of how things have been going for me relationally for a while now. That doesn't make them true, or completely true at least. This is how I've been feeling more often than not recently (and not so recently), and my feelings are still at least somewhat valid.

Anywho...moving on...

As far as how my solo excursions went, they were mostly okay...ish... Today and yesterday I sat down at a couple of restaurants and managed to eat without feeling judged too much, even though I think that some people were still confused (I mean, who goes out and eats by themselves? That's just crazy...), but it was still mostly nice...I think. However, I was annoyed during my outing to the movies on Monday (I watched The Magnificent Seven, which was good, but, considering how long it is, they should have edited the amount of commercials they played beforehand...just like I should be editing my blog posts...) and I almost broke down crying during my "celebratory" meal on Friday...

To explain what happened: I decided to treat myself for my successful weight loss endeavors to a burger (of all things because clothes shopping is at least as much fun as eating in public, and I hear that people need food to survive...) at this place that I had been wanting to go to for the better part of a year, but I kept on putting it off because I didn't want to go by myself (people tend to look at you either like you don't belong or like you shouldn't be allowed to eat out in public if you don't look a certain way or they look at you like an abused puppy who they feel sorry for...) or that I was never at the "right" weight to allow myself certain indulgences (I am an expert at talking myself out of all sorts of stuff...it's a gift really). However, after coming to the conclusion that I was never going to get around to making this experience if I waited for a volunteer/partner in crime, I went to this burger joint, I sat down, I ordered, I felt bad for ordering fries in addition to the damn burger (but it was a good burger), at one point a piece of the burger almost fell on my clothes, I looked up for a second to see this other woman who was also eating by herself look at me and laugh (not maliciously or judgey, it was more of a "Yeah...that happens to me all the time too" or "That was adorable/relatable" chuckle)...and I could feel my face get really warm and the muscles around my eyes tense up in anticipation of the tears that were starting to well up. I was barely able to regain my composure and just wanted to call it a day, tuck tail and run back to the safety of my apartment. Unfortunately, I still had to go in to work that day, so no hiding and licking wounds for me.

Looking back at these past few solo outings, I do realize that (as independent and self-sufficient as I am in other areas of my life) this is something I should be doing more often. Maybe not as often as this past week (both my body and scale are not too happy with me right now, which is why I've been trying to get in 2-3 hour workouts as much as I can), but maybe I should try to make it a weekly or biweekly occurrence. Who knows... Besides, it's a good way for me to get some extracurricular reading in, which I don't really get around to when I'm at home.  

On the Quest to a Lesser Me: Month Nine (Crossing a Finish Line)

After nine months of blood, sweat and tears (and I mean that literally), I finally, FINALLY managed to reach my first goal weight a couple of days ago. And yes, I have multiple goal weights and no, I still won't be revealing any numbers. Okay...fine, I only have two specific goal weights...the third one is more like "Let me see how much weight I can lose before I collapse" and I think the fourth one is "Am I socially relevant, conventionally attractive and loveable/dateable/f***able now?" Oh what?! Don't you dare judge me from the safety of your computer/smartphone screens!!!

But yes, I finally managed to cross one of my self-imposed finish lines...and I'm still not satisfied. While I, on the one hand, realize that I've accomplished a lot and I know I should be proud for pulling off such a tremendous feat of badassery, it almost feels like I'm in a perpetual slump now. In fact, I almost feel more ashamed of being seen in public now than I did a few months ago. I mean, I've become even more protective of and hyperaware of my physical presence (you should see me walking through the downtown area, I'm pretty sure I look like a wounded animal trying to find a hole or cave to hide in)...and in a twist of almost Shyamalanian proportions, I still see myself as being heavier than I actually am and am always shocked when I look at myself in a foreign mirror.

