Monday, August 2, 1999, 1.31
Last Saturday I was gonna call the Riagg. The number of the nearest establishment was on the internet, but the doctor I had sent my e-mail to, had given me the number of a new establishment which is rather close to where I live (appr. 7 miles away). I was really nervous. First I held the phone in my hand for a while, thinking, "preparing." But finally I dialed the number. No one answered. I had thought of the possibility that they were closed for the weekend, but I expected at least an answering machine. But no. Nothing.
So I dialed the number that was on the internet (after the whole process of preparing again). Then there was an answering machine, saying "At this moment we're closed. You can reach us during the week, every day from 8.30. In case of an emergency, call your family doctor."
My family was gonna come home tomorrow (today, Monday), so I thought I had blown another chance.
But luckily they decided to stay in Germany for another few days, on account of the heat. The whether forecast says it could get over 30 degrees (30 dgrs Celsius = 86 dgrs Fahrenheit), and that's the average for the whole country, so here in Bernisse it could easily get up to 35 (somewhere between 90 and 100 Fahrenheit). And where they are it's the same. And a 5 hour drive in those temperatures is like hell (because it's very humid here), so they decided to stay until it gets a little colder. A five hour drive may seem like a piece of cake for those of you who live in the USA, but for Dutch people, 5 hours of travelling is like going to the end of the world, since 5 hours is enough to go from the southernmost part to the northernmost part of the country, and halfway back.
So I HAVE to call the Riagg tomorrow. Or my family doctor, but I don't know if I have the courage for that. Oh, and if I call the Riagg, then I'll first have to ask if I can go there without seeing my family doctor first, 'cause that's not sure. But anyway, I HAVE to call tomorrow, 'cause I don't want to blow this chance. I guess I couldn't kill myself no matter how much I wanted to (something made me realise that last night). And I would be so mad at myself if I didn't go for help now.
Tomorrow at 9.30 I'm having a test. It's about math; I took it in the first trimester, when I wasted way too many evenings studying it (sometimes I studied 5 hours a night, only on math!), and then I still got a 1 (the lowest possible grade). Now, I haven't studied a single minute. There are only multiple choice questions, so I could go there and fill in something, hoping to be lucky. But I won't go. It's no use anyway. I'll probably have trouble sleeping tonight, like I have had the past few weeks, so I hope to be asleep at 9.30. And I feel way too bad to take a test.
And I just can't go to the university. Because then I would see all those people again, and somehow it feels like I don't belong there. I mean I don't belong among other people. It's a weird feeling. I don't have it that often, but I have it everytime I'm at the university, and I would also have it if I went to another school now. It feels like everyone there is always looking at me, searching for some words to hurt me. I know that's not the way it is, but it just feels like that. I don't feel "at home" there.
I don't know what I'm gonna do if I get treated effectively (besides I don't know that much about it, so I have no idea how long it might take for me to get "normal" again, and what the odds are that I ever get "normal" again). I mean, will I continue my study at the university? No, wait, I can't continue it, 'cause I've done too bad this year to continue; if I stay at the university I have to do the first year all over again. Will I do that? Or will I go to another school? And then what will I study? What will I do with my life?
Let's not think about that now. First, let's see if I have the guts to call the Riagg tomorrow. And if I do that, then I guess there's still a very long road ahead of me. I don't think this is the right time to think about what I'm gonna study.
Tuesday, August 3, 1999, 1.40
So I called the Riagg again today. First I dialed the number that doctor had gave me through the internet -- the one of the Riagg "near" me. No one answered. Not an answering machine, let alone an actual human being. So I had been preparing myself for nothing again. I went to the living room, dropped myself on the floor, and started crying.
Thirty minutes later I was somewhat capable of calling again, so I dialed the number which was on the internet -- the one of the Riagg further away from me (appr. 10-15 miles). A person anwered the phone here. She said I should see my family doctor first.
Now what should I do in order to get help??? Should I actually attempt....? No don't worry, I won't; I can't. But I would sure like to do it -- make a note in which I say I have tried everything I'm capable of, but that "they" just wouldn't help me -- and then "try" to kill myself, but instead pass out and wake up in a hospital. I'd just like to shock the people around me (yeah I know, it's sick and I shouldn't say it -- but don't worry, I won't do it). Especially those Riagg people who pretend it's all so easy: "go to your family doctor," or another great joke which is on their homepage: "you can always just give us a call, no problem." Like it's that easy to call someone if you feel like I do. I mean, sometimes I can hardly even talk. Sometimes if the phone rings I just let it go, I don't answer it.
Well maybe I'm just weird. I mean, I know it's not normal to not want to go to the family doctor. And maybe it's the same with my difficulty calling someone. Maybe it's just me.
Fortunately there is still hope:
1) Maybe I can get the courage to call my family doctor soon. Right now, I feel like I could. Tomorrow that could be different, but who knows. That would be the best thing to do I guess; at least better than calling the Riagg.
