TheOpenRoad

I have been doing fairly well for a considerable time. But right now, I don’t feel good. I feel silent again. Locked inside myself, unthinking, unfeeling, angry. I don’t have the will to do right now. I have been failing at too much, and I have also been succeeding at much, which is seeming less important to me by the minute.  

I have had a poor day. I haven’t slept, and I haven’t done enough for myself. I feel slow again, like I could disappear. I want to smoke something that will make it go away. I want my days to be easier. 

Maslow listed self-actualization at the top of his pyramid. Self-actualization requires self discipline. I lack self discipline. Why am I taking two steps back for every step forward? What need have I not yet fulfilled? I don’t know. I could list several from random levels on the pyramid, and so I don’t know. I’m tired, and I feel bad, and I don’t know.

When I’m feeling good, life goes by too fast for my taste, even though I don’t realize it at the time. It’s the little things that get to me. Bouncing my leg till my foot is sore. The relief of bed. The constant escapes I need in greater and greater values. How isolated I feel when I’m quiet. And times like these when I’ve burnt out. 

I dislike myself for not being able to stop doing things that are clearly harmful to me. I want control over my thoughts and actions. But no matter what, I seem to fall into the same familiar patterns over and over and over. I don’t know how to break out. And no matter how much I struggle with, I’m always loath to spend my hard earned money on glorified grandmothers (therapists). 

I want to be hungry. I want things to go slower. I don’t want to oscillate between this and a racing heart. 

Sometimes I take comfort in certain people, and other times I beat myself up for doing so. Sometimes I cry for certain reasons and other times I don’t need to cry for those exact same reasons. Sometimes I die inside from the beauty of sunlit water, and other times, I can’t even see the water because I’m so cloudy inside. I want more sunlight in my life. I don’t feel anything right now. And this is only a fraction of the great big cliff there was inside my ribcage at my worst. I don’t want to go back to that. And to think I had no idea. 

I feel unheard. Like a fly on the wall. I don’t like feeling like a fly on the wall. It makes me go someplace else in my mind, where I’m not real. But I have no idea how to escape all these situations I’m continually placed in where I’m no one. When I’m no one, I feel dangerously invisible. Like I could stab myself in the palm and neither the stabber nor the stabbed would be me. 

When I came back to this site a few months ago, I felt out of place. I felt like what I was feeling wasn’t as bad as the other people here. Today I’m in a much better place, thanks to various efforts. And I realize that the way I felt then was so very low, I have no idea why I’d ever categorize that as okay. But you know, back then, I had been depressed so many years I didn’t remember what it felt like to really be okay. I had nothing to compare it to. And perhaps the reason people call this place im in right now ‘normal’ is because they don’t have something as bad to compare it to. Because this isn’t normal this is extraordinarily good. So tried and tested, it’s true what they say, you can’t have light unless you’ve seen darkness. And vice versa.

All of a sudden after speaking to an old friend I’m back in this feeling. I’m weaker than I was. I’ve never wanted something so bad before. Fuck, this feeling is everything I was trying to avoid.

I know if I cry now I’ll fuck this whole day up. I’m cornered, threatened, and then suddenly my attacker disappears into thin air, and I’m alone, sobbing, feeling stupid.

All of a sudden I want to escape again. I want so bad to move away from here. Move east this time.

Addictions are really tough to deal with. Once an addict, always an addict. You never get to casually enjoy it again. Somehow, every time you try moderation, you’re hurtling down at breakneck speed again. Why does it have to be like this? I wish so bad it were different. I want a second chance.

I’m feeling so goddamn horrible. I want to escape. To anywhere.

When I talk, I feel like people can’t understand me. It always surprises me when someone answers me. When I’m by myself I pretend to be deaf and dumb. I manage to go days without saying a word. One time I pretended to be deaf and dumb at work, and didn’t say a thing to my colleagues all four months I was there. That was so relaxing. Nothing to worry about. Just myself and an animal whose thoughts to hear. It was a very unique experience. If I move I can replicate it.

I’m feeling low, and I want a pill to make it go away.

