3.29.2016

The Circus is in Town

I find myself going through long bouts of dichotomies. I spent most of Monday in a highly derealized state. I struggled to focus on anything, and everything felt like a dream. I was present, and could listen and talk, but it all felt so fake. Reality felt fake, like I still hadn't woken up. I was on autopilot for most everything. I could tell you how and what I did, but I didn't really remember doing it.

Contrast this to today, which was much more conscious and awake. I was in a good mood and spent a lot of time enjoying things.

The struggle is in that I don't know what the next day is going to be. Will it be a struggle get through everything, or will it be a breeze.

I find myself taking liberties. I'm not challenged or engaged by anything, and I'm pretty bored most of the time. I'll spend hours on end moving from one distraction to another (usually video games) Until the next one comes along. I haven't written anything new in months. There are a few bright spots (editing a bit got started, finally), but by and large it all feels mostly pointless.

I know a few other people are going through hard times, and I try to be as nice and helpful as I can be to them. It's a strange sensation to feel your depression seeping back in. Perhaps it's just the come down from good mood, but feeling hopeless is never a welcome thing.

I'm content in being a sideshow, but the pining for a main event will always hurt.

3.02.2016

Happy Accidents

I was within twelve hours of being completely off my medication. I'd dropped down to half my normal dosage in an attempt to make it last until I could get my prescription refilled. The results were not enjoyable. It's interesting to me now to observe how drastic and disabling the depression becomes when unmedicated. Had I just gotten used to functioning through it? Or has it become that much more severe? Or, have I just forgotten what it was like now that I had a period of two or so good weeks? Pointless questions really, in the end it's an observable difference. Being off the medication, at this point in time, is a recipe for disaster. It makes me suicidal, it makes me debilitated and unable to perform the most basic of functions.

At least, on the medication, I can attempt to function as a human. I can be sad, and still go about my day. How I'm going to go about getting off the medication is a problem for another day.

As is, my emotions are chaos. My mood and energy are artificially elevated, buy my emotions are still incredibly low. I'm not opposed to suicide, it seems like one of those happy accidents that just happens and it's, sorta just fine. I tell myself that it will get better, and I try to believe it. It sometimes works.

Given all that, I still feel incredibly isolated. My typical day involves talking to coworkers through text chat only. I commute via bus and don't speak to anyone. I work in an office by myself, and have a single daily meeting, where in I don't speak, and no one really asks me anything. I..don't really think I spoke to a single person today outside of the woman dishing out food in the cafeteria, and that's hardly what I call an intimate conversation.

It all contributes to feeling alone. And feeling unworthy and unlovable. Which, is bad enough in itself, it's worse in dealing with chaotic mental imbalances. I'm too exhausted to try and pursue people anymore, and I'm too undesirable to be pursued in any real manor.

I just try and write my stories, and live vicariously through those characters, in the hope I can write them a better life than the one I have. There's no better definition of escapism than that.