2) The Riagg-doctor I talked to through e-mail said I could make an appointment with him if everything else failed. For the Riagg where he works, you don't need to go to your family doctor first. There's one little drawback though: that Riagg is so far away from here (for those of you who know the area: this one is in Vlaardingen; the one of which the phone number doesn't work is in Hellevoetsluis and the one that said "go to your family doctor" today is at the Zuidplein in Charlois). Not "as the crow flies" (sorry for that stupid expression, but it's the best the dictionary can give me), but there isn't a straight road to it from here. And by public transport, I'll have to take 2 or 3 or even 4 busses to get there. But if I can be helped, I'd be glad to.
3) My family probably won't come home until Thursday, 'cause it's still so hot. Last Sunday Feyenoord played a friendly match against Aston Villa, and in the Feyenoord stadium (appr. 15 miles away from here) it was 50 degrees (122 in Fahrenheit)! Who ever said Holland was cold??? Well anyway, it seems to be getting a bit colder on Thursday, so my family will probably come home then. So I still have some time. Although I know I'll eventually have to tell them about this anyway.
Wednesday, August 4, 1999, 1.41
Well this is nice. I don't have much time but I'll try to tell you what's on my mind.
Today I called my family doctor. Finally I had the courage to do that. So the doctor's assistent picked up the phone. I told her "I'm almost sure I'm suffering from depression. Can I schedule an appointment?" I must have sounded pretty ill, 'cause I had hardly slept the night before (again...) and I was almost crying when I told her. But she said: "Call back tomorrow, between 8 and 10."
Once again I was devestated. Once again I had been "preparing" myself for nothing. Once again it seemed like people here aren't planning on taking me seriously, let alone helping me.
And another thing: how on earth should I call between 8 and 10 in the morning? I would almost be happy when I fall asleep at 8 o'clock! (Usually I fall asleep around 6 o'clock but sometimes I'm still awake at 7.30). I asked the doctor's assistent if I couldn't call at a later time, but she said I couldn't.
Now it may seem like no big deal to you, but I was beginning to get the idea that this search for help was one big mistake.
But alright, I'll set my radio alarm clock and I'll put it in a place so that I'll have to get out of bed to turn it off. So I will be awake to make that call.
I'm well aware of the chance that again I won't be helped tomorrow. In case that will happen, I have a backup plan. It's a very sick plan and I don't want to use it, but if I have to, I will. Okay here's the plan.
I just made a "suicide note." (Don't worry, I really won't kill myself.) If that phonecall tomorrow is in some way not paying off (I don't know what else this world has up it's sleeve to put me down, but one thing's for sure: it won't surprise me anymore), then I'll smack the phone down, go right over to the doctor's office and hand them my suicide note, saying "if you won't help me now, an unlucky person will find this next to my dead body tomorrow."
Really, I won't kill myself. But they don't know that. I'll just use it as a threat. I sure hope it works. But even more I hope I won't need that tactic. I know, it's a very sick plan and it's probably not right to use it. But then, what "they" are doing isn't exactly right either, at least it doesn't seem right to me.
I'll publish the suicide note as soon as possible. But of course I'll first have to translate it. And I won't do that now, 'cause now I'm going to bed. After all, I have to get up practically at midnight ('cause that's how it seems for me).
Thursday, August 5, 1999, 1.31
I went to the doctor today!
I could write a whole page about it, but I can't do that at the moment 'cause I'm not feeling well. Maybe I'll do it tomorrow. But I'll now write a short report.
At 9.45 I called the doctor. After 3 attempts I got through, and I scheduled an appointment at 14.45, which was the last abailable time.
(Phew! I didn't have to use the backup plan.)
When I went into the doctor's office, I was surprised on how open hearted I could talk about everything. I even talked about ********, and how I first thought I was just lovesick.
And I just told the whole damn story. Well I guess I've left some important things out, after all, I can't think of everything at once.
Anyway, when I'm feeling a little better (more capable to write) I'll write more about it. Tomorrow at 10.30 (!) I'll have to be there again, to discuss what should happen now. I hope I can write more about it tomorrow.
Friday, August 6, 1999, 1.17
Okay, here's the whole "doctor-story." But first I'll have to explain what I'll call the "Bernisse logics on doctors." See, we have this family doctor. But he doesn't get all the patients himself; he always has some "trainee." It's not really a trainee but the dictionary doesn't mention the word "stagiaire" (or stagier); maybe if you see that word you know what I mean. Anyway, this is some young beginning doctor, just graduated or almost graduating I think. She (I hardly ever go to the doctor but I've known several stagiaires; they were all women so I'll say "she") gets to treat a lot of patients. If you go to the doctor you can get either the "normal" doctor or the stagiaire; if you have a problem with either one of them you can choose to get the other one, but normally "they" decide who you'll get.
Anyway, when I went to the doctor's office I was brought to the stagiaire, which I was thankful of 'cause I felt very comfortable. So here's a part of the conversation.
Have a seat. Tell me, what's wrong.
- I think I'm suffering from depression.
- Wow, you go straight to the point (at first I didn't understand why she said that, but now I think I understand: I think she expected me to tell her about what I've been experiencing, that I'm feeling sad, desperate, sometimes feeling "empty," don't enjoy things anymore etc., so that after hours of talking she could say "Hmm... maybe you're suffering from depression.") Alright, tell me about it.