This place is good for getting my feelings out. Finding someplace in my head that’s empty of these thoughts.

So, I had a good day yesterday. I went out of my way to make something different about it. And I succeeded. Although what I did was bad for my sleep schedule, it was good for me as a person. I really enjoyed myself. I felt happy doing all that.

I’m ill today, and I haven’t been able to get a lot of work done, but I’m feeling a bit better now…so maybe I’ll start? I really should. Time management has never been one of my strong suits.

Even though getting off medication has been hard, work in the right direction has been making me feel better. I’m ready to make more efforts now in all aspects of my life. With my personal life, my professional life, and…I called my mother. It didn’t go great. But I didn’t expect it to, and I’ve still got a date with her in a week. That’s definitely progress how she wants to see me.

I’ve always been conscious about my scars. I don’t swim because then they’ll be visible. My whole wardrobe is geared towards keeping them out of sight. So, yesterday I saw this guy outside, working at this construction site, surrounded by other guys in hardhats and a couple of bosses maybe. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt, and his whole left arm was covered in these thick white scars. All paralell from shoulder to wrist. No way that was an accident. He did that to himself. And he really wasn’t bothered by all the questions he had certainly been asked by all those guys. That was inspiring. It made me feel like I have nothing to be ashamed of either. Maybe I can do something different in the near future. It made me feel accepted. Hopeful for better times.

Overall, it’s been a good day in all aspects but one, and I plan to fix that this evening. Even though I’m shivering sick, I feel good. It seems getting better from depression doesn’t just rest on antidepressants. It’s more about the effort I put in. Meds make it easier to put in that effort. But if I can get off my ass and stop dissociating, I can help myself even without them.

On a positive note, I’m doing pretty good. I’ve managed to start sleeping better without pills. I’ve got more on my hands, and that’s keeping me busy, and my mind off rumination and despair and whatnot. I’ve taken on a new project at work, voluntarily, which is a first. I’m making a lot of efforts to keep myself from slipping, and the better they work, the better I feel about myself.

My medication has worn off almost completely. The initial period was the worst I’ve felt in a long time. But things seem to be picking up again these past two days. I’ve found it harder to function without, but every time I want to go back, I remind myself of why I stopped, and that’s working for now. I’m pretty tired in general. Sleepy. I’ve rediscovered an old part of me the meds were masking, and that’s made me feel like myself again. This brief respite I had from myself has served me well. It keeps me sane. Because I know that it’s possible to feel that ok again. And that’s what keeps me going with all these efforts to do better. The knowledge that there is a way out.

I’ve found a new dynamic with the closest person in my life. It’s better than the one we had before. At least for me.

I’ve found that I look forward to working on my new project every day. It’s a really refreshing way to feel. Like I’m the old me again.

I’m going to keep trying to feel better. I’m glad that I feel good today, and I hope it’ll be the same tomorrow.

I’m down and out. I’m so angry with the people in my life. With so many people. Why do they think they have a say in my life just because I’m a woman? This is the only drawback I see to this place. Generally I’m quite a patriot. I’d like to be part of the government so I can help precipitate a change.

After a recent meeting with a dog I hadn’t seen in a while, I found myself enjoying her company. It made me want to adopt one. They’re work, but maybe it’s worth it. They’re more permanant than most life partners.

I’m really tired and I wish I could leave this city. I miss life before coronavirus. I wish it’d just stop. That somebody would step up and handle things like an adult. Before there were vaccines, the world was talking about ‘who will get it first’. Discussing all these ethical, humanitarian solutions. And all the while governments were already deciding who would get it first. The rich, as always. This pandemic seems more like a mismanagement disaster to me than a natural one. Sure it’s manmade. Not by China, but by governments who were all too worried about themselves to take a stand.

I want to die today because I am absolutely spent. Rejection tastes bitter every time. And somehow I’ve never learned to swallow it. I’m tired of my days here. I’m tired of myself. I want to look forward to something, but all I think when I wake up is of all the distasteful events to come. I do wish I had nothing more to do than to sleep and that I could sleep for as long as I’m awake. I wish I could skip tomorrow. This whole year. I wish I had a pill to make me lighter. That’s on my agenda tomorrow then. It’s something to look forward to. I have no solutions but substances. I wish I had time to be. I don’t know. I wish there were more people I loved. I just can’t do what’s good for me. It’s always bad decisions.

