Its Ugly Head is Rearing

Mothering with depression. (Or anything with depression, for that matter)
Sucks.
Sucks.
Sucks.
I´ve had a long history with depression and anxiety disorders of many sorts, and ten years of being on on and off again medications of all sorts...and then I had a baby.

And I was able to taper off, to embrace my need to breastfeed her the purest of milks, to not haze my perceptions or days with the meds...
But that didn´t work for too long. Because, let´s face it, I am still me.

And recently, I have been struggling especially hard. The thing is, serious depression, yet non-debilitating depression, is really tough as well, becasue you´re out there, functioning, so it doesn´t really seem that hard, now does it? But there are days when all I wish I could do is sit in a corner and cry, cry, cry. My chest gets heavy, my mind comes to a halt, all sorts of negative voices stir up and emotionally whip me down to my metaphorical knees. And there are days when I can´t believe I got through it, that all was done, that it´s over...but then it´ll all start again in a few hours. Where is the relief?
I am so tired, guys. So tired. I feel caught, I feel misunderstood by those closest to me, I have trouble trusting that I am accepted and loved no matter what, that this too shall pass, that this does not define me, that this is what medication is for, don´t feel guilty...but guilt and negative future thinking is a bloody inherent part of this condition, so yes, I am struggling. There are days, and nights, especially, when I am running on close to empty, next to nothing but faith alone. Thank God faith can take someone a long way.

Failure I am not.

This is my winter song to you.

The storm is coming soon,

it rolls in from the sea

My voice; a beacon in the night.

My words will be your light,

to carry you to me.

I've been having a series of very difficult days. Old problems back in new guises. I can't outright call these days shitty, for every day's closure brings me something new, and it can never be entirely shitty when I come to the realizations below and when my baby is who she is.

When the voice asks me, or mocks me - who the hell do you think you are?  I have to take a deep breath and go deep within me and find the answers for now.

Who am I?

I am guardian of my home  - I am the one who closes the windows so people sleep warm and tight, I am the one who makes sure there is enough laundry detergent, the one who makes sure Cora has snacked,  taken a bath, who knows when she needs to shampoo or not. I am the one who guards her nights. I am the one who shows up, day after day, I show up. I am here, I am here - constant. I am the one who made choices to be where I am now. I am the one who knows of my abilities, capacities, who knows that money, career and financial success are not measures of what I consider success. I am the one who made this choice, knowing how damn hard it is to live by this in this city, in this year of 2014. 

I am not failure, as a strong relentless inner voice would lead me to believe. The icky sticky claws of depression and anxiety attacks have taken hold, over and over again, this last month, 2 months? 3? I never know when it starts, so gradual its onset is. I've never wanted to admit that this happens, but it does. Being a mother did not change me as a person with my own emotional conflicts that do not regard motherhood. How to deal? How to deal with the insidious cruel voice that insists: FAILURE! FRAUD! You are better off dead, better off not her mother, better off out of everyone's life. What a midnight black creature this is, except that it's hidden in broad daylight - so ingrained in my soul sometimes that I have no idea where it begins and I end. 

Who am I?

I am the guardian of my home, I am the silent and oft invisible guardian of this home. I give my love in gestures, in dishes cleaned, in kisses given, in keys placed in the “correct” place, in trips to the park, to the playground, to grandma’s house…I "share" Cora despite my fears she’ll “leave” me because she'll "see" what a "failure" I am. I show her beauty, fun, enchantment, I insist these exist, despite the moments i'd rather just give up and shrivel away in a blanket. I show her the world I'd like to leave. I show her that I seek help, I tell her not to worry, for there are people helping, for mommy knows where to go and how to feel better. I tell her when I am feeling better, that that moment has passed. I show her who her mom is, and seek for the genuine in me. Which means - I am not a rainbow colored cookie baking mom but I am also not a failure, and the world is not going to fail us, dammit, it is not going to fail us now, because I have a beautiful baby who deserves to be shown the best as well and to revel in what the world offers, in contradictions but moreover, in truth. 

So I breathe deep at night, when everyone is asleep, no matter what kind of day it has been and I repeat to myself and shout to that monster: Hey! I showed up! In the worst of days, through the worst throes of depression, anguish and inner conflict, I showed up. So there, take, that. 

