25 Mar 2017 - Camping Trip pt. 1
Evening.
Yesterday was day 30 on Lexapro.
Overall mood: 3.5.
As I said, yesterday was spent camping and hiking. The first day of the trip was...queer. I started out feeling intensely guilty, which is always good for my enjoyment. I was supposed to meet up with the group at 9am to head over to the campsite, but because I missed so much sleep last week, I slept through all of my many alarms and woke up at 9:43. There was a long moment of panic and self-beration, because I was legitimately looked forward to the trip and, because I couldn't do something as simple as wake up on time, I was so sure that I wouldn't be able to go. Favorite Person (eventually I'm gonna get lazy and just abbreviate), who was leading this trip and is fortunately not at all like me in instances like this, offered to come back and pick me up after she'd set up camp with the group. I'm glad that she did, but at the same time...I don't feel as though I deserved it. By all rights, I should have been left behind, in my room, alone, to feel horrible, because feeling horrible alone in my room is exactly what I do deserve for being an inconvenience.
After she came to pick me up, we went over to this mythical, magical-themed park that was crawling with small children but otherwise really cool. Being there improved my mood vastly; I felt incredibly playful, and really wanted to run around. However, I'm not one to run around a giant playground if I don't have two or three or four other friends running around with me (a group of friends I made at a metalworking apprenticeship a few years ago and I would chase each other around playgrounds with "swords" playing pirate). Favorite Person and the other people that came are not the type to run around with abandon, and I'm somewhat sensitive to what is and is not socially acceptable behavior. It's not socially acceptable for a 20-something to play in and explore a kid-sized castle if she's not accompanied by a child, and I don't have any kids, or kids to borrow for the purpose.
Speaking of kids, a little boy came up to me, arms out, asking to be picked up. I didn't know this kid, and he didn't walk away when I didn't respond for a few moments, so I obliged and picked him up. His uncle or guardian or babysitter or whatever came by a little bit later, and I handed him over - the other people in my group were tickled pink when I said "Please take your child"; I don't know why they found it so funny, but the things that come out of my mouth when I'm in a relatively good mood are apparently hilarious. Aside from the weirdness of a random kid coming up to me of all people asking to be picked up, the inner sensation of things being somehow right once I had a child in my arms and the momentary sadness once I handed him over was...bizarre. I, for the longest time, have been adamant that I 1) don't like kids and 2) never want progeny of my own, and yet I felt a surge of motherliness and protectiveness towards this small human that I'd known for all of five seconds. It was weird, it was unexpected, it was a drastic deviation from my usual character. I've had some mild almost-babyfever over the past month (I blame my developmental biology class partly and Favorite Person mostly), so my typical attitude towards kids has changed dramatically in a short period of time.
If I could go back in time, I'd've held that small child for a little bit longer before handing him over. I'm never around kids, and now that I've had a taste of being in very close proximity, I want more.
Anyway. Trip. After the park, the lot of us out for camping and whatnot hit up a trail for a hike, which was more fun than I've had in a long time. At one point, the path went near a shallow, rocky stream, and after spotting some little fish in the water, I ditched my socks and shoes to go in after them. I didn't catch any, which isn't surprising given that I was armed only with my hands, my wits, and a few plastic sandwich bags, but I caught a frog - stared at him for a while before letting them go - and a very temperamental crawfish. Whatever part of the brain that's responsible for going "hey, I shouldn't keep this animal" is about 90% defective in me, because that crawfish went into a baggie that then went into the pocket of my jacket.
His name is Jojo the Second, and he's got an attitude.
That hike lasted about an hour and a half, possibly more. It would have been shorter if we weren't stopping every five minutes it seemed to look at some plant, or examine/yell into some crevice in the rocks, or listen to birds, or hunt for critters in the stream. It was a rocky hike, lots of up and down, but I was confident (mostly) and wasn't too slow. It helps that we weren't by cliffs or any high drops, because I lose my nerve when there's a risk that I'll slip, fall, and crack my head open. It slows me down a LOT when I get paranoid, and none of the posse were the type to wait back to help me if I needed it. However, that wasn't really necessary on this trail, save for a bit where things were very slippery and I took a while to proceed.