I’m washed out. Wrung. I seriously don’t know how everything got so shitty so fast. It felt good to run my mouth. I feel hateful towards him. I want to make him feel just as trash as he’s made me. But I doubt anything I do would matter. He doesn’t give a shit. And I still do. How fucking sad for me.

He’s just tired of me. He’s forgotten. He doesn’t want to be reminded. He hurt me over and over this last year. Until everything I said to him was bullshit. There was never anything to say or he could make me fall to the pitch dark again. I guarded everything. How ironical. I am the fucking secret. I want to hurt him. Show him how he’s so small a balled up person he’ll never uncurl again.

He doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t want anymore. Doesn’t feel the same way. I guess I should’ve known he was never one to surrender themselves to another. He didn’t say the things he should have. He just didn’t care enough to.

Yeah and sitting somewhere in this fucking mess is me and my stupid, pulsating heart.

I am 100% having a hard time. I am 100% getting high. Even though it’s not the kind of high I want. Just waiting for it to hit.

I cried for the first time in months. Sad part is even that left me frustrated. I couldn’t do more than leak out a few tears and be unable to feel anything. It’s always like this. Then I wanted to cut. Then I clocked out. Nope. Can’t deal with that right now. So pills it is. I just wish I’d had the good sense to keep some melatonin handy for this. Wake up in better times. Instead I get its polar opposite. But anything to stop being me right now. I know I’ll wonder what the fuck is wrong with me when this reality sets in. Then maybe I’ll do this all over again. I don’t know. I thought I had this, but I’d forgotten what it feels like to be as despondently suicidal as I do tonight. Coming down from this break just makes the comparison a hundred times more stark. Maybe I should just keep a gun handy too. I’ll never have to go through these cycles again. Just one rock bottom will be enough.

I sometimes feel absolutely immobilized. I have no words for anything. Not even in my own mind. It seems to me like the world is just too full of words. Everybody always talking. Writing rubbish. It’s too much. And most of it is absolute crap. The thought makes me feel helpless. Animal. Like there’s no worth to my putting more words out in the world. I’m a zero at communication to begin with. I never got it. Then I saw it differently. Then I could be myself on paper again. At least I have that.

I also realize something that’s difficult to admit. I’m lonely as fuck. The pandemic has made it so I am quite literally alone in the entire world. Before, I had the work girls. I fucking hated them, but I think I miss them now? It’s pathetic. Of course, my family. I’m coming to the conclusion that I want to talk to my brothers. I would not admit to them in a million years that I fucking miss them. I miss them so goddamn much. Wow, looks like it’s hitting me. I’ve got a good idea in store for tomorrow. More fucking pills.

Taking half my dose and yeah this whole evening I’ve just been slowly dissociating. Coming back to this. The weird part is, some small part of me felt relieved. The world was too fast. I was always getting up and moving around. God and now I’m back to the old me. This is who I feel like I am. I feel so crappy right now. It’s like coming down from a two month high. I’m worn out. I want weed. I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Why did I feel like this was a good idea? If not for fear of sexual dysfunction I wouldn’t keep going. But I can’t feel for shit and I read this can last. I hope to God it gets better. This is going to wreck my relationship. It’s like being locked in a cage. You can see the world outside but you’re trapped. I can feel aroused but I can’t climax.

I am absolutely ravaged today. The roller coaster is hurtling down. But I’m really glad I tried this. It gave me a small window into what life can be. I couldn’t remember a time when I ever felt so easy. I’d forgotten this was possible. And just imagine, normal people feel like that all the time! I finally understand how someone can call life beautiful and not understand suicide. I can’t fathom why people ever complain if that’s the reality they live in. This has given me hope. I think I might make it now that I know what my problem is. Now that I know what my aim should be.

My appetite is returning, and I can take pleasure from food once again. It’s a two sided blade but it made me feel good to enjoy a meal.