A failure, I. am. not. 

expectativas e desabafo

My belly is moving in waves as I write. She is moving in waves, pushing against her tight quarters.
Does she know when I'm upset? What does it feel like in there for her when there is an upset?
It happened. We are here, living together. After all those talks about doing this, long before the pregnancy, after all the fears, sometimes disagreements and frustrations, we're HERE. In an apartment, fully furnished by us, fully equipped, everything chosen by us, everything thought carefully by us...and now it's done. We took the leap and I don't really know how I managed except to say that I really took it a day at a time, one decision at a time.
Now, I allow myself to cry and feel all the emotions that accompany this recent change in life cycle and such. Just cry out of the courage it took to get here, to take on this enormous responsibility right before another one is about to be born. To leave the little nest I managed to build for myself at my mom's place.
I still can't relax too well here. I don't know what's expected of me, to say the truth. I know we share the chores, that we're both expecting each other to help out and that there are no officially designated roles, other than who is most willing/available at the time something needs to be done. But in my head, that's not how it's playing out.
In my head, I don't grasp where I fit in the whole-he's-working-and-I'm-not-scheme. The whole I'm-a-stay-at-home-mom-for-now-at-least scheme. Money bothers me, I wish it weren't all on him. I wish it didn't make me feel like what I do or what I need is less important.  I mean, I have my little earnings here and there, but it bothers me that I can't go after a career per se right now if I intend to have any sanity left at the end of a pregnancy and the beginning of infant-caring.
At the same time, it bothers me that he can't do more on that front. Of course, the belly is mine, but irrationally it upsets me that he can't grasp how uncomfortable and scary it can get at times, and also how amazing and enthralling.
Just to show how confusing it all can be: I get upset at myself because I get angry at him for feeling too lazy to wash the dishes and I start reminding him he had promised to do it, and I promised myself I would let him do it and not do it myself, not give in to my antsy-ness...and I end up feeling guilty about feeling angry and "nagging" and end up washing them myself, but at that point it seems like I'm doing it to get at him, when I'm not, it's just that the sink full of stuff really bothers me.
And then I don't know how we're supposed to share the chores, if something bothers me more than it bothers him, how do we do it fairly?
And what do I do when he's tired from work and his blood pressure is off the charts but I really wanted him to read this chapter from a maternity book...I've been waiting for him to want to read it since month 3, I guess, but I don't want to nag and I know that his process is not the same as mine, i.e. he's not interested in the same things in the same way...but it's a chapter about how the father helps with the first few months of the newborn, how important that role is and what it's about really...and what I'm trying to tell him is I'm scared of these first few months when he'll still be off almost all day taking care of the world, it seems, being head of a department and dealing with pressures of his own and he might not have the mental, physical or emotional energy to be with me, to really BE with me. I don't know what I'm supposed to ask for, what is just a fact of life, what I should get mad about, what is not fair to get mad about, how much he should be thinking about these things as well, how much he's running away from thinking about these things and leaving me with them and how much I'm just being plain unfair or how it is unfair to me. But at the same time, I need help, because it's not gonna be a picnic for me either, trying to balance my welfare, the baby's schedule, the house chores, any translation offers that should come, his work schedule, our couple's schedule (whatever that means), the budget...and he's still busy having to live up to his parents expectations of doing things together and having a certain lifestyle, which is frustrating on another level that I can't quite put my finger on yet.
So this is our last few weeks of pregnancy and I am overwhelmed with how to start a married life AND a family life all at once. I feel scared that we're not having the time to have the couple part first, the just us as independent young adults phase...
I feel like I should be queen right now, being pampered in every way, being thought of in the littlest things, like if my feet hurt or if I'd like some ice with my water, you know? Or if I feel lonely, or bored... Or if my head hurts, or if the baby is moving, or AAAAH! I want to feel like he and his family understand if I don't feel so social or if I break some sort of social protocol because I need to respect what my body is asking of me. Without the added pressure of them thinking I'm disrespectful or uninterested or whatever. I wish I could be recognized for still cleaning the house top to bottom with my 8.5 month belly.
I wish I didn't feel so childish for wanting all this and breaking into tears because I'm not feeling it.
I wish he could understand that I am irrational pretty much at this point, well, since the beginning, it's been all about emotion, I wish he'd stop expecting me to appeal to my rationality when I get upset.
And if truly this is impossible for him, if it is asking for too much, then I would rather be left alone right now and do it by myself than to go through all this ordeal in my head of doubt, guilt, anger, sadness, doubt...without knowing how to address any of it, because it feels like too much to express, too much to ask for.

Hey, arrête la folie. arrête ta folie!