Following that, we went about five minutes down the road to a second, shorter trail, which started fine enough. The trail was rugged, but doable; there were plants whose names I knew and a little stream beside me, and it wasn't too challenging to maneuver up the rocky path. However, once I reached the top of the incline, things went downhill for me mentally. I overheard Favorite Person mentioning hammock camping to another person that came with us on the trip, which reminded me of how I reacted to hearing about her going on a short trip to test out her hammock with two of her housemates. It wasn't pretty - not because I was angry or anything, but because it elicited a torrent of emotion that completely bypassed every logic and rationality filter. After an initial fairly levelheaded statement of feeling left out, there was a strong proclamation that she (and, by extension, everyone) didn't actually ever want me around, and only tolerated my presence out of pity. After she stopped talking to me that night, I wandered aimlessly around campus, and finding that the life sciences building had a door propped open, went up to my lab, sat down on the floor in a spot that isn't visible from the hall, and just cried for an indeterminable length of time, not even bothering to turn on any lights. I was intensely disgusted with myself for carrying on in that way, laying so much undeserved blame on Favorite Person. This was around two months ago, and an apology has been rattling around my ribcage for most of that time, but I can't muster the courage to do so. I'm too ashamed of how I responded.
Hearing her discussing that trip wrenched up a flood of guilt and shame, and as a result, I stopped feeling like an actual member of the group and more like an added-on thing whose presence or absence had no effect on anything whatsoever. Once I've reached the point of no longer feeling like a part of the group, my ability to enjoy myself evaporates. I hiked up a bit further with everyone else, and when I reached the point where the trail becomes a loop, I sat down and let everyone else go on without me. I wanted a moment to try and suppress what was building, since I knew that I wouldn't have a private room to hide and process in later that night. After tailing everyone back down the hill, at a far enough distance that no one'd notice my periodic eye-wiping or the drying droplets on my jacket, I fought my hardest to bottle things. I didn't need to break down where everyone could see.
Following trail #2, we all headed back to the campsite, which was an unholy half-hour walk from the parking lot. Ordinarily, this sort of thing wouldn't bother me, but everyone was loaded up with gear (or a cooler, or a large pot of chili), and since it had been raining, the paths were slippery, muddy, and overall tricky to navigate when your hands are full. Dinner was had after things were transferred to camp, and as is my usual when the depression flares up, I had no appetite. I was ravenous, and the parts of me concerned with survival wanted food, but my mind was repulsed by the thought of consuming anything. One of the other people camping with us (we ended up being a posse of four by dinnertime) asked if everything was okay, because I looked upset, and for a flash, I wanted to let the fullness of what I was feeling tumble out to him. That flash passed, though, and I responded with my usual deflecting "I'm fine". After attempting to maintain the illusion of interest in the activities of the other three for a while, I took up my usual depressed-and-suffering posture on one of the benches: lying on my side, arm under my head, back to the world. I listened to them for a while, until the turbulence in my mind made focusing on anything external impossible. The familiar, steady chorus listing off all the things I was unworthy of and that I didn't deserve for being an all-around awful human being was incredibly loud and, with no one talking directly to me and no task to draw my attention outward, I couldn't ignore it, not for a moment. I have no idea how much time passed, but at some point, it started to rain, chilling me terribly. The lower half of my body was incredibly cold, and I was beginning to shiver, but there wasn't enough motivation to do anything about it.
Eventually, the rain began picking up, and the healthy three resolved to head to the tents to wait it out. Favorite Person's tone when she told me that they were leaving and to get up had a hard edge to it, and I wanted to shrink away more than anything in that moment. The hurt sobs that I was fighting to keep down and out of sight bubbled up slowly on the walk over to the tents; I was thankful for the rain, as it would conceal the fact that all was not well. Not that anyone would scrutinize my face - everyone was moving faster than I, and as a result, I was the last in line.