I am tired. But tonight is the most coherent I’ve managed to be in weeks. My thinking has slowed down, I can make sense of things again. Maybe that’s good, maybe it’s bad. But this is normal. This is my comfort zone. That’s the hard part. I have my usual attention span now. That makes me feel very valid. Human.

The most relieving part of this is how my thoughts have slowed down. These past few weeks, my head was bursting with every corner of my existence. My mind was racing a mile ahead of my body. It was just too much stimuli. Too fast.

For the reason I came here in the first place, I don’t think I’ll ever part with the idea of suicide. Even at my highest point, I didn’t mind oblivion. I wasn’t certain what I’d do if I had a gun in my hand. But I can say, at my highest, I also didn’t mind the idea of rebirth. I remember thinking how beautiful it would be to become someone new over and over. But at the core of my being, I know the peace nothingness will bring me is unparalleled. And I have absolutely no misgivings about receiving it at any given point. Just to not exist.

It felt calming to write. Like I’ve achieved a place between the highs and lows. But unfortunately I can’t escape the real world forever. This illness really gives you a strange perspective. I’ve never met a depressed person that wasn’t escapist. Suicide isn’t the only out it’s just the final one.

When I’m in this place, I feel alone. Alienated from everybody else walking around. I have no real wants except for escape. I’d like to escape my physical environment. Move somewhere new. That’s why I move so much. But I’ve found that doesn’t work. I need an entire escape. Not just from whatever place on the map, but from every day. The people around me. The world we’ve built. The stores I shop in. The meaningless work I do in order to shop in those stores. I need to be in a different reality. Think about rain and how it will affect me. Walk in the sun all by myself, somewhere real. Where the world is real. Where everything you do matters. I want to concern myself with more than ledgers and profits. I want the weather to make or break my day. I want a hot meal to make me the happiest woman alive. Simplicity.

There’s a pyramid of needs that some psychologist devised, I forget who. The theory goes that you can’t be concerned with needs higher up before you fulfill the ones below them. Well at the bottom there’s what you’d expect, food, shelter clothing. Then there’s safety. Then commmunity. Love and belonging. Then self respect. And last self actualization. I feel like most of us are born somewhere ahead of the start line. The unlucky ones lower down, and the luckier ones higher. But that kind of creates a disconnect with us in ourselves. How can you appreciate where you are if you’ve never experienced the relief of fulfilling your basic needs? The simpler ones? How tiring is it to forever attempt to fulfill some greater purpose, some higher goal than the most crucial ones? I just don’t know what it’s like to be alive. I can’t appreciate life because I’ve never worked to keep mine. Maybe that’s what I need to fix this hole in myself. To feel the accomplishment of achieving the most simple things. To think about life in different terms than money. I haven’t felt like this in many years. The last time I wanted this so bad was the early years of my depression. This feels like hope. Or maybe a worn cycle doomed to spin a ful circle again.

Sometimes I wonder at this from an evolutionary point of view. There’s no doubt about it, there are millions of people thinking about offing themselves. That kind of defeats the purpose of biological life. It’s like one big kick in the face to every evolutionary instinct ever developed. So maybe all these suicidal people are just another of evolution’s randomizations that is going to fail and die out in greater populations. Or maybe it’s the brilliant evolutionary answer to population control. Are we only suffering to be failed experiments? Or is there a greater ploy? I don’t know, both arguments make me feel outdated. Invalid. History.

Well, this has gone on too long.

I’ve got a diminished ability to make sense these days. I see the world like an animal might. In images and ideas. As a result I don’t know how to put things in words sometimes. I don’t even know myself what I’m thinking. So I sit down to write to clear my head. To make some sense to myself.

Right now I’m considering suicide for some really wild reasons. I keep playing the scene in my head. I really want it. To suddenly stop, be gone in a second. I want to be with dead eyes. Bloody, unaffected, and non existent. I try to keep my thoughts in check by telling myself I’m romanticizing it, but I don’t think I am. That’s exactly what happens when you die. You vacate your eyes and you stop. There is no more time. Like sleeping but easier.