I don't know how I got started, but somehow I did.
And since when have you been feeling this way?
- It started around January.
- Just like that? Nothing was wrong and suddenly you were depressed?
- Practically, yes.
- But wasn't there some kind of happening in your life which could have caused it?
- There was something which made me sad, yes, but that couldn't have caused what I'm going through now.
- And what was that?
- A girl I was in love with disappeared out of my life.
(a crappy conversation followed, about my (so-called) "love-life")
- Have you ever talked to your parents about all these things?
- No, I couldn't. I'm not "close" with them.
- Describe your relationship with your parents
- I live with them.
- And that's it?
- Yeah, that's it. Well, we do talk 'n' all, I mean, they ask me how I'm doing in my study and stuff like that. But we never talk about feelings and all. I don't think they really know me, and I'm not sure if I know them.
- Okay. Now how was your youth?
- Well, I mostly remember feeling a bit sad; melancholic. Even when it was beautiful weather, I used to sit alone in my room. I never wanted company.
- And how did your parents cope with that?
- They didn't understand me. They said things like "come on, go play outside."
I could go on and on with this, but the stuff above is the most important. Anyway, she said she would discuss it with my "normal" family doctor. She couldn't just put me on medication, because she's leaving here soon, and I needed to have just one doctor to go through the whole process, she said. I should come back the next morning at 10.30.
So the next morning (which was "today" or actually yesterday) I went to the doctor's office again. We sat down, and she began to look very serious. She said "I've always been an honest person, and I'm going to be completely honest with you too. You probably have a congenital tendency to depression. The people I get in my office who feel depressed, are usually people who have just lost a loved one, so they're just sad. But in your case, it's different. This isn't just going to go away by a few counseling sessions. We're going to handle this very professionally right from the start. In this case we can't try to talk you out of your feelings first; we have to handle this professionally right away. This doctor's office has a "friendly" bond with a psychiatrist. Maybe he's in town tomorrow; if that's the case, I'd like to ask you if you could come talk to the both of us (her and the psychiatrist). If he won't be in town, then I'll put you on medication tomorrow. This doctor's office will be closed for the next two weeks 'cause we're going on a vacation, but I can assure you that we're not leaving until we have taken care of you."
After what she said about a "congenital tendency to depression" and that it's very serious and all, I suppose she expected me to feel devestated. But I didn't, in fact, I was almost "glad." So many formerly inexplicable things about me can be explained now. I always thought that I was a little weird, because I was so different in so many ways. But now I think that maybe the only thing that's different about me is that I've had a "slumbering" depression for such a long time.
The psychiatrist won't be in town tomorrow so I'm now on medication.
I could talk for hours about all this, but what it all comes down to: yesterday morning I was collecting the courage and finally nervously called the doctor's office, and 30 hours later, I had a 4 weeks supply of Prozac.
The doctor adviced me to take this in the morning, so my first dose will be tomorrow morning. There's an incredible amount of possible side effects, I think I'll list them on this page sometime 'cause you really gotta see it.
I don't know what's gonna happen now. September the first I have to go to the doctor again, to evaluate things. But my biggest concern at this moment is to tell my parents about it. That will be so hard. The doctor's office really try their best to help me keep it a secret, but there will be a bill for the meds and I'll have to send it to the insurance company, etc., so I would probably get sick of always hiding it. So I guess I'm gonna try and tell my mom soon. (She came home this afternoon.)
In 30 hours, my life has completely turned around -- in a good way, I think.
Monday, August 9, 1999, 1.36
Today my mom asked me when I have a test. I could lie to her again, but I didn't want to do that anymore. So I said "That's a long story, I'll explain it tonight." That evening I wrote a letter, in which I said what has been going on since January or so. At 23.30, the time she went to bed, I was going for a ride on my bike, and before I left I gave her the letter, then went away. I'll publish that letter on my page sometime. Anyway, of course I don't know her reaction yet; I'll hear it tomorrow. I guess I'm not only afraid that she'll judge me completely wrong, but also that she will feel so terribly sorry for me and shows me that. I hate that. I don't know why, but I just hate it. But if she gets mad at me, or says that I'm just posing or something like that, I think I'll move out of the house. Or at least use that as a threat.
Okay, something different now: the list of prozac's possible side effects. Here it goes (sorry for the sometimes crappy translations): Fear, dizzyness, drowsiness, headache, insomnia, nervousness, shaking, tiredness, dullness, decrease in feelings, less wanting to have sex, "light" feeling in the head, decrease in concentration, excitement, abnormal dreams, abnormal thoughts, the feeling you get from using xtc (that's not how the note said it, but I don't know the official translation), emotional lability, lack of appetite, diarrhea, digestive malfunctioning, dry mouth, nausea, constipation, stomachache, vomiting, alterations in taste, flatulence, inflammation of stomach- and small intestine mucous membrane, increased hunger, increased thirst, excessive transpiration, skin rash, itchiness, acné, word I don't know, skin affection, shortness of breath, inflammation of the pharynx, yawning, heart temper (??) (let's say "temper tantrums of the heart"), palpitations, vaso-dilation, fast heartbeat, internal bleedings, jointaches, muscleaches, powerlessness, pain in the back, disrupted sexual functioning, menstruation problems, pain in the members, pain in the chest, fever, hypersensitivity, influenza-like things, shivers, pain in the belly, disruptions in the eye-sight.
