Anxiety has been acting up lately because of everything going on, so I mean I guess I have some reason to be anxious. But it doesn't mean the anxiety is any earier to deal with just because I know part of the reasoning behind my anxiety.
Signed up for a crapload of medical studies.
Anxiety is really physical as of recently.
I've been in touch with some people I met in therapy. They're awesome. I saw one on Wednesday and the other one I haven't seen in ages but we've been texting alot. There are quite a few that I still talk to, but those two are the ones who I have heard from the most within the last two weeks.
Many psych papers ask about the last two weeks. I think its because to be officially diagnosed with major depressive disorder, one must have experienced the symptoms for at least two consecutive weeks. So maybe that's why mood questions are based off of your mood in the last two weeks.
I've spoken of her before but I'm changing her nickname right now because I don't remember the previous one I gave her and I don't feel like going back to old journals to try to find it to remember. So this person...Mallory...we were wonderful friends for ten or twelve years. We sort of had a romantic experience together but nothing really. Just weeks after that happened, Mallory stopped talking to me. Mallory had come out as lesbian so its not like she was dating a guy (she was dating a girl who I only know by name, when Mallory told me). Mallory wouldn't respond. I was eventually able to eek out a reason as to why she was so mad at me and ignoring me and not talking to me. She told me and then turned away as if that was all. When she walked past me later that day, it was as if she saw right through me. No eye contact, no smile, no anything...not even a slight movement or gesture to at least recognize my existence.
I felt like maybe it was the romance(ish) thing...it was my first time having any sort of romantic experience. Well, that's not true. First *consented* time. I asked her, she said this wasn't the reason why.
Then she started talking to me and maybe I should've told someone about what she was saying but she said she was okay and I believed her. She seemed strong and didn't show her emotions, really, so everyone believed she was super duper happy (she was pretty energetic when she was in a good mood, very soft spoken, but loud when with friends). I saw all of it in writing. But since she wrote about it and said she was fine, I mistakenly took her word.
I shouldn't have sworn on the book. The book where we both wrote all the shit we can't tell anyone in the world. And we went back and forth, writing our own and then reading each other's. I couldn't tell on her because I said I wouldn't. And if one of us was going down, so was the other one.
I shouldn't have.
I should have told someone what happened to her and what was going on, right then and there. I didn't. Barely three months later and she stopped going to school. Stopped completely. No one knew why. She didn't talk to anyone. No one saw her. She didn't respond to texts, phone calls, emails, Facebook messages. Besides one person spotting her outside one day, no one had seen her. This was like this for a good half year or so.
I knew there were problems but its not like I could really do anything. And she wasn't talking to me.
Next thing I know, I'm lying down and watching television on a Friday night in the spring and I get the news over the phone. I skipped the first call because I don't really talk on the phone. But then the person texted me to say she was calling...or something like that. It wasn't Mallory. It was someone I've known for 10 years or so also, named Freckles. Freckles and I had previously tried to talk about Mallory because the three of us were friends and Freckles and I were so.fucking.scared. about Mallory. I don't know what the fuck I could have done at that point.
It was painful in my chest and I hated feeling so helpless. But there I stood for months. And months. And now its been two years and she won't speak to me at all. I get so choked up talking about her and it feels like my chest is filled with some sort of rage for not doing anything when I could. Though could I really have done anything at any of those points? No.
I was part of the problem and so it didnt work out where I could be part of the solution, as well.
I think I know what happened but not for sure...anyway, I'm pretty sure that she's in intensive care far away from the college she was attending. Thousands of miles away. Fuck.
Its not about me, I know. But I hate the pain of longingness. I want to understand her so I can make her better.
I can't stop thinking about her. I love her as a sister, as a best friend, but I don't know that we'll ever have anything like that again. Maybe she will with others, but I won't. I don't do so well when I have to let go. Friendships are really...rocky. I can't explain what goes on in me.
I have another buddy who just went inpatient to a hospital, as well.
OCD is still creeping its way into most of what I do. Getting headaches and easily fatigued.
Have been constantly sad and slowed down. I just feel worn. I'm going to stop explaining my feelings now or else they get too much for everyone to read and for myself to write.