I don’t know how to make the decision. Nothing particular has happened in my life that might justify giving up now after hanging on all these years. I’m not even particularly depressed. There is just no end in sight. I’m always going to be battling myself. So it seems fair to exit now and save myself some pain.

I still feel mildly out of my mind. But I don’t think the caffeine is to blame. I think I am happy. But I don’t know. I feel like I churn out words that have no meaning. In an effort to feel more sane I am going to try and streamline my thoughts.

I don’t believe in God. I have not believed in many years. But today after a long time I have considered praying. Not for a higher power, not for God, but for myself. Maybe it will help me feel calmer. I want to feel calmer. I have this vague idea in my head but I can’t put it into words. I am doing things. I am trying to make things better for myself and for my family. Sometimes when I am doing something I feel good and then suddenly in the middle of it I feel like I can’t stand it one second more. That hasn’t happened to me in many years. All this time I have felt very consistently low. But I don’t know what’s happening to me now. I am not making a lot of sense. So much for streamlining my thoughts.

The meaninglessness of everything is crushing. I feel like I’m the only person in the world that knows the secret. And everybody else is just walking around blind. Living their lives. Taking their kids to school everyday. When in reality there is a crushing meaninglessness on their shoulders. They don’t realise. They don’t feel the weight. I am the only one that feels the weight and I am completely alone. Everything is difficult for me because I am the only one that feels it. Everybody else is blind. That’s what it feels like a lot of the time for me. I want to feel better than this. I want to be blind like everyone else. But I don’t know how I am supposed to achieve that. I don’t know how I am supposed to do that without being like them. Believing in God. Having a meaningless job. Being poor. Always thinking about money. Having children and a family. But I don’t know if I want those things. I don’t know if I ever want to buy a house in the city. I don’t know if I ever want to grow old. Or drop my kids to school and pick them up. It is scary. I am just very confused right now. I haven’t seen a lot of stuff I don’t have a lot of experience with much of anything. I just want to feel normal like everyone else. And I want to be able to do all these things that they do. But I don’t know how to do that being myself. And it makes me crazy to think that I am defined by my depression. This has become who I am. Because I have spent so many years in this hole. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now, where I am supposed to go from here. I have no idea what my life is going to be like in 6 months. I have no idea whether I will live or die. I have no idea whether I will do anything I ever wanted to. And the most scary thing in all of this is that before I knew how I was going to die. I was always very sure that at the end of everything, when I had done everything that I ever wanted to, I would get a gun and shoot myself. But now I am confused. I don’t know if I am going to die by my own hand. What if I die tomorrow in a car accident? How can I live like that? How can I live knowing that I don’t plan to die?

My mind is racing. I am thinking about achieving too many things. I don’t know why I feel like this. And frankly it is a little scary. I am changing as a person. I don’t know who I am becoming. And I don’t know if who I was before was a better or worse than this. To be honest I feel a little crazy. Maybe I have the wrong diagnosis. Maybe I should not be drinking coffee. Maybe I should go back to eating my medicine in the morning. I know it is good to feel this way. I am doing so much. I have not been like this in so many years. I want to feel like this. I don’t know if normal people feel like this. But I feel so strange. I feel like I am out of my skin. I don’t feel like myself. I am a stranger and I am looking at myself and things are going too fast. Sometimes I feel numb. When I adjust my medication I feel number and I lose my sexual abilities and the things become very difficult for a short time. It is strange. All of this is strange. I have never tried to fix this before. I didn’t even think I had a problem. I thought that was the normal. I thought the way I felt was the way everybody felt. I thought everybody was suicidal. I thought we were all just lying to ourselves and to each other. I couldn’t do anything at all. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t comb my hair. I couldn’t cut my nails. I couldn’t brush my teeth. I have three new cavities because I couldn’t brush my teeth. I couldn’t do anything. I failed at being a basic human being. And I don’t know how to be anything different for that is my normal. That was my normal. I feel so out of place feeling this way. This is not me. Even though I want to feel like this I don’t know how. I just don’t know how to be this woman right now. I am scared. that is the truth. I am scared of what is to come. I am scared of the past. I am scared of becoming old versions of myself again. I don’t know what else to say. I have been worried. I worry too much. But I don’t know what I am worrying about. This post is just to explain to myself and help myself sort through all these thoughts in my head but still at the end of this I don’t know what I feel right now. I don’t know what I will feel tomorrow. I don’t know what I felt yesterday. I don’t know how I am going to live like this anymore. I can’t focus on one thing at a time. I am constantly distracted. I have to do new things. I enjoy doing some things. But still there is the old feeling lurking, of being glued to my place for hours and days and years and not being able to get out of bed and not being able to open my eyes and not being able to sleep and not being able to achieve the most simple tasks. But will I be like that again? Will that feeling come back? Am I going to be depressed forever? Am I bipolar? Is it normal for depressed people on SSRIs to feel this way? I have been taking the medicine for two months now and this is the first time I have been this able. Earlier I was just free of fatigue but now I am physically unable to stop achieving things. I just can’t sit still. I feel like everything is going too fast.

