depression

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I don’t even feel alive if it’s not cold outside.

And feeling at least a little bit alive is a big deal for me these days (weeks, months, years…).

I’m not even too prideful to admit that I’m just so tired of all I fell into that state where, I really really just don’t have anything left in me to look for a solution and fight, a just sit from day to day and wait to see if someone’s gonna magically appear and take me out of this or if I’m going to end begore that happens.

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I have only 2 days left until my vacation.

And I thought I was fine. I thought I had a scheldule, a plan of things to not forget to do before I leave. I had an image of how to get through this week.

Now I have only 2 days left and out of nowhere I’m having humans-related groundless anxiety attacks multiple times a day, and don’t know how to survive these 2 days without going mad.

And I’m forgetting all the things I had to remember to do, and only grit my teeth praying for the time to pasd quicker and release me.

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People keep telling me how they would never have guessed there’s something ‘not right’ with me, because to them I seem spirited, cheerful, laughing a lot…
What I can’t really explain to them that laughing is my coping mechanism numero uno. That I was brought up in an environment where showing weakness meant pain and humiliation, and that I am known for walking around normally and smiling, with an injured knee and an intestinal obstruction at the same time (after I was laying down on the floor in bathroom 5 mins ago). That my ‘problems’ and chronic stress don’t mean that I am going act all weird when talking to people. In fact, as for many females with ASD, it means exactly the opposite. It means that my body will use every ounce of energy I can squeeze out of myself to appear as normal as I can, and that I likely will talk to them with no memorable for them problems, but then when I leave, or come home, I will feel like my mind is full of acid and will try to hurl it out, even though it is not in my stomach. I will obsessively and uncontrollably replay every second of every conversation in my head over and over, thinking of all things I shouldn’t have said, should’ve said but didn’t, could’ve said differently… and stressing out about every word. Until I can’t sleep. Until I crawl up the walls and want to dig my eyes out. And how I can’t control it, how the only way I can survive it right now is to hide it so deep inside I won’t be able to act on any of my impulses, which means stopping moving at all. And how it prevents me from doing anything else I should or want to be doing, because I have to spend hours sitting in one place waiting for a storm to pass more than half of days I had to go outside. 

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The largest reason behind me constantly wishing I could re-live most of the past years of my life is that I was inadequate through most of it. 
Not that I’ve gotten much better, or even can get much better, when there are people around… 
But I just can’t get rid myself of illogical regret of things I can do nothing about – the realisation that I have wasted some pretty great years and opportunities because I was either out of my mind or too deep in my mind I couldn’t react and interact with the reality. That’s why every time I remember something, or, more likely, realise I don’t remember something, I realise I wasn’t actually there and kind of wish I had a chance to be.

That’s why I can never understand drug use. No matter how bad a place my mind at times is, there’s hardly anything worse then the state of altered consciousness when it feels like it’s not my mind at all, in the end of things.

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I’m not a person with much attachment to the word of living myself.
And I know the sight and the smell of the abyss that can make you end your own life very suddenly,
without actually waiting for you to make such a decision. 
So I know, when it comes to it, the truth is there is no reasoning or rationale involved in the matter.
Sometimes it’s just a matter of a second that went wrong.

And yet it’s also like a hard slap to the face.
And stings like a bitch.
Seeing someone who you somehow thought to be so much stronger than you in this,
lose to the same thing they were helping (by their existence) you fight for more than half of your life.

A piece of soul was torn out. The world is shifting to find new balance. The view is changing.

I’ve been thinking about many things, even if I did not mean to be thinking.
About words that are so familiar, too familiar, they stir the terror of ‘do we really have no chance to fight this, if it took even him’ somewhere deep inside, which I try to promptly block off.
About families. Because the thought of those left behind paralyses me. And the understanding that even that might be not enough, makes me ask ‘is there anything that really is?’
About loneliness. Because we laugh when we ask for help, and those who listen laugh back, nod, and turn away. Because, the way we live now, even the closest people are distant, we all leave in our personal bubbles. And people recognise the cries for help only in retrospect, and fairy godmothers/fathers who’ll see what’s really going on in time hardly ever exist anywhere outside fiction. 
I’ve experienced it myself, even closest people promptly dismissing my signals for help to my face, and I saw that it was not because they did not care, but because they were too afraid to believe it’s true. Perhaps I acted in a similar way to someone else? We all want to believe the person next to us is okay, especially since then we wouldn’t need to stop something we are doing and invest ourselves in someone else.

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Can someone from somewhere around and above the 55th northern parallel please adopt me please

The cry of my soul.

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It would be a lie to imply that I do not feel envy
towards people so easily touching and being touched.
So easily welcoming each other
and being comfortable in each other’s light.
It would be a lie to say I do not wish 
I could try being a part of it too.
Yet, to say that I believe myself able,
would be an even bigger untruth.

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Eternally recurring thoughts:
“I want to go home. (I don’t have one)”
“Is it(I am) really that bad?…”
“I need a dog in my life.”
“What if “giving up and killing off a half of myself” is the way to go?..”

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Whenever I get too tangled, too overwhelmed with everything that clings to me and tries to drown me, I tread back.
I may not have enough memories,… but I still have music I listened to 15 years ago. I have series I used to watch over and over, alone in the world. 
I cling to the feeling of ‘back then’ that comes back with the old stories I re-read. 
So I put them on the background and try to rewind my mind into that state in the past. When the air was clearer and my bones were lighter. 
And, just maybe, then I’ll have enough clarity to deal with the present.

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I have a seriously bad relationship with time. 
Bigger problems aside, 
I feel like I need at very least there to be 60 hours in a day to not feel like I’m being dragged by my hair through the mud and can’t manage anything or catch up to anything. Or like, y’know, take a breath?

And it’s not like ‘slow’ was ever particularly an adjective to describe me… But I just really, really, can’t deal with how fast the time is flowing.

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In other words
it’s the
“push me, push me, I want to taste how it feels to fly, before I hit the ground”
state of mind

I will bind and cover hundreds of pages with my insanity
and make my wings out of them
and next time I need to fly and not hit the ground…
… I will.

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I’m being overly honest about things in a way that might just screw me over in near future in ways I can’t really afford.

I’m setting myself up for a rejection that might just kill me, because I’m afraid of many many things, but dying, metaphorically or not so much, perhaps never really was one of them.

I’m daring them to show me there can be a different outcome, because I never liked that Einstein’s definition of insanity, and still want to believe that if you do the right thing it will get the right response. Even if not the first dozen times.

It’s like a screwy kind of trust exercise, when I give people the knife, stand on the edge and tell myself there still might be a chance that they won’t do it. While kinda wanting to see the (after)world when they do.