People may have a lot of things.
You may even look at them and think, ‘Oh, they have so many things I don’t. They have so many things I wish I had. I would be so much happier if I had the things they have.’
And by ‘things’, I mean all things. Like family, friends, money, careers, houses and homes, hobbies, plans, places to be and people to talk to. All the things.
But the problem is that no matter how many things people have, it doesn’t mean that they have the one thing they need to keep living.
After taking a nice quiet 40-minute walk home in icy wind without a scarf, also getting lost a couple of times, I feel I won’t even need corona to get myself a nice two-week vacation being sick at home.
When it comes to doctors and therapists… I can’t help to feel like I’m screaming into a void. I’m constantly trying to send an SOS. Tell people that something is wrong. That walking around with daily headaches, chronic exhaustion, thinking ‘I’m so fucking tired…’ from morning to evening every single day without exception, feeling like my consciousness is slipping away multiple times during any day, having to force myself to move because I keep freezing in space, getting lost in time, forgetting what day it is, and especially what day of the week it is really not right… And yet not a single medical professional I’ve met has taken it seriously enough to actually look for WHY, instead of trying out a collection of medications, and then shrugging me off when I tell them none of those work.
Then, I face a situation where, having a very stressful and anxiety-filled week, I can’t even rely on any tranquillisers because I’m too groggy and scatterbrained as I it is, and I’m too afraid to add any chemicals (or not so chemicals) in the mix that can make me feel even less ‘present’ in the reality.
Instead of tranquillisers, today I have to rely on food, therapeutic activity of copying books by hand, and first seasons of Great British Bake Off.
I ordered a new couch.
(Which I wasn’t really planning to do right now, I only wanted to look around to see the selection, because my current couch, even though looks fine, has begin to hurt my back, but then I sat down on one particular couch in a store…and decided that that’s the kind of comfort I have to have at the end of every day…)
And now I have unreasonable emotions towards having to say goodbye to my old couch.
Apparently, it’s been my only friend since I moved here after graduating, it’s seen me through a lot of hell, and I’ll miss it.
One of the things about myself that bothers me the most, is my inability to talk about or praise something I actually like, other than saying something among the lines of ‘This good. I like. Try it.’, but then going on and on about something I don’t like and explaining why exactly I think it’s bad in much detail. I don’t think it’s a good quality to have.
The ever-growing number of wrong steps and panicked lunges in inappropriate directions can hardly come as any kind of surprise when the ground is constantly crumbling beneath your feet, biting on your heels.
And there’s nothing else.
No stop, no rest, no safe haven, no place to step back and breathe before taking a step.
Year, after year, after year.
And the point comes when making mistakes and wrongs is not the worst thing anymore, it’s not being able to stop caring about making them that is the absolute worst.
I sometimes manage to stay away from television, news, and real world in general so well that when I catch a glimpse of it by chance I suddenly find out that parts of country are being washed away with level 4 (out of 5) evacuation alerts, a number of very prominent and very famous tv figures got in organised crime-related trouble (which in this country means a big reconstruction on the tv scene because they will need to replace big tv shows that were in the same spots for many years and people who everyone was used to seeing all the time), and that some of my favourite (and very talented) musicians were arrested.
Feels like this world is never going to convince that there might be a merit in not living like an ostrich.
I’ve never really figured out this ‘living in the now’ thing.
For the first 25 years of my life I lived in the future. I’ve hoped, and imagined, and ‘rode through’ the parts I couldn’t quite handle until I could reach the next stop.
Now, I mostly leave in the past. The hopes have left, so did the strength look for new steps and beginnings to jump to. Instead came the flashes of suddenly being transferred into some location I walked many years before, and very likely won’t ever have a chance to set my foot in ever again. I can smell things, I can taste things, I can see myself standing in the places that are probably long gone from the face of this Earth and I wish they weren’t. I have hardly any memories of things that happened, of things said and done, but I can walk the places I haven’t seen for almost 20 years with startling clarity.
I read because everything but reading is a struggle and chore. Moving, thinking, eating. Breathing.
I’m not sure if I would’ve ever understood ‘hype culture’ even before I had depression for years.
My first reaction to having a breakdown in public is to pretend that I’m not having a breakdown and buy a hamburger take-out. Though usually cheeseburger. With pickles if I can help it.
Though since I can’t really eat lately, this time the hamburger is spending the night in the fridge. Crisscut fries and all.
Thinking about how many meals it will take me to eat it and will it survive long enough to be still edible when I can get to it is better than thinking about the fact that I have no support system at all and my breakdowns are getting worse.