Believe it or not, I haven't experienced any side effects so far. And as the meds are supposed to work after at least two weeks, I haven't experienced any "normal" effects either. So taking that pill is like eating one little candy every morning: you swallow something and that's it, nothing special happens. Except you have to swallow that candy with water and without chewing.
Friday, August 13, 1999, 1.07
My mom is much more understanding than I thought. She does exactly like I asked her in the letter. She doesn't blame me for anything, and she doesn't show her pity all the time either. And she's planning on reading up on depression, so she has a clearer view on what I'm going through. And she said that she will tell my dad, which I'm very grateful of -- 'cause I could never tell him. Luckily he won't come home before the 29th of August. My mom is going to see him in Germany tomorrow, and then she'll come back Tuesday night, so one of those days she'll tell him about me.
And she also had this great idea: maybe I could "temporarily quit" my study. So that I can continue when I get better (I hope I do), or at least get the time to think things over. I think I'm gonna have a talk with my dean next week to talk about it.
About how I'm feeling: terrible, most of the day. I still cry very much, especially at night. And I still feel like killing myself very often. But the doctor told me that the first two weeks of taking Prozac could be worse than before, so I tell myself those feelings are just because of the meds. And at least I know there's hope now. I'm so glad to know that there is a doctor who knows about what I'm going through, and who will help me.
Monday, August 16, 1999, 1.56
I don't have much to write about but I'll say something about what's going on in my life.
I'm home alone with my cat and 15 yr old brother for a few days. My brother had the nerves of planning a drinking party Saturday night at our house for him and a few friends without even telling me! They had already bought beer (for which you have to be sixteen here) and strong liquor (for which you have to be eighteen here). First they wanted to do it in the house, but I need rest and quietness, so they went to the back yard. Then I said I didn't want a bunch of drunk 14/15-yr olds at our house, and luckily I was able to get them away.
I got some pretty weird guestbook entries today; two in a very strange language and one congratulating me with my forthcoming wedding (!). Maybe my English isn't perfect, but I thought my story and journal weren't too hard to understand. But apparently they are. At least to some people.
There's been a "slumbering" thunderstorm going on since 22.00 and it's still going on now. I hope it will end sometime this night 'cause I really can't sleep this way.
Oh, and the soccer season has finally started. Two of the three professional Rotterdam clubs won their first match -- Feyenoord are even on top of the league. And luckily Pierre ("Pi-air") van Hooijdonk will play for the national team Wednesday against Denmark, in stead of Dennis Bergkamp. And for the first time in soccer history, a match between two Spanish teams (Barcelona and Valencia) turned out to be worth watching. But who cares about all these things anyway?
The thunderstorm is getting worse; the last thunder lasted for almost 10 seconds and the ground was shaking. But who in the world cares about that?
I'm sorry, but I haven't got anything to say about things you might be interested in. So I'll stop writing now.
Tuesday, August 17, 1999, 1.56
I feel so bad. And I can't even cry. That's about the main thing that Prozac has done to me so far: I feel just as bad as before, but the difference is that I can hardly ever cry now. Right now, those bad feelings are "in the back of my head," not "at the surface," but I still don't feel well. And when those feelings are at the surface, I still can't cry. So then I usually scream or smack my head against the wall / floor. Wishing I could just cry.
It would be a good idea to go to bed now, so maybe I'd get some sleep on a normal time. But there's a thunderstorm going on for a change. It's been that way the last few nights. Yesterday night at 4 a.m., there was still lightning and thunder. I did get some sleep, though, and I woke up at 15.00. The day before that day, I woke up at 16.00. But tomorrow I'll have to get up earlier, 'cause around 13.30 there's some mechanic coming to fix the dishwasher. But what the hell, my brother can also open the door, and if he's not home, then to hell with the mechanic.
I think my mom has told my dad about me being depressed. He called the other night, and for once he didn't ask how I was doing with studying and taking tests. He didn't say anything indicating that he knows about it, but that's the way I prefer it -- and my mom would let him read the letter I wrote to her. Oh, that reminds me, I still gotta translate that letter and put it on my page.
The thunders are getting louder and louder. Now that I think about it, why are thunderstorms nearly always at night? Why not during the day a little more often? At least then it would bother way less people. Wow, again a louder thunder than the one before. I don't think it's going to stop this night. The weather forecast said there'd be some heavy storms in this area. I'm afraid they're gonna be right about that.
