I hate to tell you that I’ve been pretty depressed.
It’s been a rough couple of weeks. I’ve been pushing myself as hard as I can to continue with my normal routine, albeit scaled back. I have to say, there is a particular kind of misery in forcing yourself to do something that you ordinarily love, but to hate it, to hate every fucking second of it so completely and force yourself to keep doing it anyway, because doing it is better than not doing it. It sucks, seriously. My broken brain is ruining my favorite things and because I am forcing myself to keep doing these things even as they are being ruined, I feel like an active participant in their demises.
I have been pushing myself to do things I would do if I were at my best, like editing and writing and work planning and little fun things, too, like cooking and baking, but godDAMN this is so tiring!! I am pushing and pushing all day and by the end of the day, just give me a shitty romantic comedy that I can zone out on, one after another, until I drop into sleep as quickly as possible because I’m totally exhausted. It’s what I do when I’m depressed: I stay up later and later, staying awake in the hopes that when I finally turn the light out and pull the sheets up I will be so tired I won’t be able to feel sad for even a second before I fall asleep. The space between waking and sleep is oh so painful. And if I fight and fight all day, of COURSE I can’t fight as hard at night! It’s the same reason why I’m not getting the exercise I should. It’s getting cooler at night now; it’s perfect walking weather in the evening but give me a fucking BREAK I’ve been working my ass off all day! It’s all been on the inside, so no one else sees just how hard it is to keep going, but trust me. Hardest thing to do. Just to keep going.
So, tonight it was around 3 a.m. and I couldn’t sleep and I decided to speed the process up by taking a Benadryl. (I try not to do that often because I don’t want it to become habit.) Then I decided to sit in a warm, relaxing bath (mostly because I haven’t showered in four days; sorry, but I couldn’t care less about my personal hygiene at a time like this). I am sitting in the bath and what do you know, that black space exists here, too! I am soaking and my mind twists. This rusted hook in my head goes plunging and dredges up all this old nasty shit—every bad thing I’ve ever done, everything I’ve regretted or felt guilty for, all the times I failed, all the people I let down—over and over, this sick display and there I am again, in fighting mode. So I fight. I cry and can’t breathe but I try to take deep breaths; I try to yell STOP to my stupid brain to shut the fuck up. I fight and fight and then this hammering thought screams to the forefront: I don’t want my life.
I’m NOT saying I’m suicidal; let’s just get that out of the way. But: I don’t want my life. I’m tired guys. I’m so damn tired of pushing myself with all that I’ve got to do a few very normal things and even then not doing enough. I’m tired of feeling unhappy. I’m tired just by weighing up all the bad days I’ve had in my life and thinking about all the bad days to come at some time or another. I don’t like my life at all right now, and I’d like to trade it in, thank you very much. I know, I know—everyone’s got problems, right? Everyone has struggles! Who am I to think mine are any worse? But wouldn’t it be kind of refreshing to deal with an entirely new set of problems? Recharge your brain by facing foreign challenges?
Everyone says you have to play the hand you’ve been dealt. That the truly happy people are happy because they don’t bitch and moan about that hand, they simply do the best they can with it. That’s great and all but oh god wouldn’t it be nice to once, just ONCE, re-fucking-shuffle??