Here's the thing, it almost doesn't matter that I've worked so hard and lost so much weight because whenever I look at myself, it just pisses me off and sometimes even kind of disgusts me. Now, does this mean that I'll quit working out and paying attention to my "diet" (and yes, I know some of you hate that dirty, dirty d-word...)? No, because I've already made it this far, so I should see how far I can take it and maybe, just maybe I'll learn to at the very least tolerate my outer shell and not feel like punching a hole in the wall every time I have to look at it.

And to those of you saying "Well, if losing weight is making you so miserable, wouldn't you simply be better off staying on the more voluptuous side and being happy in your own skin?" First of all, thank you, smartass. You're clearly new to the party and don't actually know me. Your sass is not appreciated at the current moment. If I had actually been happier at a higher weight, don't you think I would've stayed at that weight and not even bothered losing it to begin with?! The plain and simple truth is: I was neither happy as a heavier person, nor will I be happy in the near(ish) future...even if I suddenly and somehow managed to lose half of my current weight. My happiness/satisfaction isn't tied to the number on the scale. So, considering that I'm going to be miserable either way, given the choice, I would rather be skinnier and less of an eyesore to everyone else. And no, I'm not saying that heavier women are eyesores or even ugly or unhappy or that I even think/believe that. This is specifically and exclusively about me. Because this blog is my playground and I get to be a narcissist for once in my life. I've even said that I might be okay with being overweight, if my body didn't look so jacked up (and if I looked more like Loey Lane or Ashley Graham). And yes, my body is a friggin' train wreck, an absolute dumpster fire... It looks like it tried to contain the blast of ten H-bombs, failed horribly and then just got duct-taped back together. (Of course, I should add that this isn't necessarily true, I just currently feel like it is.)

Anyways...this post was actually supposed to be more celebratory, considering what I just managed to accomplish...and then it turned into a brutal slaughtering of my self-image/esteem/confidence. I'm in a foul mood, okay?! Miss Bettina is so far removed from happy (whatever that might entail or feel like) that she can see the birth of the cosmos.

Oh well...here's to hoping that this month will see me being slightly kinder to myself... Granted, I don't think I deserve much self-compassion right now, but I hear that it's an important trait to have.

Just another one of those days...

Today was just another one of those days... With no real trigger or cause I simply found myself fighting against the building pressure time and time again...and losing time and time again. Looking up to the skies (or apartment ceiling) I just felt the tears fall down my face and neck. I'm not entirely sure why I bothered to look up. Was it to pray to the heavens or universe for some kind of relief? Was I looking to somehow ease the pressure? Maybe I was just trying to prevent myself from looking like a complete mess afterwards by letting the fluid flow downward and out of my face.
I could feel my right hand clutched firmly around my throat. Not enough to choke myself in earnest, but just enough to make me feel the pressure. A pressure that was meant to be oddly calming, to counteract the pressure I was feeling on the inside. This lasted for a few seconds, until I could feel my breathing steady itself. And so I removed the hand, only to feel the next wave of sadness rise up inside of me.
They say that crying is supposed to make one feel better and provide relief, but I think that people who say that have never had to wonder when the crying will stop. I've always felt like the tears and sadness were threatening to tear me apart. As if the pain of a thousand souls were weighing on you and had yet somehow infiltrated your very being at the same time. Impending doom and destruction pulling and tugging and yet pushing and tearing away at you...it's no wonder that I try to avoid crying. The fear that it might all overpower me and finally push me over the edge and cause my whole being to be ripped apart has probably helped me build up such a strong resistance that the tears hurt more than they should.
Of course, there's also the issue of pride and dignity. Who would want to see someone like me cry? Nobody should be subjected to the sight of me period, let alone the sight of me in a vulnerable state like this. So, these were the days when I shut myself in and locked myself away from the world, even though these were the days when I needed people the most.
Getting up, I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The tear-streaked face drained of all color, the soaked eyelashes reflecting the light of the lamp, the bloodshot whites of the eyes turning the irises into brilliant emeralds shimmering in a sea of red. From a more objective point of view, one might almost say that there was an incredible beauty to my misery and despair.
As I get ready for bed, I can't help but feel relief that the end of another one of those days has finally come to an end, for the few hours of sleep will hopefully give me a chance to recover from my inner turmoil. And as a final thought, all I can think is that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow will not be another one of those days...