And so "life" goes on and on and on. And I'll be lying in bed awake tonight. And I'll fall asleep somewhere around 5 a.m. And I'll wake up tomorrow at 13.00, 'cause I set my alarm clock at that time. But I'll probably turn that off in a while. To hell with all the things I gotta do. So I'll wake up at, say, 15.00. And then I feed the animals, make dinner (which means: put a pizza in the oven), watch tv, go wandering around the internet, go to bed. Life goes on. It wouldn't be so bad if only I didn't feel so bad. If only I had a goal in my life. If only I had something (read: someone) to live for. If only I wasn't such a screw-up. I just noticed how good it makes me feel to say that. Yeah, it really feels good to say such things about myself. I'm a loser, you hear?! A failure. And an asshole too. I'm not worth your pity. I don't deserve all those people who are so nice to me. "You only get what you give." Well, to make that true, I'll have to start giving right away, or I won't be finished by the time I die. Please, people, tell me: what can I do for you? Anyone. Anything. Please tell me. Or I'll be in debt for the rest of my life.
Thursday, August 19, 1999, 1.53
Well I finally managed to cry a little last night. Actually it was more like "pulling the tears from my eyes" if you know what I mean, but it was better than nothing. However, today was probably my worst day since I started taking Prozac. Oh, and I noticed that I'm having a side effect: I'm having a dry mouth all the time. I didn't noticed it before; I guess that was because 1) I didn't have it then, or 2) I'm always eating / drinking something. When I'm not eating or drinking, I usually have a peppermint or something like that in my mouth. Or chewing gum.
As my mom wanted to read up on depression, I asked for some Dutch information at the Riagg. Today a few brochures of them came with the mail. But I don't know if I'll let my mom read those. It's awful! One of those brochures actually "suggests" that a depression can be caused by a weakness in your character! It doesn't say that literally, but it could easily be interpreted as such. While most pages I read about it clearly said "a depression is NOT a character flaw." Too bad my mom's not good in English, 'cause that's why I had to ask for brochures at the Riagg in the first place. Oh, and all these things say "go to bed at a normal time, and get up at a normal time, even though it can be hard." I would NEVER let my mom read that. I'm afraid she will (try to) make me do that. But at night (normally 23.30 - 2.00) is the only time when I can really be myself, let my emotions out, etc. If someone takes that away from me, then I'll really go nuts. Now, when it's day and I'm feeling awful, at least I know that in a while I can just do what I want, which is usually cry, or try to.
And thay say that the avarage duration of a depression is 4 to 6 months. Well if my depression had lasted for only six months, I would never even have contacted the Riagg. And the people I know who are depressed, have been that for years.
I really want to go to bed, but, big surprise, there's a thunderstorm going on. And this time it's even worse than Saturday-, Sunday- and Monday night. In Holland it's like, first there are 4 or 5 or 6 days of beautiful and hot weather, and then there's a thunderstorm. But this summer we had a few weeks of beautiful and hot weather, with hardly any thunderstorms. So I guess we have to pay the price now.
Oh, and Holland didn't exactly kick ass against Denmark (soccer). Imagine watching a non-fighting episode of Jerry Springer for 90 minutes. Then you know how we felt watching the game. But it's logical, 'cause 6 of the players who were in the opening team play in the Primera División (the Spanish league). Then why did they play? Don't ask me, I'm not the coach. And if I were, they wouldn't play. Except Patrick Kluivert, 'cause he did well, as usual.
Friday, August 20, 1999, 1.55
Okay, so tomorrow I'm going to see my dean. Or at least I'm gonna try to see my dean. I'm gonna ask what she thinks is best for me now. If it were up to me, it'd probably be continuing my study in January or later, or just quitting at all, depending on if / when I'm getting better. But I'm not sure if it's that easy. I didn't get enough points last year to go to the second year, so maybe I just have to start all over again. And I don't suppose I can do that in January. But maybe there's a special arrangement for cases like mine. Although I don't think so, 'cause I've never told anyone at the university about my depression before. So I guess they'll just say "if you started to get depressed in January, then why didn't you tell us sooner?"
But what the hell. What use is my life anyway. I know, here I go again and it will probably start to get annoying, but I can't help it -- I just wanna say how I feel. I've been thinking about ******** a lot again lately. To think that every guy she passes by on the street has a better chance of reaching her heart than I have, really hurts me to the bone. The past few weeks I didn't think about it that much (I was still in pain though), but now it's all coming back again.
What I just thought of: when two people are in love with eachother and they spend much time together, they usually start to bore eachother after a while (or maybe not, but don't blame me for saying that, all I know about love is what I read and hear about it). But I still feel I love ******** in exactly the same way as I did in the beginning, while I haven't seen her in... how long... 8 months. Eight months, and I still feel exactly the same! Just one of nature's BIG mistakes, I guess.
Saturday, August 21, 1999, 1.19
Okay here's the dean-seeing story, or at least what was supposed to be the dean-seeing story. I was planning on taking the bus at 13.30, so I'd be at the university around 14.30, after buying some batteries on the way. But I missed my bus (I was 15 minutes late at the bus stop...) and the next one came at 14.00 (it's still the summer schedule). And because it was another bus, I had to take a big detour. So I arrived at the university around 15.15. As I walked to the university I came across one of the few people I still talk to. She asked me if I was going to take a test, so I said no I'm going to the dean. I wish I could tell her more! But for some reason I can't. Well anyway, when I got to the dean's office, I started to feel even worse than I already did. Maybe it was even a panic attack (I don't know 'cause I don't know what a panic attack is exactly). I could hardly breathe, it felt like I had just run the marathon. I walked into the office of the dean's "secretary" and I asked if I could see the dean. Asking that was a little hard, considering I could hardly breathe... and my whole body hurt after I asked it, just because it took so much energy. My body (esp. my back) still hurts, by the way. But I couldn't see the dean; I had to schedule an appointment. So now I gotta get back there... Monday, at 14.30. Well, at least it's better than what I first feared they would say: "come back Monday between 8 and 10...."
