Absolute Apathy

First of all, TL;DR.

I read the following on one of the links from this site:

“It is the part of the person that is afraid of more pain that says Don’t tell anyone. It is the part that wants to stay alive that tells you about it.”

It just made me think about the fact that it’s been over three years since I’ve admitted to anyone that I was depressed or had thoughts of suicide, even though that has been the case every single day since I last admitted it.

It’s been 1188 days since I last revealed to anyone I knew personally that I still felt no desire to live.  I’ve trudged through almost twelve hundred tedious, wayward days without giving in to my one remaining desire in life.  If I can make it this far, why not persevere all the way?

In about an hour, it’ll have been 1188 days since I was admitted to the hospital for my final 5150.  That cursed number, a label etched into my soul.

Anyway, what I was saying kind of goes along with the Dark Passenger thing that marine105 was explaining a couple posts back.  I’m not familiar with the Dexter reference (only seen the show once) but the concept was well explained here.

I live two lives simultaneously.  For anyone on the outside looking in, I’m a perfect case of a recovered suicidal teen.  For me on the inside though, I’m still the same person with the same apathy (or greater, apparently) and disgust.

I come from a family with some money, so I’ve had all the therapy and medication I could ever dream of offered to me.  In the past I had taken a lot of it until I realized that therapists can’t provide me with anything I can’t provide myself and that all the medication really did was give me a dry mouth and short term memory loss.  (Anti-depressants for me were just all the unwanted side effects of marijuana, even though at the time I didn’t realize it as my illegal drug usage came later)

I know how to handle my anxiety so well that my skin can be on fire with adrenaline, my thoughts racing like a blender and no one around me would have guessed a thing was wrong, much less that I might be suffering a hardcore panic attack.  I know all the tips and tricks about how to prevent and cope with depression.  I know every damn thing about this illness so well that I feel I must be the most qualified therapist or psychoanalyst I’ve ever met.

Despite all this, it doesn’t go away.  Nothing ever changes.

One year I spend myself into debt.  Another year I save myself into wealth.  Both years I suffer exactly the same depression and anxiety.

One month I hang out with friends on a daily basis.  Another month I might only go out once or twice.  Both months I suffer exactly the same depression and anxiety.

One year I work full time and become promoted to a managerial position.  Another year I don’t work at all, but relax instead.  Both years I suffer exactly the same depression and anxiety.

At 19, I’m a junior in college with a 3.98 GPA.  Most people haven’t accomplished that.  Does it make me value myself or look forward to the future any more?  No.

For my age, I’ve accomplished plenty to be proud of.  I balance my nutrition and fitness almost too perfectly.  I haven’t used any illegal drug or any prescription medication in over a year.  I haven’t even had any significant caffeine or any sugar binges for months.  I maintain numerous relationships which appear to be ideal and I spend time on a variety of hobbies which I excel at.  Biologically and spiritually I have NO ROOM to improve.

If that is so, why do I still harbor a hateful disgust toward modern human society?  Why, if I have never spoken an ill word of a person, must I judge them and think of their every fault and weakness when I see their face?  Why can I not tolerate this place, these people?  Why does nothing interest me despite how exciting it’s all supposed to be?

If Satan exists and lures victims with materialistic promises of glamour and excess, I think he’s failing miserably.  The only constant I have found in my life, regardless of any other factor, is that each night I go to bed I wish it was for the last time.  I don’t want any of his treasures and I don’t want my soul either.  I’d rather they all ceased to exist to my knowledge.

I can keep going on, living with this apathy another 1188 days at a time over and over until I’m dying of cancer at 85, running up half a million in medical bills for my family.  I can keep living this life I don’t appreciate through its natural course.  OR I can do something to prevent myself from having to wade through decades of monotony and resentment.  Ah, but what would that be?  I believe that for me there would be only one possible solution to that problem at this point.

The Objective: End the dismal doldrums that have afflicted me for nearly a decade

Solutions:

1. Therapy
2. Medication
3. Street Drugs
4. Nutrition
5. Exercise
6. Meaningful Relationships
7. Build Skills -> Self-Worth
8. Academic Achievement
9. Professional Achievement
10. Suicide

Not a whole lot of options left to try, guys.  lol

That’s about all I wanted to say x3, but just fyi what brought me to this site was a thread from May that came up in the top ten results when I Googled “What am I looking for”.  After three hours of reading this site’s posts and then writing this, I still haven’t generated another solution.  I do, ironically, feel closer to the people these stories come from.  I want to meet them and hug them and tell them it will be okay.  I want to tell them how beautiful I see they are.  At the same time, I cannot do the same for myself and my Dark Passenger inside of me is waiting impatiently on me; apparently he’s as eager as ever to get on with this.

(If you actually read all of the preceding 1,043 words, props to you; go have a treat!)