From Sad to Zen and Back Again

First off, something positive: To those of you who celebrate it, happy Easter! To those who don't (or aren't), happy Sunday or Monday or whatever day of the week it happens to be for you.
Now on to the actual entry...
For those of you playing the home game, you are already familiar with the ginormous breakdown I had or had been suffering from for the past two weeks. Well, the good news is that everything actually managed to stabilize and I became very calm and, dare I say, borderline content. This state of mind lasted for three days straight (three days!)...and then I went to visit one of my relatives today. (I won't say who exactly, but it's not like it's that hard to figure out.)
Out of necessity, I've had to learn how to censor what I say around this particular individual, mainly because she always manages to find a chink in my armor and inevitably says things that wind up pissing me off. Unfortunately, since I can't really tell her off or punch her, this anger just gets bottled up and I eventually start to become depressed (and yes, in some cases even cry). And so, even though this visit started out very innocently, I almost started yelling at her by the end of it (hormones may be partially to blame for this, but only partially...I would've still been aggravated otherwise).
These are some of the things I had to listen to: I'm too close to my parents (never mind that I didn't live with them for about four years and that several thousands of miles are currently separating us); I should just stop visiting them (that would also include any and all of my American friends and my cat), and instead just find people to do stuff with (we don't have to be actual friends, just people who can get along with each other...because those are so easy to find! Hey, let me put out an ad on Craigslist: Lonely and desperate female looking for people to do stuff with her...or to her...I don't care! Not really looking for anything long-term. Heck, you don't even have to like me, just so long as you hang out with me!); the United States isn't good for me (while this may be somewhat/mostly true, Germany hasn't been that good for me either, but hey, I'm completely to blame for that one); I'm 28 and could be married and have kids by now (thank you for rubbing salt in the wound that I am a failure not only on the academic, but also on a personal, level); yadayadayada. So yeah, tons of fun for everyone...
Of course, the fun can't stop there because I wind up calling my parents (you know, the ones I have an almost Bates-esque relationship with), and the shit hits the proverbial fan for the second time in one day. Usually, I talk to both my mom and my dad, but this time, I only get to talk to my mom. Hmmm, this is strange. I wonder what happened to Dad? Well, he either wasn't home or he just didn't want to talk to me. As it turns out, the blog entry about the sad panda got him pretty upset...and by "pretty upset" I mean he's one mouse click away from booking my return flight home. His main worry is that I'll slit my wrists, hang myself, throw myself from one of the bridges in the area, overdose on drugs, die from alcohol poisoning, blow my brains out, get killed by one of the many random strangers I will inevitably be having unprotected sex with (I should be so lucky), or any combination thereof. Considering that he's seen firsthand how out of control depression can get, I kinda get why he would be worried...BUT it's a little too late to be worrying about lil ol' me. I have been suffering from depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember. Nobody paid attention then, nobody needs to now. Besides, if I wasn't able to end everything back when I was younger, guess what, ain't nuthin' gonna happen now. What?! It's true! We all know that I'm just playing the waiting game at this point. Aren't you glad that you are reading this depressing crap? You're probably as happy as I am writing it...
Anyways...right now it just feels like I've taken two steps forward and one step back. And no, nobody needs to alert the police, nobody needs to have me institutionalized. Seriously, if you do, sad panda will become angry panda, and then nobody will be happy. Capiche?
Please join me next time for more chaos and drama...or don't.