Today was, again, worse than yesterday. It's getting worse every day. I've been on Prozac for 2 weeks and 1 day now, so according to what the doctor said, it should begin to work around now. But everything is just getting worse. Last night I've slept for 3 or 4 hours or so. And it wasn't a sound sleep at all. I'm so tired. I've been so damn tired all day long, but still I'm afraid I can't sleep when I'm going to bed in a while. I couldn't even sleep on the bus on my way home. Not even a little bit. I just drank some special tea which is supposed to "induce sound sleep," but I'm still afraid that I can't sleep. The nights are so terrible if you can't sleep. They seem to last forever. And the thoughts keep running through your head. Terrible thoughts. And then I listen to the radio. But that only works for as long as I'm actually listening. As soon as I turn the radio off, those thoughts come back again and I still can't sleep.
Okay, right now I'm gonna tell you something hardly anyone knows about me (maybe 1 person knows, but I'm not sure)... it's about last March, the time before I started making this page. I had my suicide planned back then. I had a recepe from the internet for a lethal drink, and I was making that. The first of April was supposed to be my last day on earth. The plan eventually failed, because 1) I couldn't get the drink finished because there were constantly other people home, 2) When I was finally home alone and made the drink, it failed 'cause I misinterpreted something in the recepe, and 3) I couldn't do it. I automatically started counting the days, and not only the days but also stupid things like "this is the last time I'm gonna see this building" and stuff like that. It was awful.
Anyway, the reason why I just told you all that, is the 3rd point: how awful it felt knowing that my time had come. I remember one Friday, the 28th of March, I worked for the exploiment agency -- we had to carry 300 tv's out of a container -- and when I walked home, I felt so horrible. That day was probably one of the worst days in all the time I've been depressed. And there was one song which kept on playing through my head the whole time: "Too much love will kill you" by Brian May. Not that it makes any sense, but I just taped that song 'cause it always made me cry, and that day it did more to me than just make me cry. I'm listening to it right now and at this moment it doesn't do anything to me. Well anyway, what I was going to say is: today that whole feeling came back again. When I was waiting for the subway, that song was on the radio again, and suddenly something hit me... the feeling was completely coming back again. I felt so hopeless. It actually felt like I had only a few days left to live and then I would die. God, it was awful... the feeling is gone now, luckily.
And guess what happened a few hours ago. No wait, I'll have to write an introduction to this too. A few months ago I searched if ******** was also on ICQ. She was. So I added her to my contact list, not knowing that she would know. But she was never online, at least I never caught her online and I'm online quite often myself. Well anyway, tonight as I was looking at my page if anyone had visited it, I suddenly got this message "User *her username* is online." I was really, what do you call it, astonished? Stunned? Well you know what I mean. I was sitting there like, wow.... she's online... she's here... Not that she sent me a message, of course not, 'cause she never added me to her contact list. But still, I had this feeling like she was near me, like she was "in my reach" (in the litteral meaning). And now I realise that if she was ever gonna send me an e-mail or something, it had to be tonight. But she didn't (big surprise). And I also realise that now she really detests me, 'cause I sent her all kind of forwarded messages... you know, these "send this to everyone you know and then something will happen"- kind of messages.
And at first I thought "oh my God maybe she's going to look at my page and think I'm a jerk." (Like she doesn't think so already.) It's odd. Everytime I write something, I hope that one day she will read it. But knowing that there was a slight chance that she might actually read it (I mailed her the URL), made me feel terrible.
It's all I love! It's all I hate! It's all too much for me to take! What a great song that is, that "LA song" by Beth Hart.
What more have I to say right now? Lots of things. I wish I could just make my exact feelings visible. Or find some words which exacty describe my feelings. Sometimes when I'm lying in bed, I come up with the greatest phrases to describe how I feel... but when I'm sitting behind the computer, they're all gone.
Oh yeah, and one more thing: my dad is coming home tomorrow night. I hope he doesn't start on me right away.
Tuesday, August 24, 1999, 1.26
I saw the dean today. Things went better than I expected. There's even a chance that I don't have to pay back my scholarship. And if I want, I can continue my study in January, but we have to talk about that some more, around that time. She also started asking if there was some mental reason for my depression. I said no, because I don't want to talk to her about it and I think it's none of her business.
Okay, that was the good part of this entry.
I had a conversation with my dad today. The kind of conversation which was the reason for me not to tell anyone irl about my depression initially (nice sentence). He also asked if there was some mental reason for me to be depressed. (By "mental reason" I mean things that happen(ed) in my life.) I said no again. I didn't talk that much, but he did. Here are some things he said:
1) An uncle of mine has something like bi-polar disorder.