I’m working on getting better. I’m going out often. I comb my hair every day. I cook and clean. I brush and floss. The next step is regular exercise, cutting screen time, managing work deadlines, and working on relationships. I’m tempted to stop taking antidepressants because I feel better, but everything I’ve read about this treatment warns against doing so, so I shan’t. I think I still have months to go. After the realization that the feelings I’ve had my entire life truly are irrational, I’ve been working on rationalizing my thought process. I refuse to let myself remain this way. It is a brand new feeling. Every time I feel the old way, I remind myself that I’m wrong, and go ahead calmly. I’ve never felt this confident before. I’m wrong. Everything is okay. I’m so wrong.

I’m sleeping better, my appetite is regular. I’m more aware of myself because I’m actively working to improve my situation, and I have found several cyclic patterns in my behavior that I’m going to change. I know what’s next, and all the steps I’m going to take in the next three months are loosely connected in my mind. The peak of good feelings with this medication has waned. I feel incapable of movement these days. I want to remain where I am and it’s difficult to change old habits. But new habits come easy now. The meds have made me more consistent in my emotional states, and with more energy in general so I can accomplish a small task every day until it’s routine.

I’ve made two big mistakes in the past week. They’re really fucking me up. But I don’t want to keep beating myself up and spiralling lower back. There’s nothing I can do to change them. I can only mitigate their effects in the future. And that’s what I’m trying to focus on. I’ve faced this before and time healed it.

I’ve been trying to take things easy recently and it’s helped. I’m a big overthinker. A very serious person and a worrier. But it’s really not helpful to be that uptight. I’m trying to let events take their course now. I’m giving myself breathing space. I’m being spontaneous, and doing things I’d never do. Letting things go, forgiving people. Losing myself in my surroundings.

I’ve dipped a little since my initial experience with medication, but I feel more permanent now. It wasn’t temporary, it wasn’t placebo. I am going to be capable of bringing myself back to this place at any point in my life that I might return to this pit. That’s comforting. This is my safety net. I’m more able now than I can ever remember being. It’s my new baseline. No matter how low I sink I can always bring me back to this. And it’s a manageable place to be. I’m glad I did this. I’m glad I live in the 21st century.

The past few days have been hard. This whole decision was tough. Old feelings are flooding back, and I’m rethinking everything I’ve done these past years. I really don’t like feeling like this. I’m desperate to stop, and considering moving again for a change of scene. I don’t want to go home anymore, and this place is sickeningly familiar to home. I’m thinking this time I’ll go far east. Find people I once knew. Restart again. But how long till I feel this old despair yet again? I’m tired of this situation I keep creating for myself.

On the plus side, I’m full of energy. I can get a lot done today. I want to fix this. I don’t want this halfway life anymore.

I made a dumb mistake and now I may have to stop taking antidepressants. Anyway, at least I’m completely honest with everyone in my life now.

I’m determined not to get back to feeling like crap. I deeply don’t want to go back to insomnia and fatigue and ocd and anorexia and existential dread. God, I’m so stupid. Why did I do that? Honesty is not the best policy.