Feeling bad about feeling bad

So, it seems that pretty much everything I write, that pertains to me and my life at least, is incredibly depressing. And for that, I would like to apologize, especially since I know that my parents also read my blog. Not to mention that sad more easily begets sad than happy begets happy. If that makes sense. I can only imagine how tough it must be for my parents to be reading the things I write because, hey, what feels better than knowing that your child is seriously messed up and there is nothing you can do about it? I do want to thank them for being supportive, and I am honestly not trying to hurt/anger/sadden/disappoint them, or anyone for that matter.
At this point, I'm just trying to weigh my options, and as much as I don't want to give up and take the easy way out, I just might have to step back. Maybe this just isn't my fight to fight.
Studying is difficult enough as is, so I don't know why I decided to make it even harder on myself. I guess I ultimately thought I was doing everyone a favor by making the decision I made a couple of years ago. Maybe I thought things would be different. It's hard to say at this point because everything has sort of become this huge muddled mess.
All I know now is that I have some important decisions to make. In order to do that, I'm going to give myself a maximum of four weeks to think everything over. I just want to rule out any hormonal imbalances or the complications of readjusting to a regular class schedule as being potential culprits behind these thoughts. Unfortunately, at this point, it doesn't matter which decision I wind up making, I will more than likely hate myself for it. I just need to make sure that I make the one that I will hate myself for the least.
Anyways, thank you for reading, and hopefully, I'll have happier news to report next time. 

Adventures of the sad panda (or What the f*** did I get myself into?!)