The time waiting for the rain to end - and, more importantly, for the fifth and more experienced camper to arrive - was like hell for me. I needed to maintain some semblance of being not completely not okay, but that's a hard mask to keep up in very close quarters with three other people. I listened to their chatter as best I could, trying my hardest to keep my focus and attention on them.
The hours between entering the tents (which were damp, as the rain flies weren't doing a good job keeping out rain) and finally turning in for the night were more or less uneventful, save for a hike in the dark on freshly rained-on trails to collect the fifth person from her vehicle.
However, the time between turning in and actually falling asleep were torture. I opted for the middle of the tent, between Favorite Person and the fifth camper, and everything that I'd held in since earlier in the afternoon came undone. My physical proximity to her made things worse, adding a fresh layer of guilt mixed with shame atop everything else. You see, I'm a very tactile person, and I need a lot of physical contact, which is a need that has gone very much unmet since I left high school in 2014. Favorite Person has, unfortunately, become my only source of the contact I crave, which is a problem because I don't get the opportunity to interact with her frequently and she needs significantly less contact than I do. With me being me and dealing with what I do, this has led to me at times going out of my way to not touch, because my greatest fear is always that I'll do something that annoys her and costs me the friendship. That gets most pronounced on those few occasions when I sleep beside her, because my urge is always to scoot very close and/or spoon. While I don't sleep that great if I'm cuddled up with another human, it feels extraordinarily safe and comforting psychologically, and is a physical tether to the reality that objectively exists outside my depressed mind.
She's been clear in the past that she cannot sleep while cuddling, at least not in the sandwiched-together way that I like, though, which means that it's not something that can happen. This leads to strain between the mutually exclusive desires to both be pressed against her and to respect her wishes, which then is resolved by intense guilt that what I want would be the source of great discomfort for her. So, after waiting until I was sure that both of the people I shared the tent with were asleep enough that there was no risk of anyone hearing any sounds coming from me, I allowed myself to break down, curled up and hugging myself as tightly as I could. It felt like hours before I'd finally cried myself out and fell asleep.
I'd originally planned to get both parts up today, but I'm tired. I'll do it in the morning.
Until then.
26 Mar 2017
Yesterday was day 30 on Lexapro.
Overall mood: 3.5.
As I said, yesterday was spent camping and hiking. The first day of the trip was...queer. I started out feeling intensely guilty, which is always good for my enjoyment. I was supposed to meet up with the group at 9am to head over to the campsite, but because I missed so much sleep last week, I slept through all of my many alarms and woke up at 9:43. There was a long moment of panic and self-beration, because I was legitimately looked forward to the trip and, because I couldn't do something as simple as wake up on time, I was so sure that I wouldn't be able to go. Favorite Person (eventually I'm gonna get lazy and just abbreviate), who was leading this trip and is fortunately not at all like me in instances like this, offered to come back and pick me up after she'd set up camp with the group. I'm glad that she did, but at the same time...I don't feel as though I deserved it. By all rights, I should have been left behind, in my room, alone, to feel horrible, because feeling horrible alone in my room is exactly what I do deserve for being an inconvenience.
After she came to pick me up, we went over to this mythical, magical-themed park that was crawling with small children but otherwise really cool. Being there improved my mood vastly; I felt incredibly playful, and really wanted to run around. However, I'm not one to run around a giant playground if I don't have two or three or four other friends running around with me (a group of friends I made at a metalworking apprenticeship a few years ago and I would chase each other around playgrounds with "swords" playing pirate). Favorite Person and the other people that came are not the type to run around with abandon, and I'm somewhat sensitive to what is and is not socially acceptable behavior. It's not socially acceptable for a 20-something to play in and explore a kid-sized castle if she's not accompanied by a child, and I don't have any kids, or kids to borrow for the purpose.
