This is my first post this August. It took nine days to feel motivated to write again… to quote Tame Impala, it feels like I only go backwards. People tell me to give life time, time to move on and time to grow, experience ‘new’ things, give life another chance. Five months of this depression and I feel no closer to the end of the tunnel, just deeper into the abyss.
I feel that behind the failure of the English language to appropriately articulate feeling and concepts, I am thinking that people really mean ‘acceptance’ rather than ‘time’. Time does not really change anything, it is merely a hypernym over factors such as ageing, decay, progress, etc. When telling a depressed person to give everything ‘time’, it feels more like I am being told to find acceptance in what has happened to me; accept that I am currently alone and have been for years now, that I am paranoid about everyone I meet and speak to, that love has been dead to me for months now and it was not my fault… or so I must believe to try to stay sane; although self-criticism and reflection does come easily to me, like a second nature to put myself down.
Being told to accept the harsh reality of the world I am living in is a million times more difficult than it sounds, how can I and why should I accept unfathomable horror? I could be dead, without any pain and worries rather than having to accept and survive this bullshit I am drowning in. My situation still has not changed and hope still feels like a distant dream. I can say that I have accepted the past and yet after giving everything time and space, I really don’t feel any better. I still feel like dying, accepting the gift of mortality rather than what feels like an eternity of pain. Music and escapism still eases the pain, alone in my room most of the day, waking up in the afternoon and gracing the world of my mind as the sun rises. But such a lonely existence is no life at all.
I had a dream the other day, one where the world was going to hell around me and yet I was okay with that, just as long as I had love; on the seat next to me, the most vivid image of the dream was my ex, the second one that lied to me for three months. I felt love and happiness, we had our hands on each other like we used to and I felt warm inside; it felt real. Even after the acceptance of my past, my mind still plagues me with twisted visions of a world that will never be, no matter how much my subconscious longs for it. And I wake up, tortured and lost without that love and feeling I had but moments before I awoke. It seems like nothing has changed, my subconscious is still plagued after all of this time and conscious acceptance of reality.
Furthermore, my motivation diminishes by the hour. It has affected me, causing me to think less of myself. I feel invisible strings holding me back from many things, I just feel not bothered to get out of my bed to pick up my laptop and write. I started a running program a month ago in which you run three times a week for fourteen weeks to prepare you for a 10k marathon. I never planned on running a marathon, I just wanted to feel better about myself. I got two weeks in and for no particular reason I have just stopped. I never got around to continuing it with all of my free time, despite the enjoyment and good feeling I get from it. I am more than capable of running the distance, I do try to keep fit, but I just procrastinate and don’t find time for it anymore.
My mood and motivation has dropped lower than what it was this time last year, before university and after the heartless academic pressure of GCSE’s and A-levels. I am more self-aware than I was a year ago, matured by the past year’s events. It even turns out that I am and always have been lactose intolerant which explains a lot, my mum never thought to tell me that in nineteen years, cheers mum…
Even attempting to feel better about myself, accept, forgive, move on, is an insurmountable task when still nothing changes for better, just worse. I am taking other’s advice of not really telling anyone anything personal about myself, not going out of my way to express inner demons. It is tough when I would want others to be honest with me and forthcoming too, and yet I am hiding in plain sight now instead. And in doing so, it has clarified that no one even asks, no one goes out of their way to show that they care about me, how I am doing. I ask them but they don’t ask me, I have to start conversations. Nobody makes a move to talk to me. The crush, I have been speaking to her now and then, and while I can accept that maybe she just does not use social media very often and put my paranoia behind me, the fact that the conversation has now ended, she saw the last message, open to continue the conversation and yet she did not, shows that she really is a decent and normal person after all. A human for not being interested in me just like everybody else. Once again, feeling invisible and ignored, no matter how hard I try, to be myself, to be a decent person, nobody cares. One feeling I truly do not know is feeling appreciated.
After all of the acceptance and second chances that I offer, where are my second chances? Where is the acceptance and consideration of me? Every single day my family put me down, complain about me, forget me and when they do cook me dinner for example, they prepare food that I cannot eat. I have had braces for over two years and yet they insist on cooking meat on the bone, tough pork chops and baguettes, food I have not liked in nineteen years of life, food that I physically cannot eat.
There never has been consideration of me, never a second option, I get what I am given or I starve. I must be grateful. I have a succinct four-letter word, followed by a three-letter word for them, to tell them where to go.
Despite the dread of university this September, escaping them for a second time will be a dream come true. I have given them too may chances to change and another thing that I have accepted is that people do not change. Once you see their true colours, only then can you decide on whether to give them a second chance and through all of my failed attempts, my parents do not deserve another. They brought me into this world and raised me, but they could have done so much more that comes with the role of being a parent and in that respect, they have failed. I have respect for my father for putting up with my mother for all of these years, but I have no respect for my mother and I cannot say that I ever will. She has raised me through misery and continues to. Through efforts of making time for them, watching movies with my dad, making food for my mum, the simple acts and consideration are not reciprocated towards me. Nothing has changed in a year. Same old pain, no progression; only acceptance and awareness of reality.
And with this cold, lonely and dark reality, the world suffers too. An orangutan as President of the ‘United States’, terrorism forcing beliefs upon innocent humans with the right to free will and speech, maiming and murdering anyone in their way, discriminating, dividing communities and alienating minds, betraying belief and faith. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. Bureaucracy suppresses the individuals and I am in the middle of it all too, just like you, uncertain of tomorrow’s headlines. I am scared and lost, not only because of my past but also because of the world around me. I do not wish to live my life, but I also do not wish to live in such a world either, not when the dark outweighs the light now. Not even the incredible new season of Game of Thrones can distract me from my life and the world.
I don’t know what to do with myself…
Much love from your friend,