I know, it's been a while and I'm sorry about that. There has simply been a lot going on, in my head at least, since we all know I have virtually no social life.
Big surprise, I am a little less than happy right now. In fact, I would say that I am outright depressed. Actually, and I'm writing this knowing perfectly that most of you will view me as weak/sad/pathetic, I have been crying for at least once a day (with the occasional dry days in between) for a good two weeks. So, my crying has been gradually increasing for almost a year. Since I would like to celebrate such a depressing twist, let's take a look back to how the mighty have fallen...
As some of you may be aware, I am currently working on my MA in Germany. Why? Because I can and because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Back in September 2012 all I wanted to do was make more use of my education and not waste away at work (I won't name my employer here because a) I don't want a lawsuit on my hands and b) I might get stuck having to work there again), so I saved up money, took the GRE, applied for grad school in Germany and got accepted, and left. I was so happy and hopeful, until I showed up at the school and found out that I wasn't fully enrolled yet. And so, with about two weeks until classes were supposed to start, both my parents and I started to freak out, and too much money was spent on getting all of the necessary paperwork sent and turned in. Let's just say, if I had known then, what I know now, I would have scheduled a return flight home right then (yes, to my parents and the kitties, don't judge!) and sent out applications to various grad schools in the US. But noooo, no tuition fees and better/cheaper health insurance and weight loss and family yadayadayada... It was gonna be greeeeaaaat!!!! Eventually it all got worked out and I was excited to be back at school and doing something productive/beneficial for myself and my future.
However, this feeling of joy quickly became disrupted once I realized that outside of the dying breed of Magister students, who need more time to acquire their degrees and typically are in their late 20s/early 30s, I was easily the oldest out of the bunch. This wouldn't have really mattered, if it hadn't been pointed out to me that my Japanese sucked monkey balls. (Okay, nobody actually said that verbatim, but it had been brought to my attention that my Japanese skills just weren't that great. They still aren't.)
Despite these devastating realizations, I continued to work hard and was rewarded with...mediocre grades (because one professor took sympathy on me) and my first German research paper being so terribly written that that particular professor couldn't even grade it (I was offered to rewrite it in English, but have since given up because I keep on running into this huge mental wall with FAILURE sprayed all over it in neon paint). So, the first semester was a complete failure academically-speaking, but it was still fun overall (I met a few really great people, I actually had some semblance of a social life, I was starting to lose weight, and I even managed to wean myself off of my anti-depressants) and I learned my lesson, which resulted in me overcompensating during the second semester with an overfull class schedule (one that included two Japanese language courses back-to-back because I'm obviously a masochist).
The first half of the second semester was still great, and then something happened during the course of the second half that started to cause a bit of a disconnect. I still felt fine most of the time, but I started to care less about my classes. At the time, I thought it was simply the sight of seeing other people being openly happen during late spring/early summer, combined with me not being able to sleep properly due to the warm weather (you don't want to know what I had to do in order to be able to fall asleep), that was causing me to feel sad and frustrated. So, I looked forward to visiting my parents in the summer/fall.
While this first visit had its ups and downs, and I wound up eating too much fast food, I was glad to be around my cat (and of course the other feline family members) and I felt my sense of normalcy slowly being restored. Unfortunately, this feeling was also accompanied by the anxiety caused by me trying (and failing miserably) to research for and type up three separate research papers. No, I wasn't able to finish any of them, so don't even ask. As much as I secretly didn't want to return to Germany, I tried to tell myself that I was practically halfway done, so I should just keep on fighting and everything would be alright.
The third semester started off okay. Except that I had yet again taken on too many courses and quickly found myself running on empty and working off of an extremely messed-up sleep cycle (some nights I skipped sleep altogether in favor of studying). I hardly engaged in any kind of social activity, when I was available nobody else was, and when the others actually wanted to do something, I just wasn't in the mood (or didn't have the funds). This past semester also saw the return of a particularly bad habit of mine: skipping classes. I think I missed a total of three, maybe four, weeks worth of classes. Why? Because I started to care even less than I did during the spring/summer. Besides, my crying also started to pick up and I didn't necessarily want to have everyone and their mother see me sob for no apparent reason.
As if classes and my own personal issues weren't already enough to contend with, I stupidly decided/agreed to apply for various exchange programs. The month, and the week in particular, leading up to my second US visit I was running myself beyond ragged. Between getting everything ready for my trip, filling out paperwork for one of those exchange programs, and spending hours in one of the university's libraries working on take home assignments and exams, I oftentimes didn't know what I was doing or what I had already taken care of or what still needed to be done. I managed to not jump off a building by writing down what had to be done each day. If you needed me to plan anything past that day, I couldn't because I was never sure how much I would be able to accomplish within the next 24 hours. I kid you not, if my inner me actually had a voice, she would've been screaming at me non-stop.
My second visit was again spent with the kitties and the parents, but it was also mostly spent contemplating the near future. During this downtime, I came to realize that I was actually dreading the beginning of the next semester. This time around, I really didn't want to go back. However, I didn't want to say anything at the time because I felt like that was a selfish thing to think. (How dare I not want to go back? What about the friends I met over there? What about the professors? Your parents are going to be so disappointed. That would be quitting and you don't quit. You're so ungrateful and selfish, not everyone gets this kind of an opportunity.) The problem is: It's stopped being fun, it's stopped being interesting, it's stopped being motivating. This is what my life looks like: I go to classes. I go back to the apartment. At least once a week I have to buy groceries. I have to ask my parents for money at least twice a month. Even though I do try to look for it on a regular basis, work isn't really an option because if I'm not in class, I'm doing homework and studying, which actually takes up more time than one would think. Today's the first day of classes and I'm dreading going. I just don't want to go. Practically everyone I know will be done studying by the end of this semester. When I return to/am in my apartment, I am alone. No cats, no room mates, just me and my thoughts. On my days off, I usually sleep until 10, sometimes even until 1 because there is no motivation to get up (compare this to my US wake-up times of 8-10). In addition to that, I am now stuck in this mess of preparing for this exchange to Japan, which I have been regretting since February. Sure, I was excited at first, but let's be honest: It's a lot of stress for something expensive that won't count for squat on my transcript, but maybe, just maybe, will look decent on my resume. Besides, I know me, I probably won't do anything over there anyways. It just seems more and more like it's just going to be a semester of me sitting around, in a different setting mind you, possibly improving my Japanese skills and delaying my graduation by another semester because, from the sounds of things, a semester won't be long enough to take classes that can be counted towards my degree. So yeah, worth it, but not really worth it. I'm still thinking about whether or not I want to go through with this, and as of right now, I'm thisclose to calling it off and just going to Japan on my own schedule (while I'm not feeling pressured to finish school in a timely fashion).
Of course, these feelings don't mean that I'm going to break off my MA studies. Regardless of how depressed I've been feeling, this isn't even an option. I have been looking at my options though, such as switching to a university stateside. Unfortunately, it seems that I am out of luck in that department. One of the schools I looked at doesn't admit students in the spring, and the director went ahead to inform me that, even if I did by some miracle get accepted into their program, only a maximum of three of my courses would get transferred. As for the other school I looked at, despite a promising start, since they do actually accept spring admissions, they aren't accepting anymore applicants for the Japanese part of their program and I am lacking the language skills for the other tracks they offer. So, I either risk waiting and losing a huge chunk of my course work, or I am stuck here.
Since it seems very likely that I will have to stay here, I have been rethinking the promise I made to myself last year about never taking anti-depressants again (not unless absolutely necessary). Unfortunately, it seems like it might be necessary after all. My only problem is that Germany still hasn't completely opened itself up to the notion of depression yet. Not everyone here is anti (even though here you won't really hear talks about depression, here it's more about burn-outs), but there is still a bit of a stigma attached to it, so I'm not sure if I really feel like fighting with my doctor or any therapists about something like this.
Anyways, that's it for me. Sorry for being such a downer... I would like to say that the next post will be something uplifting, but I'm just not feeling it. 
Talk to you guys later.