Da ascoltare mentre leggi: 

To listen to while reading:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGkw1VSUlfo&ob=av2e

Still feeling crazy inside. Feeling crazy angry at a lot of things. 

Arrête ma folie!!

I´m wondering what my next long trip should be. Where to, what to study, what to see, what to photograph...I´m dreaming with my eyes open, dreaming of the next train out of this city.

The more I talk about this the more I realize what a crazy city this city is. I mean, it is MY city, I woke up here - oops, i meant to say I grew up here (freudian slip?), so it will always be MY city and I will only accept criticism from people who actually live here. Like criticizing your family members..you can do it but if someone else does it, get out of the way!

I´m tired of the bubble land of civil servants, where all the prices are adjusted to THEIR possibilities. I´m sick of it being so expensive to live on your own, to pay for gas, to pay for bread. I´m tired of all the status symbols people use around here, ranging all the way to brand of their baby clothes, the gyms, workout clothes, your disney vacations , to the schools these brats go to, to the yogoberries. So healthy, soooo american. I´m tired. Yes. You get the point. I don´t care.

I´m tired of living in a place where NOT being a government employee means having to work 12-14 hours a day to make a decent living, and then you dont have any time to enjoy your new found living. I´m tired of HAVING to own a car if I want to maintain my lifestyle - I can´t count on effective or even cheap transportation. If I have at less than an hour to get anywhere, I can´t count on public transportation. I could, but then I´d have to either work less or sleep less. Both essential. 

YES, I am so angry!!

I´m angry I can´t change things without making a big mess in everyone´s lives. I´m angry I actually care about other people´s lives. I´m angry they aren´t thinking of mine. 

Is there a way out?

Now you must listen to this song and watch the video...it´s a fantasy, getting on a horse and that´s it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmaSCvN5YDE&feature=relmfu

I can´t even write logical sensible sentences, taht´s how upset I am right now. What does it take to change?? HOW?? HOW?? What do you do when words are not enough and people are not LISTENING to you?

Logically I would say - you stop depending on words and stop depending on people to make your decisions. Not all people, just that people who are not listening. 

Do not leave this page without having listened to the songs - half of what I´m trying to express is in them!

Calamity Jane, Calaaaamity Jane, calamity Jane, caaaaalamity Jaaaaaane....

I Was Speaking French

I was speaking French, then I wasn't. Suddenly I lost my breath amidst the rrr's and the eau's. Suddenly my head started spinning, suddenly I got cold and clammy and had to put my head down. Suddenly not even French was enough to keep me going.

Today I broke down at work, it was embarassing but too real to be too embarassing. I mean, whatever, I can't pretend it is what it isn't. It actually didn't start with French, it started before, right before the kids class. I panicked so bad I had to take my meds and then I figure that screwed with my blood pressure. Mixed and brewed with a whole bunch of other factors (moving to Guará, the new apartment and adjustment, my new temporary not so temporary hectic schedule, my psychology course crisis, sleeping too little, Tabita's death, lack of time with family and friends, the dry dry dry weather,  computer problems, personal health problems...what else?)

So I cancelled one class. 

And waited. 

But I couldn't think. I couldn't organize the most basic things in my head. How to plug in my computer in the wall? How to type a lesson? Where to start?? Where to find a place to sit down?

My heart racing, my hands still clammy. I couldn't figure out how to read and how to write and where to begin. So I threw it all into my locker and went downstairs in order to breathe, but all I could do was regress, infantile like, regress more and more, I wanted my mom, I wanted someone to take care of me, I wanted to feel strong, but all I felt was out of control and out of myself. Out of time. It doesn't belong to me anymore and I just couldn't...I just...I needed a break.

So I brokedown and like a broken machine, was sent home. Thank god. I'm grateful for the people who helped me allow myself to go home and just do nothing.

I still feel like crying because tomorrow will be here too soon, but at least I don't have to be up at 6 and I can stay home and DO NOTHING. I'll try my best to become better friends with my new macbook...right now I actually have developed bad feelings for it. :( I feel frustrated and angry at myself cuz it's a freakin expensive and freakin wonderful laptop, but I don't feel comfortable and I feel stupid when I use it. 

I miss just plain ole windows. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a mac person, maybe I haven't evolved that far yet. :P

(when will it rain??)

I don't know where to start tomorrow but fortunately for me, it is not tomorrow. It's a good sign, however, that I am able to write about it now...good sign.

