My favorite month of the year. Hurrah.
These last months have gone by really slow, but not in a nice way. It’s like time was trying to let me know it’s passing. It rubs it on my face. It does it everyday.
It makes me feel old and reminds me that I am the one who is living in slow motion. Yes… it is not time, time is at normal speed, I am the one who is . . . underclocked. Other people seem to be moving faster and faster and I can’t manage to understand how. All I do (unsuccessfully) is trying to stay awake on the day and sleeping at night. I don’t feel capable of doing anything else. I am not like this, this is not me.
At this pace, I am going to wake up one morning being 40 years old and not having moved an inch from where I am. Meanwhile time will have passed, people will have built entire lives and there will be flying cars everywhere.
I often wonder what I am waiting for. I don’t see how things will ever get better. I try to think this is hopelessness talking (as a symptom of depression), but when I think really hard trying to remove any irrational thought (as if), I still get the same thing. Things are getting worse and there’s no logic way out. There’s no plan I envision that would make anything better.
So what am I waiting for, confirmation of this? A magical solution?
I still think it is somehow my fault. That I caused this and the talk about this being an illness is just self indulgence. But I recognize those thoughts as irrational (excessive guilt as a symptom of depression) as I’ve thought about it when I’m in a more reliable set of mind and get different conclusions.
I have abandoned the idea that my depression will ever be cured. It was liberating for a minute, but soon I found myself thinking that I will not live like this. I am only here because I’m scared of taking the definite step, like always. Except “scared” is not the right word, it is more like… if I was waiting for something, but every day it looks more remote, and it is uncertain how long the hope will last. (read: procrastinating suicide).
My logical brain sits and watches as I deteriorate. I am showing signs of increased severity of depression, I am showing alert signs. There’s an alarm going off saying there’s something that should be done. That I should ask for some kind of help. But the logical brain doesn’t have much saying in this anyway.
And to who, anyway. It is kind of lonely over here…