To withdraw or not to withdraw...

As some of you might have noticed (by some I mean everyone who is friends with me on Facebook...which equates to one, maybe two of you), I have stopped typing up elaborate comments on various articles. Not that any of you really care (or have even noticed).
I've been trying to keep my mouth shut and fingers from the keyboard as much as possible. Sure, sometimes I'll still like a(n) comment/article, maybe I'll type a short sentence, or write something if it's someone's birthday. It's not like I want to come off as a complete douche (not that anyone would really notice that either).
So, why would I go from typing up comments and trying to entertain my friends to not wanting to type up anything at all (on Facebook at least...I hardly use Twitter, and special rules apply to this blog...you're all here at your own risk)?
To put it simply: I've become disgusted with myself. Yeah, yeah...I know what some of you are thinking. "How is this different from how you usually feel about yourself? Is this supposed to be news?" Well, no, this wasn't meant to be some kind of revelation. It's a bit weird to explain, but my self-loathing just managed to reach a new depth, that's all. I guess I just got beyond disgusted by my own comments that were becoming increasingly depressing...to me. And if I, as someone who is always already mildly depressed, manage to make myself even more depressed, then how are the people on my friends list going to feel? Granted, I've been known to say that I would rather have everyone hate me, but if you don't already hate me, then, I'm sorry to say, I don't have the energy to go out of my way to make you hate me. I need that energy to keep myself from curling up in the fetal position and sobbing hysterically every five seconds. Just kidding...maybe...not really. (Okay, it's not that bad...today at least.)
Anyways, I just didn't like what I was typing up anymore. Besides, hardly anyone was reading them (I don't know this for sure, but let's just say it's an educated guess), and even if someone was, what is he/she gonna say? "OMG, you need to talk to a professional about this" or "You should end your life ASAP"? Even if someone wanted to help, he/she couldn't.
And no, none of you needs to be concerned about me. If nothing has happened to me in the past 28 years, nothing will happen now either. I still have to finish working on my MA and then pay off my student loans... Oh, and there's always my precious ball of fluff (no, not that "fluff")...that is currently living with my parents and the rest of the Fluff Brigade. *sad*
I guess things could be worse: It could still be Monday. For some reason (depression, obviously), I could not stop myself from crying. Writing about my feelings *sob*, talking to one of the Japanese teachers *sob*, watching American Dad *sob* (that last one isn't true, but I did cry a looooot). Actually, Sunday and Tuesday weren't that pleasant either, but Monday was bad.
Maybe reading all of those articles and processing them in my comments wasn't the wisest choice... Especially since many of them just made me feel like a complete failure, which I am, but I shouldn't necessarily be subjecting myself to constant confirmations of said fact from outside sources. I'm also guessing that another contributing factor was the last phone call with my parents (which took place on Sunday...last Sunday). Even though I'm usually slightly less depressed, if not neutral, after talking to my parents, somehow this last conversation just completely irked me. I don't need rainbows blown up my ass every single time I talk to them, or anyone else for that matter, but something was...off. More than likely, I was already so depressed at that point that everything my parents said just sounded more negative and critical. I guess I'll find out when I talk to them later (it's already Sunday for me).
Of course, I'm still not completely out of the woods yet. There are several other factors contributing to my current blue mood, so it probably won't go away for a while. I won't mention all of them because that would probably be enough to fill a whole series of books (or provide enough material for ten Woody Allen films). Maybe I'll talk about what else is on my mind in future posts, but for now this incoherent, sad little update will have to do.
Will I return to typing up lengthy comments on Facebook? I don't know. I probably shouldn't. Most of my friends seem to be too busy enjoying life (or Candy Crush) to be bothered with my rants, so I might be better off saving my thoughts for here.
Oh well...since it's way past my bedtime and I still haven't been able to organize my thoughts properly, I should stop here and try and get some sleep. By the way, if you see me, just please refrain from asking me how I'm doing. At least for the time being. Just assume that I'm doing okay because that's all I'm going to tell you anyways. It's the one thing I'll lie about. Don't want to, but I also don't want to risk talking about how depressed I actually am. At least in person. The blog is different. That way I can cry without having anyone look at me. So, it would be really great if you could just keep the conversation light for now.
Oh, and thanks for listening (well, reading)! Maybe next time I can write about something funny and lighthearted, like sex. What can I say? I have a weird sense of humor...        
  

