And the payoff is . . .

I give up.  I just came to a realization, and now I’m giving up.  And giving in.  I have no control over my mood or my temper, I’ve been fighting it all my life, and nothing has changed.  In fact, the older I get, the worse it gets.  So, I’m going to stop fighting it.  I really have no hope that doing this will give me more energy for other purposes, but who knows.

My husband and I were just wondering the other day where the payoff is.  You live a life of depression and disappointment and where is the payoff?  I guess there is none.

I feel sad for myself, and I feel sad for him.  Life has been one fight after the next for both of us, with no reward other than disappointment, and it never stops.  Not for one single day.

Say I’m out working in the yard and one of the neighbors comes outside.  I think “Please don’t talk to me.  Please just leave me alone.”  And then I feel really bad about it and know that they must think I’m not friendly, or I’m standoffish, or I don’t like them, or whatever.  It’s none of those things.  I’m tired, probably overheated, sick of working in the yard, often profoundly depressed, and having to talk to somebody is more than I am capable of.  That’s all there is to it.  Putting on a happy face uses up energy like a ’53 Buick.  I can’t do it.  And I’m tired of thinking I have to, and feeling bad when I don’t.

Feeling sorry for myself?  I don’t even know what that really means.  I feel sorry a lot, about things I do that I shouldn’t, and things I shouldn’t do but I do anyway.  Does that mean I feel sorry for myself?  I know I feel sad that a life of excruciating depression is the lot I drew.  And I feel angry.  Hellishly, stunningly angry. ( I realize that’s no surprise to anyone who knows me.)  And I’m sorry.  Really.  You have no idea how sorry I am.  I’m sorry I am who I am and that I do what I do, and that I feel the way I feel.  I’m so sorry.