So I’m kind of done. I’m feeling horribly anxious right now. I wish I could turn back time. I regret this so much. Fuck me.

I was thinking I’d take a loan and go to college. I need to change.

Happy mother’s day mom. Maybe I’ll call you today.

I’ve had a bad day. It’s really hard to feel like this after I saw the light these past few weeks. Maybe Robert was right and meds stop working over time. Or maybe it’s worrying about marriage. I’ll tell him tomorrow I don’t want to get married yet. I just can’t keep thinking about it.

I’ll try upping my dose for a while. It’s going to be shitty when I tell him. I’m tired. I need a break from this.

I’m sort of afraid now. Is this all I get? Some time off and then back to this feeling? When the meds started working, I felt like a new person. Like everything normal everyone does suddenly made sense because that’s how they feel every day. It seemed to me that any kind of futute is not so bad, and how it’s possible to be happy doing the same things every day. I had no idea you could feel like that. I cursed myself for not doing this sooner. I’ve lost the last seven years of my life to a curable disease. But today I’m back to feeling hopeless. And I don’t know if I’ll feel better tomorrow, and if I do, if I’ll get better the next time. I wanted to die if I’d feel like this for the rest of my life. And I’m all the more sure of that now that I’ve seen the world differently. I never want to be stuck in this hole again.

Just need to be honest. I told my partner some tough truths. Honestly, it was more for me than him or our relationship. Keeping those secrets was killing me. But double honestly (lol) I think I was hoping for something to change. Kind of hoped it would help things between us. But anyway, things haven’t changed much. We’re still in the same rut as before.

Earlier I thought he was the best person I’d ever known. But in retrospect it seems to me that all those unselfish things he committed to were actually exactly what he wanted. I saw him do it to someone else. In that moment he looked like a stranger to me. It’s eating away at me. Am I marrying the person I thought I loved or a master of manipulation? And still he won’t talk to me. I didn’t believe he had it in him to be this way. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do to try and fix this. I’m filled with doubts.

I didn’t expect to love him forever, but I did want to keep choosing him, and he’s making that pretty hard. Over the past year, I’ve been hurt until I didn’t want to hear from him anymore. I just don’t want to speak to him. And yet I’ve hardened my heart and melted it again over and over because I want it to work. And now we’re getting married. After the year we’ve just had, maybe I’m not ready. I’m just really tired of dancing to his tune. I either want peace or I don’t want to interact with him. Do I tell him I want to wait on marriage? That’ll hurt him. I don’t want to.

I’m really hurt that he didn’t bother to do anything about the shit I asked him about. It’s like he doesn’t care. This is hard. I wish I hadn’t met him. Maybe I should just give up. Take a break. Let myself fall out of love with him. Right now I really want to.

This is all really bothering me. It keeps me up at night. I wish I could just be truthful with everyone about everything. It would make my days so simple.

Anyway, I’m just going to keep keeping my mind off it all. Excuse the long post, I didn’t plan on this becoming a venting session but that’s what it ended up as.

I’m tired of myself. I want a break from being me. A long sleep. There’s a place in my mind I go when I need comfort, and I want that place to be real. I wish I was a different person. Born somewhere else. In a different time. My eyes are tired. I need somewhere to slow down. Life just moves too fast. I’m sick of isolation. I want to go outside again and run to catch the bus. I haven’t been sleeping enough. I tried to give something to someone yesterday and it didn’t work. I wish I had a different first language. Reading is dangerous. I don’t want reality, I want all the places I escaped to in books and movies and dreams. My stomach is empty and I won’t fill it. I plan too much. I wish she’d stop talking. I’m a prisoner of ritual. I want to sleep forever. I’m going to lose everything. If only I was less tired. I want energy. I honestly want to change. How do I change? I’m a secret. I hate lying and that’s all I do. Because everything that comes out of my mouth is a lie I am completely alone. I just need the strength to change something. But all change falls through eventually. Every time I achieve a change I just go back to what it was like earlier in a few weeks. How do I stop? God, I hate every day. I hate myself. Why can’t I tell him everything? Why am I still lying? It’s crushing me. There’s no such thing as a white lie. At least I’m not angry anymore. Why can’t I take a break? I want to be a kid again and have a summer vacation. And now she’s calling me. It’s just annoying. I’m not paying her for leaving me stranded halfway to the city with nothing but a bag of toiletries. I’ll really call the cops if she doesn’t quit asking.