A bit of self-hatred

Here you lie before me, yet again. Looking at me with those wide eyes. Do you expect any mercy from me? Whenever I look at you, my hate towards you increases. As much as I want to kill you, I know that a simple and quick death will never do. I want to hurt you, I want to see you suffer, I want to hear you scream. Just give up, accept the inevitable, let me take over. Give me your soul so that I can tear it to shreds. I don't want any part of you to survive. Are you crying? That's so cute..and pointless. Everyone has a breaking point, even you, so just give in. Fighting me won't save you. So what should I use on you first: the baseball bat, the knives...how about some of sulfuric acid? What did I say? Fighting won't help. Oh, you still think that someone will come and save you from me? Assuming that there is someone interested in saving you, how will they stop me? We're inseparable, aren't we? But all joking aside, nobody will come to save you. Because nobody really likes you. No, nobody ever has. They all hate you. Everyone has been lying to you. They always have. I'll be doing them a favor by killing you. That's right, nobody will miss you. Oh ssshhh, it's alright... Now, where to start? Do I break your kneecaps? Dislocate your shoulders? Or should I just go ahead and cut off that ugly face of yours? Do you know how many people have been traumatized after looking at that...whatever it's supposed to be? I would be doing everyone a great favor by removing it. Don't worry, this will actually be an improvement to the way you looked before. Oh, and don't cry over missing out on love, sex, and happiness. Nobody wants you anyways. Let's face it, someone would have to be really fucked up to be interested in you. That's it, can't you feel the calm descending on you? Give in to the inevitable. Let me save you from yourself and this pathetic existence of yours.

Breaking point (not for the sensitive or overly optimistic)