Speaking of kids, a little boy came up to me, arms out, asking to be picked up. I didn't know this kid, and he didn't walk away when I didn't respond for a few moments, so I obliged and picked him up. His uncle or guardian or babysitter or whatever came by a little bit later, and I handed him over - the other people in my group were tickled pink when I said "Please take your child"; I don't know why they found it so funny, but the things that come out of my mouth when I'm in a relatively good mood are apparently hilarious. Aside from the weirdness of a random kid coming up to me of all people asking to be picked up, the inner sensation of things being somehow right once I had a child in my arms and the momentary sadness once I handed him over was...bizarre. I, for the longest time, have been adamant that I 1) don't like kids and 2) never want progeny of my own, and yet I felt a surge of motherliness and protectiveness towards this small human that I'd known for all of five seconds. It was weird, it was unexpected, it was a drastic deviation from my usual character. I've had some mild almost-babyfever over the past month (I blame my developmental biology class partly and Favorite Person mostly), so my typical attitude towards kids has changed dramatically in a short period of time.
If I could go back in time, I'd've held that small child for a little bit longer before handing him over. I'm never around kids, and now that I've had a taste of being in very close proximity, I want more.
Anyway. Trip. After the park, the lot of us out for camping and whatnot hit up a trail for a hike, which was more fun than I've had in a long time. At one point, the path went near a shallow, rocky stream, and after spotting some little fish in the water, I ditched my socks and shoes to go in after them. I didn't catch any, which isn't surprising given that I was armed only with my hands, my wits, and a few plastic sandwich bags, but I caught a frog - stared at him for a while before letting them go - and a very temperamental crawfish. Whatever part of the brain that's responsible for going "hey, I shouldn't keep this animal" is about 90% defective in me, because that crawfish went into a baggie that then went into the pocket of my jacket.
His name is Jojo the Second, and he's got an attitude.
That hike lasted about an hour and a half, possibly more. It would have been shorter if we weren't stopping every five minutes it seemed to look at some plant, or examine/yell into some crevice in the rocks, or listen to birds, or hunt for critters in the stream. It was a rocky hike, lots of up and down, but I was confident (mostly) and wasn't too slow. It helps that we weren't by cliffs or any high drops, because I lose my nerve when there's a risk that I'll slip, fall, and crack my head open. It slows me down a LOT when I get paranoid, and none of the posse were the type to wait back to help me if I needed it. However, that wasn't really necessary on this trail, save for a bit where things were very slippery and I took a while to proceed.
Following that, we went about five minutes down the road to a second, shorter trail, which started fine enough. The trail was rugged, but doable; there were plants whose names I knew and a little stream beside me, and it wasn't too challenging to maneuver up the rocky path. However, once I reached the top of the incline, things went downhill for me mentally. I overheard Favorite Person mentioning hammock camping to another person that came with us on the trip, which reminded me of how I reacted to hearing about her going on a short trip to test out her hammock with two of her housemates. It wasn't pretty - not because I was angry or anything, but because it elicited a torrent of emotion that completely bypassed every logic and rationality filter. After an initial fairly levelheaded statement of feeling left out, there was a strong proclamation that she (and, by extension, everyone) didn't actually ever want me around, and only tolerated my presence out of pity. After she stopped talking to me that night, I wandered aimlessly around campus, and finding that the life sciences building had a door propped open, went up to my lab, sat down on the floor in a spot that isn't visible from the hall, and just cried for an indeterminable length of time, not even bothering to turn on any lights. I was intensely disgusted with myself for carrying on in that way, laying so much undeserved blame on Favorite Person. This was around two months ago, and an apology has been rattling around my ribcage for most of that time, but I can't muster the courage to do so. I'm too ashamed of how I responded.
Hearing her discussing that trip wrenched up a flood of guilt and shame, and as a result, I stopped feeling like an actual member of the group and more like an added-on thing whose presence or absence had no effect on anything whatsoever. Once I've reached the point of no longer feeling like a part of the group, my ability to enjoy myself evaporates. I hiked up a bit further with everyone else, and when I reached the point where the trail becomes a loop, I sat down and let everyone else go on without me. I wanted a moment to try and suppress what was building, since I knew that I wouldn't have a private room to hide and process in later that night. After tailing everyone back down the hill, at a far enough distance that no one'd notice my periodic eye-wiping or the drying droplets on my jacket, I fought my hardest to bottle things. I didn't need to break down where everyone could see.
