Tonight I am the most depressed I have ever been.
I am too depressed to cry. I am too depressed to masterbate. I am too depressed to act, in any way, shape or form. I am too depressed to feel.
Why? It doesn't matter why. Reasons are stupid. There are no reasons. You try to reason with depression, and you can't. The chemicals in my brain decided to lose their fizz today and go flat. That is all.
I'm sitting in front of my computer simply because I have no where else to go. My inbox is empty--proof positive that no one cares. Nothing is of interest to me, not sex, not even sleep. I'm writing out of sheer habit, because twenty years ago I actually had an ability to write, and it would sometime trigger me into feeling again, like a starter sputtering on the edge of ignition. And when you cry, and when you scream, and when you claw your skin until rage spills down your wrists, then that means that everything will be okay. Because at least you're feeling something. Anything at all. And that's 3 billion times better than having a void where your soul should be.
My brain tries to make reasons for all this, but they sound silly and pathetic even to me as I think them. I won't bore you with the falsehoods I tell myself. And for the record, I know that the statement above is false, that this is not the most depressed I have ever been, far from it. I think. At least that's what memory tells me. Memory tells me that when I wake up in the morning all this will be gone, a bad dream. And I will be glad for waiting periods on purchasing guns, and remind myself again to never buy one.
But memory is like elevator music. It plays constantly in the background, and you hear it clearly, but it's fucking annoying, it grates against the grain of the world around you. You just wish that someone would take pity on you and shut it off.
Friends who read this, don't panic. I go through this sometimes. I'm quite used to it. It's a part of who I am, who I always have been. Didn't you know? Today is harder than normal, perhaps because it's been awhile. But I know myself too well, and have prepared tools to get through days like this.
You want to know one of my best secrets? Cats. Humans will always fail you, we are all self-centered assholes who get caught up in our own bullshit and don't see anyone's pain but our own. But I know that my cats love me. I know my cats need me. My cats will sometimes sense when I feel this way, and brush their fur against my face, and bite my nose. And then my emotions are jump started again, and I can feel.
I don't kill myself because I don't trust my roomates to feed the cats when I am gone.
You can't get much more real than that.
I am too depressed to cry. I am too depressed to masterbate. I am too depressed to act, in any way, shape or form. I am too depressed to feel.
Why? It doesn't matter why. Reasons are stupid. There are no reasons. You try to reason with depression, and you can't. The chemicals in my brain decided to lose their fizz today and go flat. That is all.
I'm sitting in front of my computer simply because I have no where else to go. My inbox is empty--proof positive that no one cares. Nothing is of interest to me, not sex, not even sleep. I'm writing out of sheer habit, because twenty years ago I actually had an ability to write, and it would sometime trigger me into feeling again, like a starter sputtering on the edge of ignition. And when you cry, and when you scream, and when you claw your skin until rage spills down your wrists, then that means that everything will be okay. Because at least you're feeling something. Anything at all. And that's 3 billion times better than having a void where your soul should be.
My brain tries to make reasons for all this, but they sound silly and pathetic even to me as I think them. I won't bore you with the falsehoods I tell myself. And for the record, I know that the statement above is false, that this is not the most depressed I have ever been, far from it. I think. At least that's what memory tells me. Memory tells me that when I wake up in the morning all this will be gone, a bad dream. And I will be glad for waiting periods on purchasing guns, and remind myself again to never buy one.
But memory is like elevator music. It plays constantly in the background, and you hear it clearly, but it's fucking annoying, it grates against the grain of the world around you. You just wish that someone would take pity on you and shut it off.
Friends who read this, don't panic. I go through this sometimes. I'm quite used to it. It's a part of who I am, who I always have been. Didn't you know? Today is harder than normal, perhaps because it's been awhile. But I know myself too well, and have prepared tools to get through days like this.
You want to know one of my best secrets? Cats. Humans will always fail you, we are all self-centered assholes who get caught up in our own bullshit and don't see anyone's pain but our own. But I know that my cats love me. I know my cats need me. My cats will sometimes sense when I feel this way, and brush their fur against my face, and bite my nose. And then my emotions are jump started again, and I can feel.
I don't kill myself because I don't trust my roomates to feed the cats when I am gone.
You can't get much more real than that.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
unravled:
I've felt more than once that my dog is the only one who cares. Have you considered seeing a doctor? Sometimes it helps where nothing else does.
redheadedleague:
Okay, no panic. You are right about cats though - well for me it's more dogs, but same difference.