The Fork

Deep metaphysical thinking alert:

I don't understand why I'm working. Other than the money. Other than the traditional, must be able to pay my own bills way.

Really, this is driving me crazy.

WHY do I do what I do? Or better, what for? Is there an ideal here, is there a goal, a personal growth target, a change the world hope, or anything? where do I see myself in 10 years? 5? What about 1?

I don't see anything.

Oh god, I'm am in such a bad mood today!

I hate coming to this fork in the road. I usually don't know what to do when I get here and I get panicky so I just turn around and walk back to where it was a bit safer.

Alas, the fork is there, and in order to move on I must face it some day.

And Who Would That Be?

Night Musings

I want so badly to be me with "no envy, no fear".

Sincerely be me, authentically be me, authentically make my decisios. There is so much crap in between, so much interference coming from different radio signals.

I've been feeling angry and guilty and guily and angry and then depressed and then self-loathing way too often.

What happens when I lose count of the rivotril doses? My eyes are already drooping, I just thought I'd let one last word on this Sunday before giving in and being safe from myself once more.

(Is it really supposed to be this hard? )

Really, who am I? What kind of person am I? What do I believe it to be, at least?

Experience has shown me I am extremely sensitive observant of everything, which makes me a fast learner and very impressionable. Which also means very emotional. I know I have to express all this in some shape or form, it is something that is stronger than me. 

I am an artistic soul at heart. Not political, not intelectual in the more general sense of the word...not academic, not scientific...artistic. Impression and expression are more important for me than...everything.

I have passions in life, I am an not at a lack for that. I am at a lack of a pathway into these passions. Maybe I am blind. 

I feel guilty for feeling like an original in all this, I know most people go through some variation of the theme. But heck, I am here to write about me, so screw that. 

I am a writer, in my own hand with my own pen, I am a writer. I know that, at heart, I could not live without it. I know I love words. I know I could live working with them, reading, studying, writing, translating, etc.

I am not a good people person. I mean, I am, and I'm not. I am when I'm in the mood, the expansive mood. I can make friends easily when I don't have to, especially when I'm on my own and meeting new people. I tend to bring people together, when I'm not trying. It's a curious phenomenon, for here at home, this does not happen. I actually keep away from people and have no intention of being the leader of any crowd or the life of any party. 

Alas, contradictions...notorious. 

I work well with structure, to a certain point. I am responsible, I live up to expectations, I can be counted on...but only for a while, because then I start to be incredibly bothered by this. I hate being counted on, I want the expectations to let me loose and I want the freedom to be someone else other than that. That is the problem with the jobs I take on and inevitably leave. I do not fit in well into pre-fixed molds. I can do it, I'm good at it, but I can't take it for too long. I am far too leonine for that, and when I think about it, I prefer to be a leader or autonomous than to receive people's compliments for a job well done. I prefer to be a leader but then comes a time when I get tired of being responsible for others in such a way.

I'm not saying I know it all and am wonderful, not at all. As I said before, I learn well, I learn fast. I am confident in this position, of a learner and apprentice. But when the learning is done, I ache for moving on. That's where I usually break loose and then have to start all over again (apparently).

Can I live with this? Can this be some sort of start?

g'nite

Meu coração

Let's desert this day of hurt, tomorrow we'll be free

Let's not fight, I'm tired can't we just sleep tonight?

Turn away, it's just there's nothing left here to say

Turn around, I know we're lost but soon we'll be found...

Sia

Sentada naquele carro, me surpreendi com a calma que exalava do meu ser. Afinal de contas, não é todo dia que se vai ao pronto-socorro por sentir que se está para enfartar.

Especialmente quando se tem 20 anos.  

Meu braço esquerdo estava dobrado contra o peito, como se o segredo fosse segurar o sangue mais perto possível do peito, da dor que exalava de forma nada calma de lá e irradiava pelo meu braço.

Ao lado, minha mãe estava furiosa.

Furiosa. 

Não consegui me importar muito, já havíamos vivido muitos momentos de frustração mútua para que eu me deixasse afetar com aquilo. Estávamos a caminho do hospital público mais perto e conveniente. Nunca tinha ido ao um hospital público, o temível sistema de saúde do Brasil, tantas histórias de terror! Aquilo era para ser minha “lição”, para eu aprender a valorizar minha saúde e não inventar frescuras sobre dor no coração, além de, claro, valorizar o tempo e energia dela. “Vai ver o que é bom”, ela disse.

Eu nada disse.

