Because I was diagnosed with depression four years ago and I’m struggling to make the most out of life, this is the “only cup of tea” I have to start my day. And with hopes that it will be the one cup that will help me get through the day and its challenges that awaits me. Because of course, we’re all battling our own wars in ourselves that we have to find some place of comfort.
I post every Monday night/Tuesday morning. Follow me… sometimes, I like stalkers. You can also follow me on my more private, post-as-needed blog: http://agentooxo.tumblr.com/
I apologize that I haven’t written my blog entry for this week. After much thought, I am discontinuing this blog. Lately, I’ve been having a hard time keeping up with the Monday night/Tuesday morning blog post, and I simply don’t have the heart to write as much as I did before.
I won’t delete this blog, so I may return some time in the future. For now, I can not commit to this, and I apologize deeply for leaving you with such short notice.
I hope you understand.
-The Only Cup of Tea
File Photo (2010)
It’s definitely been awhile since I wrote stories and conducted interviews. I just finished writing my first story for the school magazine in awhile - a personal story about my ordeals on the parking garage.
Of course, during the summer, I had plenty of time to exercise, and on my afternoon runs, I thought about how I would craft together my suicide attempt into a hopeful, inspiring piece for others. I don’t want to promote my suicide method or put the attention on myself. I wanted to focus on a hopeful aspect.
When I finally sat down to write it, I couldn’t write it. I paced around my room for hours and then returning to my laptop to be greeted with a blank screen and my name written at the top. Nothing was coming to me. All those wonderful beginnings and possible story elements disappeared from my mind. I started to wonder if I’ll have to meet up with my editor and explain that I simply cannot write this story. That’s a four-page hole in the magazine.
My magazine teacher said that everyone is a hero of his or her own story. What makes my story any different? Do I think I’m hero? Even if I did, would anyone care? What was my goal with this story? I was beginning to feel overwhelmed again with it. I wanted to pull it… for the nth time since I started writing…
Every therapist I’ve seen have told me that I am very hard on myself, and I’m not sure if this is a case of that lack of self-compassion or I honestly don’t think it’s worthy of a story to be published. What makes me so special that I can just write about my own ordeal and publish it? Who gives a shit, right? I started to think about how all struggle stories end: someone struggles, finds hope, then tries to help others. I’ve suddenly become one of those stories. Isn’t it typical?
Let me begin by apologizing for being late for this week’s post. It’s unacceptable I know. Even though I may miss a day or two, it doesn’t mean I’ve left you behind without notifying you first. I started this blog mainly for me, but as a reader of my thoughts and personal life, I feel this is very much your blog as well.
The shift from summer to school mode gets harder every year. I’m not sure if it’s because I hate school or I like freedom. The first week back was great, but as the second week rolled around, it hit me like a speeding train. Although I walked away with a few bruises, the impact was more damaging than it appeared.
With Rush being just last week, my evenings and nights turned into recruitment events. As an active, I should be reaching out and getting to know the girls who are interested in joining the sorority, but a larger part of me didn’t feel like it. It’s not that I don’t like them or don’t care about them as people; it’s just I felt like my passion for it has been slowly dwindling.
Then suddenly, I slowly started to feel unhappy with life. Although other people can see some passion in me, I felt like I couldn’t prove it to myself that it’s still there. It’s not just with the sorority. I felt it here and there with school and work. But, of course, it’s to a lesser degree. I started to wonder if my lack of passion for the sorority was dampening my mood to a point where it was dipping into other enjoyable things in my life.
In my last session, my therapist confirmed my fear of slipping back to my depressed state of mood. It’s not as bad as when I found myself on top of the garage, but I can feel my mood was slowly spiraling downward again. The fighter in me screams for me to do something before it’s too late. But the depressed, hopeless self wants to stop trying and die.
I can’t begin to explain why life seems to have nothing to offer me, but I do know that I can do something about that.
File Photo (2010)
Some time last year, the previous Editor-In-Chief of the school magazine wrote an article about eating alone and the joys of doing it. At first, it may seem odd that anyone would want to eat by him- or herself, but it can really rewarding. When I first read this, I agreed that most people have some kind of fear of eating alone, and when people do eat alone, they bring a book or something to keep them busy. I can’t remember if I ever blogged about this, but I did eat alone once. After I did it, I expressed to the author that I did it.
Instead of going to any fast food or diner place, I went to Olive Garden - one of those restaurants where 99% of the time, you will bring someone with you. I walked into one sometime between March and April. I looked the hostess in the eye and said, “Table for one!” I did this for a few reasons: 1) my Big Sis gave me an Olive Garden gift for my birthday and purposely gave one to the friend I had a falling out with - in hopes that we’ll make ends meet and eat at Olive Garden together. Because I didn’t feel comfortable inviting someone else to eat with me, I decided to eat by myself. 2) I felt like I should treat myself. As in the article, I deserved it. 3) I just wanted to say I did it.
I ordered the Tour of Italy with soup and a glass of water. I went big since I wasn’t going home, and it was a meal for me. I wanted it to be the best I can make it. I ate so much bread sticks too, and it was nice not having to share - not that I hate sharing. By the end of my meal, I asked my waiter if I could get a bag for the remaining bread sticks. He came back to my table with an already filled bag of warm bread sticks, and he instructed me to put the two on my table into the bag as well. It made my day. I question until this day whether he felt sorry for me that I was eating alone or he just did it out of the kindness of his heart.
Sometimes, it’s okay to want some alone time and to really spend quality time with yourself. That’s what I’ve been doing lately. I didn’t realize how much I just want to be home, or how much I just want to eat my grandma’s cooking when I came home.