It sort of seems to me that we live to die. The idea of growing old is scary. Everybody that’s old now was once my age. I don’t know.

A few weeks ago I was doing really badly. I was convinced I was losing my partner. Not that I’m fully convinced otherwise now. I felt dead. I couldn’t get myself to do anything. My toilet is still dirty. I wanted weed, and I couldn’t get it. I was desperate for something to change. I couldn’t sleep. I was losing myself. Smoking too much. It’s really tough to quit. I never should have started.

I don’t know how it’s possible for me to live my whole life. I want many things. But I’m afraid of time. I don’t want to be murdered. I don’t want to be poor. Fuck poverty. I especially don’t want to be raped. I was so afraid of being raped I found a way out. After I saw that dead raped girl I was decided. It’s not rape if I consent. So the first time I was in a dangerous situation, I consented. And I lived. And things went a little crazy from there.

I hate living in a big city. I grew up in a massive city. It may be my home, but I am no one there. I hate traffic and travel and people crammed into small spaces. Why is housing so expensive? I hate sitting in buses and getting a face full of smoke every few minutes. All the trees are dusty. There is never any money and there is never any space. I want to be a farmer, and wake up every day and work in the sun. I really hate dust in the air. It has no business being there.

I have no idea whether I’ll live or die. My grandfather killed himself. His wife just died. A shopkeeper I knew is dead of covid. I met a man once that studied at law school and ended up selling nuts and bolts in a roadside shop. He chose to do it because the shop paid three times what a lawyer’s salary would. He was crazy for going to college. He’s dead now of covid. I don’t know. It shouldn’t all affect me, but it makes me really sad.

I wish horribly I could talk to my partner. I’m really tired, and I have no will to do anything. I want money. I want many children. And to live where I always wanted. I wish I had a tv so I could sit on my ass and do nothing every day I come home. I wish to God I could sleep so I wasn’t so bored. I’m going to shave my head because I’m so tired of it. I want to cry. I’m depressing myself.

Weird post, but I wanted to share a few things I’ve come to realize.

People keep saying passive shit like “things will get better” or “I hope you’re doing okay”, but their whole approach is wrong. Passiveness is just contrary to anything that could help. So I’m pretty sure most of us here are depressed. I’ve heard that diagnosis before. And earlier I thought it was just a way of life, because I hadn’t felt different in so many years. But I think now it’s an illness. A real, curable illness. A depressed brain is physically different from a healthy one. So things won’t get better. Depression won’t just fix itself. You won’t magically wake up happy. You’ve got to treat it as if it were any other disease. The nature of this is such that it tries its hardest to stop you doing that curing. We’re fatigued. Nobody wants to exercise. It’s easier to cut.

But you know, the people we are is just chemicals. Love, friendship, sex drive, appetite. When you’re high, you behave differently, don’t you? That’s just a chemical. So why not chemicals for a disease of the mind? And I’m not talking about recreational shit.

Antidepressants. I’m on SSRIs a month now, and I feel different. I have more energy. I’m able to stick to a deadline. I can hold a conversation without tiring. I get out of bed every morning, albeit a little sleep deprived. My emotions are blunted, and it feels good to be this stable. I laugh at stupid jokes my partner cracks that earlier just tired the fuck out of me.

Why did I never try this solution? What’s the downside? It’s practically free, the meds are so cheap. And fortunately for me, I don’t need a scrip for the stuff in my country. So I don’t have to pay for therapy. But for those of you that are less fortunate, I don’t know, write a fake prescription. It’s worth it. You know you’re depressed, you don’t need overpaid bourgeois scum to tell you that and leech off you for months. This could be the end of my feeling this way. I can hardly imagine what a whole normal life would feel like. I never knew I could come back to this. I thought this feeling died with childhood.