Yes everyone, Bettina is depressed. Again. This would be no surprise, if my depression weren't so bad this time that I just wanted to lay down and die. *gasp* Yes, I used the d-word. Before anyone goes into savior mode and calls 911, let me just say that I've been suffering from depression off and on (mostly on) since at least the age of 8. So, do not panic (I'm not worried about most of you, just about the lone Christian mother who might accidentally stumble across this blog, and think that she can actually help someone like me).
At this point in my life, actively trying to end my life is too exhausting anyway. However, I won't be doing anything to stop my death either (sounds weird, but you spend some time living my life and then you can come back and talk to me about how it went for you...who knows, maybe you're able to live my life better than I currently am).
I am currently living in a house filled mostly with people who aren't aware of and don't even care how their actions and feelings affect everyone else. Everyone else gets mad at me when I point out the bull**** that goes on in this house, but then I'm also supposed to be happy all the time. I was raised to speak my mind and be honest, but nobody likes it when that happens. However, people like it even less when I don't say anything or lie. So, here's my solution: Give me a script because I am a great actress. I am great at portraying other people, but I obviously suck at being me.
I can see why people get drunk or drugged up because right now, those two seem to be very viable options, and they're looking better with each passing minute in this hellhole.
My brother's a whiny bitch and drama queen, who's way too damn lucky for his own good. My sister, even though she has matured quite a bit, can't decide whether she wants to be nice or bitchy, and she was like this before she managed to get knocked up. My sister's boyfriend is also a bitch, who thinks this is his house, wastes my sister's gas and money, is disrespectful (particularly towards women), and thinks he can get in a pissing contest with me just because we're the same age. As for my dad, oh my dear sweet dad...it seemed that he was finally able to mellow out, until recently that is. He very recently fell back on a very bad habit by threatening to move back to Texas. Why? Supposedly because he hates this house (I'm guessing it's more that he hates the people in this house, but he would NEVER admit to that) and because he was angry about how the house is or is not cleaned up. For once though, I wasn't there when this happened (I was in Chinese class at the time), which is weird because if you ask the majority of the people in this house, I am at fault for everyone's problems. Here's the issue: As much as my dad thinks he cleans up, he does more complaining about it.
Since at least three people have threatened to move out, here's what I have to say: Move the hell out! Stop talking about it and do it. If you supposedly earn so much money that you can afford to threaten people with moving out then you do it. This applies particularly to my siblings. Now, as for my dad, you're not a damn kid. You're a father of four (even though you only had to raise three), you're married, so you can't afford to just get up and leave, and even less to talk about such things.
As for me, I would love to move out since that seems to be my only chance at what is considered to be happiness. Personally, I wouldn't know what happiness is, even if it slapped me across the face. However, I'm incapable of finding and landing a job, which means I'm not making any money, so I can't afford to move. Heck, I can't even threaten people with a move. So, if anyone has a legitimate job for me, please let me know. If you have any other solutions, please let me know.
The only person who isn't currently driving me insane is my mother. She has always been the patient and understanding one, and now she is also at her breaking point, which is kinda sad because it took her a lot longer to get there than it took me. I feel bad for her because she has to suffer through all of this. I'm sure that if she knew 100% that she could get another decent job (or a job period) in Germany, she would just move back there. I'm sure my Oma would enjoy getting to see my mother on a regular basis again.
In many ways, moving back to the USA is the worst decision we, as a family, have ever made (aside from the fact that my parents had three children because I think that that was the beginning of the end for them). I don't completely regret it because of all the wonderful people I was able to meet and befriend, none of whom I ever get to see anymore (no thanks to overwhelming stress and depression and a complete lack of money). However, I also had friends in Germany when I left. People I still miss, but since, in addition to the reasons why I don't see any of my American friends anymore, my German friends have more friends who they are much closer to elsewhere, I highly doubt that my absence was and still is much of loss to them. Thinking about this, I do believe that this also applies to my American friends though... It just seems to be easier to stay physically present in the lives of, well, at least some of my American friends. In addition to that, I could have gotten my degree for a lot less money in Germany than here, and I believe it would have been easier as well, especially considering that I lived and could have studied in Heidelberg, which is known for its medicine and language studies. I would have also been skinnier and healthier. Healthcare would have cost less. I could have had more of a social life and been more independent. I probably could have also had a job by now (who knows with that one though...).
Anyway, enough with the rambling and venting. All that is left to say is that I'm done playing nice, I've been done being way too damn patient for quite some time now, and that with the way my life is going, death will ultimately be an improvement to my life and welcome reprieve to me in general, so the sooner it shows up, the better.
And if you didn't like this post, just remember that nobody forced you to read this.