Vamos, pensei comigo mesma, e você verá que tem algo errado.

Até chegar lá pareceu uma eternidade, pareceu outra dimensão de ser. Não lembro que dia era, só que tudo estava vazio. Talvez domingo? Que cidade é essa, que ruas são essas? Onde está meu lar? Porque fui traída assim?

Saímos do carro após estacionar, em silêncio. Estou cansada, estou com o braço contra o peito e ainda não consigo acreditar que estou seguindo adiante com meu pedido. Parte de mim sabe que não vão encontrar nada, mas a mesma parte precisa que verifiquem, precisa que um médico que não mora na mesma casa comigo e não me conhece há 20 anos faça o exame. Tirem os vieses, os meus, os delas!

Entramos e é a típica cena de hospital público. Preenchemos formulários, pegamos senha. Está relativamente vazio (era domingo?) e não esperamos muito até que um cardiologista me chamasse. Entrei no consultório e só consegui dizer que sintia dor no peito, por entre muitas lágrimas. Parte de mim sabia que ele não ia achar nada e isso me fez chorar ainda mais. Minha dignidade estava quase ao chão, mas tinha que seguir, já estávamos ali. Ele fez o eletrocardiograma rapidamente e em poucos segundos conclui que não há nada de anormal. Rabiscou algo ferozmente num papel numa escrivaninha e me encaminhou para outra sala. Não sei o que está escrito, não sei o que ele vai me passar, mas considero ser bom sinal que haja outra etapa e não um direto “vá pra casa”.

A outra sala é de medicação e desta vez me levam para a ala psiquiátrica.

Levei um susto danado, mas não dava tempo para reagir, pois quando vi já haviam baixado minha calça e a injeção no “glúteo” já foi dada. Ai. Ai!

A dignidade? Pois é, a esta altura, foi-se. Tenho que voltar pra casa com minha mãe sabendo que acabei de levar um “sossega-leão” como uma histérica e que não havia nada no meu coração. Mas o farei com o máximo de cabeça erguida, pois arquei com as consequências.

Não conseguia me importar com mais nada ao entrar no carro e recostar o assento para me entregar ao efeito que surpreendentemente está tomava conta. A volta foi um branco e um silêncio profundo, um profundo nada. Alívio puro.

Chegando em casa já era hora do almoço e me recompus o suficiente para cair na cama...e acordar 10 da noite por alguns segundos e voltar a dormir para acordar na tarde do dia seguinte, completamente perdida. Estava rendida.

            Eu ainda defendo que havia algo no meu coração. Como posso sentir algo que não existe? As pequenas máquinas eletrocardiácas não souberam detectar, mas a dor estava lá e meu braço sem dúvida precisava estar dobrado. Não me importa se a emoção provocou aquilo, existiu, não é mesmo?

            Não preciso nem dizer que isso foi a última gota d’água para ser levada a sério em casa. Já estava trilhando um caminho limítrofe, com tantos “ataques” e “frescuras” que acabavam sendo “nada”, agora não tinha mais voz de vez.

            Tudo bem.

            Agora, pensando aqui com meus botões, lembro das incontáveis vezes que minha mãe chegou em casa dizendo que passou o dia achando que ia enfartar, de tanto estresse e ansiedade. Porque não lembrei disso naquele domingo e em todas as desqualificações que seguiram? Mas...pensando melhor, nem isso teria ajudado. A ajuda estava e mim e em buscar sair da nossa pequena relação distorcida e cheia de mágoas-expectativas-doideras-dependências. Já faz 6 anos desde esse pequeno episódio e do famoso 2005 em geral e carrego essas lembranças como pequenos fantasmas.
Pequenos, sim, mas fantasmas nevertheless.

If...continued

I have just read through my If...post (from way back in 2010) and I just did the first thing on that list. Without really realizing it, without planning to do so, I said, I can't do it anymore. And she listened and said, I understand, do what you have to do. I didn't even figure out what was after the "IF".

Now my stomach hurts I'm so nervous.

Tomar a decisão a partir da mulher maya e não da criança...será? Questiono um pouquinho isso.
Mas vamos lá.
A criança teria medo de decepcionar todo mundo, ficaria calada e terminaria o curso para mais uma vez ter uma estrelinha dourada grudada na testa. A menina sentiria tanto medo de fazer algo diferente que não faria e ficaria chorando sozinha enquanto "dá conta".

ou...
a menina choraria e diria, não dou conta, mãe, por favor faça algo, por favor me libere!
Mas não tem mais mães para me liberar ou ir pra secretaria por mim. Não tem mãe para por a mão na testa e constatar a febre. Seria a eu-mulher que teria que fazer isso por mim mesma?

