Testing My Faith

I feel I’m testing my faith, well others may think I’m being crazy.

People can argue that I should do this or that. Think I should try what they’re doing even though they aren’t happy themselves but I guess I should jump on that band wagon because it’s the thing to do.

Living life with mental illness and chronic illness makes things so much more difficult for me. I’m torn between wanting to live and wanting to die.

I have never been a fan of going to the doctor (who is?). I know one should be better safe than sorry but most doctors don’t do much. It’s hard to find a “good” doctor and when you do, better make sure you have “good” health insurance or you won’t be seeing them again.

Anyways I have anxiety which causes my heart rate to race and my blood pressure is very high. I have hypertension. The numbers are dangerous high mostly all the time and I have been at a life threatening moment one time. I don’t have a doctor, which means I am not on any prescriptions. Even though I don’t want to take any prescription drugs, when it came to my blood pressure I was willing to take something to help get it down. Now I’ve gone so long without taking anything, that I’m like what’s the point. I’m still here, still kicking it. I want to test my faith.

I am in the process of trying to change my eating habits, getting restful sleep, exercising and hopefully being stress free. (Easier said than done) to be honest I’ve been trying to do these things for the last few years. I can never stick with exercising (I get bored) the sleep part I sleep whenever I can actually fall asleep and hope I don’t get disturbed. Eating habits are difficult when every time family gets together it’s food involved. Watching others eat things and asking if I want some. Feeling guilty because someone cooked and I feel I have to eat. It’s crazy all the excuses I’ve been telling myself. I have given up many times but here I am starting again. This time I really want change. I feel more determined. Food has to get right because then the exercise won’t even matter.

Having anxiety makes me panic and worry all the time about so many things. Even other people cause me to think about even more things. So being less stress is a job in its self.

Having Depression makes me want to give up. Makes me ask questions like why am I needed here? I’m just in the way, I won’t be missed. Etc…

So I’m like if God wants me to be here then he will keep me here. He has so far, I’m 33 years old and my life has always been full of stress. I think I almost made it through my twenties with an ok blood pressure. (I think) I put on extra weight over last few years also was eating more and wrong which made things worse and is causing my body more pain.

Now I’ve been trying to get back to how I was in my early twenties (wishful thinking) I was still “crazy” but at least I weighed less and that helped.

People don’t agree with how I live my life because I don’t want to follow the same paths as others. I want my own path and I want to show that sometimes one has to open their eyes to what really is versus what they’ve been told or shown.

The healthiest person can get sick. Someone taking many prescriptions may never get well. A baby or young child can die. Someone can walk away from a car accident unharmed. Someone who has never smoked a day in their life can get lung cancer. Do you get what I’m saying? These things happen. Why?

I want to die, I’m not trying to harm myself but people don’t like that they feel I’m not trying to “fix” myself. As long as I keep making it to the next day, I will keep going until Life it self takes me out.

People hate hearing the truth and I’m scared sometimes to tell my truth when it comes to my depression because no one can understand. My truth is I am doing the very best I can despite the fact I don’t want to be here anymore. This is not a thought that just popped in my mind, this is something even as a young child I knew I didn’t want to be in the world, in my life or around all these people who don’t understand me.

This can be argued for hours… many will say one must do things to help prolong their life etc…

I’m here, doing what I can, trying my best. That’s all I have. Don’t make me feel guilty for making my own choices and using my own thought process to live my life the way I want. I give respect and I just want that same respect back.

I’ve become adapted to my anxiety, depression and my pain because it’s been there always, it grew up with me.

I’m naturally strong and I have a tough time being weak. I don’t need a “crutch.” I believe if something is going to happen it will happen no matter what you do. Of course we will always try to figure out how not to allow whatever to happen but so much is out of our control.

All I know is to fight, but everyday I want to give up. I don’t understand what I’m fighting for. I have never lived my life for me. I don’t even care about much anymore.

Nowadays I feel I’m not accomplishing anything. Everyday I’m attempting to hold on to what’s left of a dream and I’m constantly trying to get sleep. Before I know it the day goes by and I’m back into the night trying to fall asleep again.

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Can’t Sleep 

It’s a little after five in the morning and I been up since yesterday, I can’t sleep. I’m crying still thinking of things said to me yesterday. 

I’m going to move on from it but it will always remain with me as a weight on my back. 

No one understands me and they all think they know me, it’s laughable. 

Here’s some things said to me yesterday by my mother, FYI she has major depression sees a therapist and psychologist and takes prescription drugs for it among other things. 

The first statement was said to me after she asked me a question but knew i was about to get started up and she wanted to stop me. This happens a lot because she can’t handle my truth and the way I see things and she doesn’t like when I remind her of my childhood. Yes she did the very best she could but she fails to realize I did my very best as well and that’s what I continue to do, my best without having a nervous breakdown and ending up being admitted into a hospital. 

