On A Good Day…

If I’m very very lucky; after a deep and long 6 hour sleep, I wake up with a slight smile on my face with white-noise thoughts in my mind. As I open my eyes and the world comes into focus, they squeeze shut again while every muscle tightens with the pain of remembering. After a couple seconds, I’m able to release my held breath, and a few tears. Small tremors and shakes as my body fills with adrenaline thanks to fight-or-flight responses. Unable to fight, unable to flight – my body’s efforts are wasted, though more effective than a morning coffee. A few more seconds of shallow breathing while I clench a blanket, pillow, or just my fist, until I can open my eyes again. Staring down another day, I fantasize about putting a gun to my head and ending the torture. The thought is comforting. I sprawl out and stretch, and let out a small gasping chuckle at my own depression, the situations that brought me to where I am, and how I’m stuck here.

With a yawn and deep breath, I climb out of bed to endure one of the worst pains I couldn’t even imagine, every single second for yet another day. Sit down at the computer, message people, turn on some music, check to see if I have work, look for shows/movies/youtube videos to start the parade of distractions that will carry me through the day. Distractions are very important to me now.

Have some fun. Laugh a little. Spend some time with friends. Maybe help a few people; listen to them, relate and understand, give some advice. I’m as happy as I can be, a solid 6/10, which is what I now consider as “ecstatic”.

Thoughts and memories are always present, but if I can focus on other things they can be pushed to the back of my mind. So I struggle to not be alone with my own thoughts. To avoid existential moments/perspectives, or things I used to do. I’m always with a target, always focused. Exhausting. I get through it. I function as best I can. The need for distractions can make me extremely efficient and productive if I choose to be. I try to avoid doing things I know will bring up memories, or certain thought patterns. A few PTSD-styled flashbacks and dissociation scattered throughout my usual activities. I always recommend “voluntary confrontation and exposure” to people, and have seen it help. But for me there’s nothing left to confront. Nothing left to do but suffer and wait. To be as least-miserable as I can be. To make it bearable. To hold on until I can leave without causing more harm. Suicidal ideation is a reoccurring theme, spread among all the other thoughts. Comforting. Offers a sense of stability, a vague sense of hope in some twisted way. The only thing I could hope for now.

I like sleep. I like the nothingness, dreams I don’t remember, a bit of relief. I stay awake as long as I can because when I try to sleep I’m alone with my own thoughts. I stay up until I’m on the verge of passing out because if I don’t fall asleep within a couple minutes of laying down, I won’t be able to run from my everything that’s happened and I won’t be able to sleep. So when I’m so tired I can feel myself slipping from consciousness, I go to lay down. To do it all again tomorrow.

That’s what I consider a good day now. That’s as good as it gets.

That’s when I can answer in a cheery tone; “I’m doing good! Thanks for asking.”