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.
I’m falling back into the same hole with the ceiling reinforced above me. I’m afraid of what happens next. I need sleep but it won’t come. I need not to think about any of this but it won’t stop. There are no misery solving pills. Only kids can be happy. Fuck happiness, can’t I just have an ounce of self control? Normalcy maybe? I’d given it up. I was doing alright. And after all that fucking effort, all those sleepless fucking nights, it takes one stupid day to take it all apart? Who the fuck made the rules? What the fuck am I supposed tp do now? Do it all again? God. I hate myself so much. I can’t defeat myself so I can win. That doesn’t even make sense. How the fuck did I get here.
I can’t believe what I’ve become. There is nothing left of who I was. I can’t stand people, because they are so full of plans for the future. I can’t imagine having a future, and the sixty odd years I could live yet scare me more than anything in the world. I exist on the whims of my organs. The thought that they are all that stand between me and oblivion never leaves my mind. There are emotions I refuse to manifest and others that make themselves heard. Thoughts wash over me as opposed to being thought. Everything occurs outside of myself. I am not the one feeling emptiness. I am not the one trying to sleep. When I dream, I am often in a haven where there is no language and nobody can ask anything of me. I feel black, like I’m rotting from the inside.
I want to end completely, cease to exist and truly be nothing.
This site is as old as me!