The voices that screech FAILURE in my head won't let me be.
FAILURE, COWARD, STUPID, SCREWED, ETC...All sorts of pleasant things.
They say, you won't be able to handle it, the not knowing, the consequences of letting go of what you know but no longer love. I know I love the people that are there, I know I love the way they make me feel safe. But at the end of the day, these people are not here with me and they are not there with me when I'm facing the possibilities of my life. They're out there facing their own.

So what is it gonna be? Can I handle the consequences of my decision, EITHER WAY? Stay or go? What makes me sick to my stomach is the feeling that I can't handle it either way. That it no longer pends on the decision itself, but on my own existance, pure and simple.

I'm scared of getting sick again, scared of the fever.

What is wisdom in this case, what is prudence, what is stupidity?

God, I pray to thee tonight like I haven't in a long time. Please help me through. Please help me through, don't leave me hanging by a thread, please don't let me flip out on myself, don't let my body lose faith and begin to lose ground.
Please god, please.

Broken Strings

Let me hold you

For the last time

It's the last chance to feel again

But you broke me

Now I can't feel anything

When I love you

It's so untrue

I can't even convince myself

When I'm speaking

It's the voice of someone else

Oh it tears me up

I tried to hold but it hurts too much

I tried to forgive but it's not enough

To make it all okay

You can't play our broken strings

You can't feel anything

That your heart don't want to feel

I can't tell you something that aint real

Oh the truth hurts

And a lie's worse

How can I give anymore

And I love you a little less than before

Oh what are we doing

We are turning into dust

Playing house in the ruins of us

Running back through the fire

When there's nothing left to save

It's like chasing the very last train

When it's too late

One year ago just about I was singing this song practically every day. Actually, it was this song that made me realize what was going on in my old relationship. I would sing this in the car on the radio and suddenly the words were so true that I was crying with this newfound insight. "You can't play on broken strings" was my mantra for weeks and weeks. It tears me up...

These emotions since then have subsided and it' ok now. 

THE TRUTH HURTS, A LIE'S WORSE. 

I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here anymore. I haven't been wanting to be here since 2006. And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it. 

let me repeat.

I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE. I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE! 

I've beaten myself down with all the rationalizations possible known to man:

1) be reasonable, here you have people you know, here you have "contacts"

2) be reasonable, you're gonna just leave everything, you need money first!

3) be reasonable, be patient, you just have to be willing to do things you dont really like until you can do what you really want. 

4) be reasonable, it's just a city, it's not really about a city

Ok. Ok. Ok. 

BE REASONABLE!!??

What an awful pair of words paired together. 

How about this, be reasonable:

I have been doing things I don't really enjoy for the last hundred years.

I feel suffocated here and petrified half the time

I don't feel I fit in anywhere when it was supposed to come with time, I don't feel I have a home

My mother is here but isn't, I have no idea of her input and as much as I desperatley need it I desperately don't want it because I'm tired of her point of view.

Make money with what? with what? Teaching English? cuz that's all I've got, for the past 5 years, teaching English is all I've got and it was always supposed to be temporary and something to help out until I reached the next step.

WHERE IS THE NEXT STEP?

Here I am, at a dead-end with my 7 year brasilia investment in my psychology career. I want to go back and start over. I have a dead diploma in my hands and a lot of resentment. I feel betrayed by the promise that this was going to be worth it in the end, that my vocation was truly this. In the end, nobody really cares anymore and I'm left here with this degree and this qualification I don't enjoy. 

I think I'm losing it, actually, i don't THINK I am, I AM.

I don't have the togetherness required for putting together a plan, for thinking long-term, for organizing myself into something that resembles and adult, because I am going crazy dealing with the suffocation, the boredom, the fright, the tiredness and the anger.

I lost the moment when I was supposed to get out of here, like my sister. I lost the several opportunities that came up in times when I didn't have maturity enough to take them.

I don't know what to do. I literally do not know what to do. 

All that comes to me is that "what a huge disappointment you're going to turn out to be...AGAIN."

That's all you do, afterall, disappoint.

I don't know what to do.

Let me rant. I know this isn't the greatest attitude to deal with anything, but I'm just getting things off my chest, I'm not feeling well today.