The other day I had a dream that’s been weighing on my mind. I’ve almost been too ashamed to share it but I don’t think it will go away till I written it down. I dreamed that I was at my family’s small little lake house. My Mom, Dad, Brother, and sister where there. My nostalgia was over run by depression. A deep inexpiable depression that I could not explain to anyone around me. A ran away and hid myself in a small room to hide my shame. It was then that hand belonging to no one handed me a noose.
I awoke, but the dream still stays vivid in my mind. Haunting me a little. I can only think that hand was the worst parts of mind. Telling me to give up. The voice that I keep fighting everyday.
Last year on this date I made a toast to myself and all introverts, the depressed, to any facing anxiety, to the outcasts, misunderstood and any dealing with mental illness. The time passes again and we live another year.
A new year almost begs me to look back onto the year before it. What have I done, what have I not? Who am I this year, who was I before? How many times has my heart broken and how long have I spent repairing it? How long can I keep moving on like this.
Still I keep on living, there must be meaning in that. Living is not something people do out of some stubbornness. I want to live, I want to keep moving forward, I want to see how this story ends. So I will struggle for another year, then I will struggle through the year after that. Despite the gravity of sadness, time will always move forward.
Another Christmas, another day. Gifts given, cheer in the air. A sinking empty feeling. A weight in my gut trying to drag me down in the dead of night. I try to escape but the silent moments in-between hours bring it back. So I type about it here. This is my copping mechanism. Chaining each feeling down with words. Showing them to the world like a freak show. This way I can face a new day.
After some bloodwork I have found my triglycerides are high. It’s hardly that much of a surprise but does put me at rick for heart disease. I need to take care of myself but it’s hard to find the motivation when I can barely find the motivation to stay alive at times. My mental health has been on rocky roads for the past month. Death and suicide have passed my mind more then I would like. Perhaps am simply killing myself the long way round.
“I mean, considering how frail I am, if I was happy, I’d get crushed. Like, crunch. My eyes, my body, they’d be crushed. I couldn’t bear the weight of happiness. In stead of being happy after all this, I rather be steeped ankle-deep in lukewarm unhappiness and bear it all. I want to keep my shoes soaking wet for as long as I live. In reality, that’s what I’ve been doing…Yup. I can’t be happy after all this. ” – Sodachi Oikura from Owarimonogatari
How do you tell someone that after years of therapy and medication that you still sometimes think about suicide. That sometimes I fall down and it hurts to get back up. That I feel like Sisyphus endlessly pushing a bolder up a hill only to see it fall back down. I suppose that’s what hurts more, not that i was thinking about suicide, such thoughts pass, but that my progress falls backwards.
Such bad days are rare, but they hurt like hell. They are a harsh reminder of who I am, and what may never really leave me. A low burning fire exists in my soul and days like this throw fresh fuel onto the flame. Just to remind me that am slowly burning alive. I suppose we all have that fire burning inside us, it’s just so very painful to look at.