At work this morning I realised I messed up my timesheet last week. I think it’s OK; I forgot to date it and only put my name twice when they wanted it three times (twice printed and once signed). But it makes me feel like a useless idiot again who can’t get anything right. I hope it’s just depression-lowered concentration. I feel a lot more stupid than I used to be. I did at least process about 135 records even though I was feeling very depressed and working slowly. I had thoughts of wanting to die, though. I really can’t see my life getting any better.
My parents keep suggesting to me that I should become a primary school teacher (this is the teacher training course they want me to do). I really don’t know what to do about this. It’s a nice idea, but I can’t see myself doing it at the moment. I can’t really see myself doing it at all unless I have more experience with children. I’m also scared of flitting from one career to another without settling on anything. My sister suggested becoming a teaching assistant first and I thought of looking for another volunteering opportunity with children, although they seem to be few and far between, but I don’t think I feel I could even do that right now. I don’t really want to be responsible for children while I feel this bad, for all that I do tend to cheer up when I’m with children.
On the other hand, my Mum’s doubts about my ability to look after a pet has taken the wind out of my sails regarding getting one, that and social anxiety about going to a pet shop and asking to hold the animals and buy equipment. I know little about pets and I have an image in my head of going to a pet shop being like that Not the Nine O’Clock News sketch where Mel Smith goes to a shop to buy “a gramophone” and gets mocked by shop assistants Rowan Atkinson and Griff Rhys Jones for his total lack of technological savvy.
I know I shouldn’t rely on my parents so much for my self-esteem (such as it is) and for advice at my age, but I find it hard not to. My relationship with them is complicated, to put it mildly. It’s at times like this that I wish I was still in therapy, but I’ve stopped seeing my psychodynamic psychotherapist for a while so I can see if CBT might help, although I heard recently that people on the autistic spectrum (which may or may not include me) struggle with CBT because they don’t notice their mood changes until they have got quite extreme. That fits me whether or not I’m on the spectrum.
Plus, as I just noted on the Mental Health at Home blog, I’m still dependent financially on my parents and I don’t know what will happen to me when my parents are gone, given that I don’t seem to be able to hold down a regular job, but am apparently not sick enough to claim benefits.
There is a lot more I could say, but I’d better not say more in a semi-public setting. Actually, despite all I write here, there’s so much that I can’t say, for one reason or another. It’s hard, because writing is the way I process and release emotions, but I’m constrained by the laws of lashon hara (malicious speech) and kibbud av ve’em (honouring parents), as well as by accept conventions of what is OK to talk about in polite society and my fear that if people knew the real me, they would not want anything to do with me.