2) He (my dad) always thought something was wrong with me since January. He never dared to bring it up (phew), and he hoped that I had brung it up myself earlier.
3) When he was in Germany, he had a strange moment one time: my mom had called me and he was listening, and as she hung up, he felt so bad, because he "knew" something was terribly wrong with me. He felt I was "lost" and didn't see a reason to live anymore. He told me what time that was, and he's right -- that was the night when I was watching that EC '88 show; it's in my journal somewhere in July. That night when my mom hung up the phone, I felt that way indeed. (But it wasn't exactly the first time I felt like that...)
4) So at the end he told me that I should never think that my life is useless.
5) It would be best if, starting next week, I would go to bed at 11 and get up at 7, no matter how hard it is.
6) I didn't disappoint him by not doing well in my study.
Okay here's my reaction to some points:
2) If he suspected something was wrong with me, then why did he keep hurting me? Why was he always complaining about me? Maybe he didn't know exactly what was wrong... see the next point.
3) He didn't know what was wrong with me while he was near me all the time. And then suddenly while he's in Germany, 600 kilometers (400 miles) away, he feels I'm feeling bad???
4+5) If I can't do what I'm doing now anymore, THEN my life IS useless.
Now I really don't know what to think anymore. When we're talking about my depression, he suddenly says that I mean a lot to him and that he doesn't care about how I am. That sounds nice. But during appr. 90% of the rest of the time, he's complaining about me, getting on my case, making me feel like I disappoint him, etc.
When he's gone and I'm told that he's coming home soon, I always say that I like it much better when he's not around. I always say that "ironically;" like I don't really mean it. But the truth is that I DO mean it. The above paragraph is the reason for that. It sounds terrible, and I'm not sure about it, but I wonder if I even love him... like I said, I'm not sure about it, and maybe later I will find out that I DO love him, that's why I'm not going to say that I'm sure. Because I'm not.
Oh my God, I'm crying so hard... I gotta go now.
P.S. I'm seriously thinking about moving out of the house.
Wednesday, August 25, 1999, 1.35
What I've learned today: my dad doesn't understand much about being depressed. As he was gone for 5 weeks, the garden is a MESS. So he has a lot of work to do there, and he wanted me and my brother to help him a little. Well, I thougt, alright, I can do that, I think... but of course I wasn't very good at it, and worked really slow. When he was looking at me, wondering why I was so slow, I told him that I was tired. Then he said "oh, so that's it, you're just lazy." He didn't say it in a mean way, but I know he doesn't have a clue about what I'm feeling.
Last night I was so tired. Normally I would have slept within half an hour after going to bed. But I couldn't sleep, of course. I was crying all the time, and I was so scared...
My dad thinks I can't sleep because I'm just not tired enough, because I get out of bed too late. *%^ %#$ him!
He's the only one of our family who knows how to get your doctor's bill paid by the insurance company... and a lot of other formalities too. That's why he had to know about my depression. But besides that, I think letting him know about it was a BIG mistake.
I'm still having suicidal thoughts a lot. Or actually almost all the time. When I let my thoughts wander away, I usually end up thinking about me getting hit in a crossfire, putting a gun against my head, just passing away, etc. And whenever I see my brother's toy gun, I automatically put it against my temple and pull the trigger. I've been thinking about sleeping pills, because it's so hard for me to sleep most of the time. But then when I think about sleeping pills, I automatically think "overdose of sleeping pills + pill against vomiting + bag over my head = ....."
I gotta get out of this situation... my dad is making me crazy... and he's not the only one... this whole world is making me crazy... I can't live at home, because I'm feeling like a prisoner here with my dad around. But I also can't move out, because I could never pay the rent and stuff... I don't know what to do anymore. I really honestly don't know. I feel trapped in this world; in this life.
Sunday, August 28, 1999, 1.48
A few days ago I bought Marilyn Manson's cd "Mechanical Animals." I could talk about how great it is, but that wouldn't be very interesting. What I wanted to talk about is how much I can relate to some of the lyrics (regarding my situation with ********).. Like "You were from a perfect world; a world that threw me away today." Or "I want to wake up in your white sun; I want to wake up in your world with no pain. But I'll just suffer in a hope to die some day. While you are numb all of the way." Or, probably the best two lines to describe the situation: "I shoot myself to love you. If I loved myself I'd be shooting you." Not that I would shoot her, but you know what I mean. If I loved myself, I wouldn't like her anymore.
Now I was thinking, maybe he's been in the same situation? Because there are those lyrics. Let's assume that he has. Okay, now could the girl he's referring to, be the same girl as I'm referring to? It may be a "little bit" against the odds, but think about this. Why did he name himself Marilyn Manson? We all know why: Marilyn (Monroe) (Charles) Manson. A famous actress and a (mass) murderer. But why particularly Marilyn Manson? Why not, for example, Pamela McVeigh? Or Julia Zürwehme? Of course, he had to pick a name and most likely it was a coincidence that he chose the name Marilyn Manson. Or was it? ********'s initials are MM......
Is there such a thing as coincidence?
