I just have to get through each day. That’s what I keep telling myself. Just go through the whole slog until it’s time to sleep again. Shower, work, eat. Repeat.
I’m doing the bare minimum though. Food doesn’t really excite me anymore, so when I’m home alone I don’t eat. Eating with other people helps, but otherwise my appetite is gone.
I shower most mornings, unless I can’t drag myself out of bed early enough, then it’s a mad dash for the bus or to my car.
Nothing really excites me right now. I’m just spinning my wheels through life.
And if that’s the case, what’s the point? I know I’ll feel something other than sadness and loneliness again, but I also know the darkness returns too. And each time feels less and less manageable. Why fight it?
What makes life worth the struggle? The highs don’t make up for the lows for me. I have no faith or religion to help guide me. Recognizing the singularity of my life doesn’t make it any less painful, or any more special to me. (One life as far as I know. I would be beyond angry if reincarnation is real and I’d have to cycle through all this bullshit again.)
My life isn’t precious. Therefore I’m not precious. I’m not reason enough to keep going. Everyone will tell me they care and want to help, that I mean a lot to them. But it doesn’t penetrate through my depression. It doesn’t make me feel good about myself.
Everyone says it’s going to pass, and I’m reasonably certain it will, but it will return. Imagine how debilitating that is.
I am not enough, no matter how many times you tell me otherwise. I don’t know what I’d need to feel differently.
Even the outpouring of support I’ve received somehow falls flat. It’s nothing against any of you who want to come to my aid.
Reaching out has always been difficult for me. I don’t know how to ask for help, and perhaps I’m asking the wrong people. People always say they want to help, but just how much always plagues me.
Will you wash your hands of me if I actually call you in the middle of one of my episodes? Will you back away when I’m screaming and crying about my lack of a will to live?
My mind throws up so many reasons not to reach out to people. My mind plays all kinds of tricks. I don’t want to be a bother. I won’t actually feel better, or I’ll only temporarily feel better. He’s busy; or she has a family to worry about, so don’t be an extra burden. She’s too far away to do any good.
I don’t actually know where I’m going with this. I’m just so paralyzed by my own mind. If I’m not numb and empty, I’m sad and anxious.