The more days that pass since learning about the truth of my Papa's death, the more I actually seem to understand myself.
He was depressed and an addict.
I'm depressed and an addict of a different kind. I don't do drugs, but I sleep around and I eat lots and lots of food.
Depression is genetic. One of my aunts was an addict and she takes antidepressants and has for years. My dad's sister was depressed and killed herself as well (though I know that she was also molested, and I'm sure the two are not mutually exclusive).
I feel so much less alone for knowing these things. As isolated as I felt 3 days ago, I have done an almost complete 180 since then.
I almost feel a sense of freedom with this knowledge. The shock was a burden for sure, but I don't feel weight pushing down on my shoulders quite like it did before.
When I get my new medical cards next month (for Kaiser - ugh!), I'm going to find a primary care physician and get on some meds. 3 people in my family have taken their own lives (that I know of) and I don't want to be the 4th. I'm not dumb. I feel good now, but something else will happen and send me very close to the edge. I need a little insurance that will keep me safe.
The Face Swap Nightmare
2 hours ago