Following trail #2, we all headed back to the campsite, which was an unholy half-hour walk from the parking lot. Ordinarily, this sort of thing wouldn't bother me, but everyone was loaded up with gear (or a cooler, or a large pot of chili), and since it had been raining, the paths were slippery, muddy, and overall tricky to navigate when your hands are full. Dinner was had after things were transferred to camp, and as is my usual when the depression flares up, I had no appetite. I was ravenous, and the parts of me concerned with survival wanted food, but my mind was repulsed by the thought of consuming anything. One of the other people camping with us (we ended up being a posse of four by dinnertime) asked if everything was okay, because I looked upset, and for a flash, I wanted to let the fullness of what I was feeling tumble out to him. That flash passed, though, and I responded with my usual deflecting "I'm fine". After attempting to maintain the illusion of interest in the activities of the other three for a while, I took up my usual depressed-and-suffering posture on one of the benches: lying on my side, arm under my head, back to the world. I listened to them for a while, until the turbulence in my mind made focusing on anything external impossible. The familiar, steady chorus listing off all the things I was unworthy of and that I didn't deserve for being an all-around awful human being was incredibly loud and, with no one talking directly to me and no task to draw my attention outward, I couldn't ignore it, not for a moment. I have no idea how much time passed, but at some point, it started to rain, chilling me terribly. The lower half of my body was incredibly cold, and I was beginning to shiver, but there wasn't enough motivation to do anything about it.
Eventually, the rain began picking up, and the healthy three resolved to head to the tents to wait it out. Favorite Person's tone when she told me that they were leaving and to get up had a hard edge to it, and I wanted to shrink away more than anything in that moment. The hurt sobs that I was fighting to keep down and out of sight bubbled up slowly on the walk over to the tents; I was thankful for the rain, as it would conceal the fact that all was not well. Not that anyone would scrutinize my face - everyone was moving faster than I, and as a result, I was the last in line.
The time waiting for the rain to end - and, more importantly, for the fifth and more experienced camper to arrive - was like hell for me. I needed to maintain some semblance of being not completely not okay, but that's a hard mask to keep up in very close quarters with three other people. I listened to their chatter as best I could, trying my hardest to keep my focus and attention on them.
The hours between entering the tents (which were damp, as the rain flies weren't doing a good job keeping out rain) and finally turning in for the night were more or less uneventful, save for a hike in the dark on freshly rained-on trails to collect the fifth person from her vehicle.
However, the time between turning in and actually falling asleep were torture. I opted for the middle of the tent, between Favorite Person and the fifth camper, and everything that I'd held in since earlier in the afternoon came undone. My physical proximity to her made things worse, adding a fresh layer of guilt mixed with shame atop everything else. You see, I'm a very tactile person, and I need a lot of physical contact, which is a need that has gone very much unmet since I left high school in 2014. Favorite Person has, unfortunately, become my only source of the contact I crave, which is a problem because I don't get the opportunity to interact with her frequently and she needs significantly less contact than I do. With me being me and dealing with what I do, this has led to me at times going out of my way to not touch, because my greatest fear is always that I'll do something that annoys her and costs me the friendship. That gets most pronounced on those few occasions when I sleep beside her, because my urge is always to scoot very close and/or spoon. While I don't sleep that great if I'm cuddled up with another human, it feels extraordinarily safe and comforting psychologically, and is a physical tether to the reality that objectively exists outside my depressed mind.
She's been clear in the past that she cannot sleep while cuddling, at least not in the sandwiched-together way that I like, though, which means that it's not something that can happen. This leads to strain between the mutually exclusive desires to both be pressed against her and to respect her wishes, which then is resolved by intense guilt that what I want would be the source of great discomfort for her. So, after waiting until I was sure that both of the people I shared the tent with were asleep enough that there was no risk of anyone hearing any sounds coming from me, I allowed myself to break down, curled up and hugging myself as tightly as I could. It felt like hours before I'd finally cried myself out and fell asleep.
I'd originally planned to get both parts up today, but I'm tired. I'll do it in the morning.
Until then.
26 Mar 2017
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