“No I’m sorry I asked. Nope, I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I know whatever you’re about to say is going to be stupid.” 

These statements were said when I explained how I don’t agree with taking drugs. As if I’m going to pop a pill and it’s going to motivate me to want to live in this world. As if it’s going to make me a entirely different person. It’s going to make me look at life so much better and I’m going to be so happy and nothing will ever bother me or worry me again. 

“So when are you going to fix yourself?” 
“When are you going to get help?” 

This statement here I didn’t even understand. I guess life and living is about money. If I was working no matter how much I make, no matter how I feel, it would make people look at me as a better person. 

“It’s not that you’re unimportant, it’s that you don’t stay at a job for very long.” 

I’ve worked many jobs, longest time was eleven months. Every job I worked extremely hard, gave it my all. Mostly retail jobs but also some working with food. The most I ever got paid an hour was $9.50. Still living at home at the time I had to help pay bills. So it was impossible for me to save anything. I didn’t see how I would ever get enough money to get my own car or my own place to stay. I remember my mom told me that I wouldn’t be able to make it on my own or afford it. I only got praised when I was doing what I was told or she was in a loving, caring mood. 

Growing up life for me became more difficult every day. 

She hates when I say, “Well you wanted to have kids.” Or “I didn’t ask to be born.” 

I think it’s wrong for people to become parents and think that them doing what they think is the best they could do is good enough and after 18 years old sometimes sooner, that now it’s the child who has to figure out life from there. Being told “I didn’t have anyone to tell me how to do things or explain it to me. I had to figure it out on my own.” 

Wow, it’s just wrong. At some point the chain has to be broken. I love my mom so much but she should not have had me. I should not be here. 

I believe when I was born, both my parents were depressed and it got worst. My entire life I have been trying to fix myself. I’ve been trying to fit in. I’ve been trying to live as others do. My entire life I have not wanted to be here. 

I apologize for being a disappointment and not trying hard enough. Not being able to be someone who they can brag about. 

It’s not that I’m lazy I just can’t handle all the stress in the world. Stress of working and stress at home is just too much for me. It’s not that I want someone to support me it’s just I’m already working overtime tending to my mind, body and soul. The sad part is I believe I’m failing at that as well. 

He·red·i·tar·y


I wanted to try and not talk about something but it’s a very important part of my story. It’s only fair that I explain how everything is connected. 
My mother has major depression so when she got pregnant with me at the time (and she has told me) that there were negative people around her she let the things they said get to her and she was very depressed while pregnant with me. 

Also my father would not admit that he has depression as well but he sure is depressed. (He drinks alcohol to cope) So with all the characteristics of my mom and dad mixed together, created the person writing this blog. 
Anyways among other things that happened in my life. Anxiety issues was always present. Of course I didn’t know something was wrong with me, always thought I was different. Thinking back, I don’t remember all my childhood moments but I remember having my first panic attack at least the only one I knew about at the time. Well maybe it was also panic when I was dropped off at my grandmas and if my mom didn’t pick me up when she said she would, I was not happy. I would call her like crazy until she came to get me. (Separation anxiety maybe?) 

Ok back to the other story: I went to a sleep over. It was a girl from school, it was her birthday and I was happy I got invited, felt like I had friends until we laid down to sleep. I don’t remember what I was thinking but I began to cry uncontrollably. The other girls were scared not knowing what to do. They all take me to the girls mother and she calls my mom to come get me. I was so embarrassed. I had no idea why I freaked out. I never gave that moment much thought until I was an adult. 
Like I said apparently I was birthed into this world carrying depression and anxiety. 
Saw my mother go through a lot of difficult times and I never was going to claim I had depression. I told myself a lot of excuses to why I felt the way I did. It wasn’t until I was 17 years old and I finally got my first job. Note I did not want but I had graduated early from high school, I was just waiting around for my graduation time. Anyways I worked my butt off. The one or two days off, which I felt I wasn’t getting, was not enough. I was exhausted and one day I couldn’t get out of bed. In my pitch-dark bedroom I laid there like I can’t even do life today. I didn’t want to call my job because I knew I would still have to go in and I needed rest, so much rest. 
The older I got, the harder it became to hide my feelings, hide that I wasn’t quite like everyone else. It’s too emotional for me to take you back down the path I came from but believe me, it’s a miracle I’m still here. 

http://www.everydayhealth.com/news/is-anxiety-hereditary/

▪️Pregnancy in women is a common source of depression, due in large part to vast hormonal fluctuations. Doctors believe that it is possible a fetus may inherit depression from a depressed mother. That is not to say the baby is born with depression as a result; this is not akin to something like fetal alcohol syndrome. Still, there may be depressive hormones transferred.

▪️Our genetic code (DNA) predisposes us to certain diseases and there is no reason why depression may not be part of that.

▪️Clinical studies established to separate a specific gene that causes depression have proved inconclusive, but research continues.
Read more: http://depressiond.org/is-depression-hereditary/


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