(This theory should be taken just as seriously as my theory that the existence of weather balloons is made up by the government to avoid mass panic after an extraterrestrial spaceship has crashed on earth -- long story :-)
I have much more to say, but I don't have time for that anymore, so I'll do it as soon as possible.
Monday, August 30, 1999, 1.24
My dad was out of town for two days; he had to go to Germany again for one more night. Saturday morning he left early, and unfortunately he came home tonight. There was a chance that he was staying away longer, because he might have had to go to München. Wait, I think München is called "Munich" in English. Well, whatever, I'll call it München. But too bad, he didn't have to go to München so he came home tonight. He said that starting tomorrow, I had to "regain a normal day / night rythm." So I said "if you want me to go to bed at 11 every night (which he said a few days ago): I can't do that." Then he said "oh, I don't care what time you go to bed; what I care about is how late you get up." So I'll keep going to bed around 2 a.m., but I'm afraid he'll wake me up at 7 (like he also said a few days ago). Well, if that's the case, I'll have to use that "move out of the house-threat," I'm afraid.
Last Wednesday night was so beautiful. There was a mild thunderstorm here, but far away from here was an enormous thunderstorm going on. While there was a thunderstorm here, I could see the lightnings (summer lightning?) of the other thunderstorm. God, I'm glad I don't live where that one was. It was like, one lightning every 3 seconds. And BIG lightnings, too. I had seen such a thing only twice before: once was at a night a few years ago, I still remember it was the last day of summer before we had to go to school again. It was dry and warm here, but at the horizon you could see the lightnings of a terrible thunderstorm. I climbed onto the roof of the garage to look at it. And the other one was much longer ago, when such a terrible thunderstorm was actually here. That was really hell. The sky even turned green.
Today I told someone I know in real life about my depression. I've known him since highschool and we still send e-mails quite regularly, although I hardly ever actually see him. But anyway, he asked why I wasn't going to college anymore, so I told him. I'm glad someone knows. I promised to send him an e-mail tonight, explaining what it was and how I felt and stuff. So I'm gonna do that now.
Worst thing happened this weekend: Cambuur-Ajax 0-3. Best thing happened this weekend: Vitesse - MVV 6-2.
Tuesday, August 31, 1999, 1.26
This is bad. This is very bad. This is really really really bad. My dad told me to get up at 7.30 from now on. I was already in a pretty bad mood, so the minute he told me (on the phone) I started crying, and I couldn't say a word, so I also couldn't tell what I think about it. But he knew I was very upset with it. So I stayed in the shed for another two hours or so, almost all I did was cry. Then I went to the house to go to the toilet. When I was there I heard my parents talk about me in the kitchen. "He can't be such a "night person" all the time. Everyone needs to see daylight. That's probably one of the causes that he's depressed. He doesn't see enough daylight." I was devestated when I heard it. How did they get that idea? I've lived like this for years now, and before I got depressed, I never had any problems with it. Well, besides being a little tired every once in a while. But the last 2 or 3 years of highschool, I didn't miss A SINGLE DAY of school. Well, I cut class sometimes, but never because I was ill. I JUST NEVER HAD PROBLEMS WITH MY HEALTH!!! And now suddenly the fact that I'm depressed is because I don't see enough daylight??? Oh, and they also said to eachother that I shouldn't be in the shed all the time; that I "had to do something" during the day. Yeah, like I'm really here in the shed all day... I do so much more. Why don't they just leave me alone? I'm beginning to think that telling them was a BIG mistake. I'm thinking about telling them that soon. Well anyway, after I went to the toilet, I wanted to get a video tape out of the VCR in the living room. My mom, dad and brother were there. My dad was just walking out of the living room the moment I wanted to walk in. He wanted to give me a hug, but I was so pissed off, I pushed him away. Then he asked if I was mad. I was trying desperately to hold my tears back (my brother probably doesn't know anything about me being depressed, and he was also in the livingroom), and I could hardly speak. But I think they got the message. I didn't speak to my parents after that, besides saying "goodnight" over the phone.
Oh, if there would just be an easy and painless way...
The last few days I've been "cutting" myself with a razor. Not really "cutting" like self-injurers do, but more "to make a scar." I don't know if "scar" is the right word, because they will probably heal within a few weeks. I can make scars with hardly any pain. The moment I cut doesn't even hurt. Sometimes it starts to hurt a little after a few minutes, but it's not bad. I don't do it to experience physical pain. I just do it because I wanna see scars for the pain I feel. I have a 10-15 cm. long scar on my belly. I make those scars in little pieces, so making that one took me about 15 minutes. It hardly hurts, but it looks horrible. Maybe I'll have to cover my whole body with scars like that, so I'll be put in a mental hospital... not that I really want to go to a hospital, but maybe it would be better than staying home all the time. And, of course, it would be a great "signal" to my parents. Oh, and I'm practising letters on my leg, so when it gets colder (and I can wear clothes with long sleeves), I can carve something like "loser" into my arm.
There's also something good to tell you: there are gonna be at least 2 other free internet services in the Netherlands; one of them is starting this week! I don't know when the university will cancel my account, but I think by the first of September. So that would be tomorrow. Well, if things turn out well, I'll soon be online just as regular as I am now.