Sometimes Nothing Works.

I’d like to preface this by saying I wrote it two years ago. Untreated and right around the time I truly crashed. I’m posting it as a contrast to how I speak and think now. I’m posting it as a reminder to myself that I AM getting better even when I have super-meh days like the one I’m having today; I feel nowhere near what I express below. I still get these moods, but now they are considerably shorter, and usually considerably less intense. This is why I never really succeeded until I let myself lean on friends and cut myself some slack. The following is me in some of the deepest depths of the depressive state:

Sometimes nothing works for hours, sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks. Rarely for months, even if the breaks are brief and less than satisfying. Nothing is interesting and nothing is inspiring, nothing is permanent so nothing has true purpose, if I do or do not, what will it matter in the end?

It’s frustrating and confusing and annoying and I just want to be able to draw or create again, but everything I try to make I end up hating. I guess this is a creation, but I don’t really like it either, I just do it because I have to make something, anything, or maybe I just have to drain these thoughts from my head… maybe they are just taking up so much of me that nothing else is left.

I guess it’s been a long time since I’ve written anything that could be considered opening up, or putting myself out there. I second guess myself when I try. I guess fear owns me. I’m not sure how much I care, if at all. I wonder… do I tell people and hope they understand that I don’t WANT to feel this way and I try to turn it around? That sometimes it works perfectly, but a lot of the time it fails? And I blame myself. Still, if I’m just making excuses for myself, why isn’t it constant? Why can I feel like I’m fucking awesomesauce one day, and a pile of useless shit the next, if I’m just as rational in both cases?

I avoid really talking to people because of how much I hate answering, “How are you?” Every answer feels like a lie, or a whine. Instead I dart about, talking to people in general, and rarely, very rarely one on one, I try to express nothing but humour, or anger, rarely really getting too serious. And it gets worse as time goes by and the personal talks, the closer friendships get more and more distant, and I don’t want them to, but I don’t want to drag anyone with me. I don’t want to explain all of this, because I expect misunderstanding, and/or I don’t want to explain the whole depression/bi-polar thing, which is still because I expect misunderstanding really. I used to just sort of fear it…

You know how you feel when you’re expecting really bad news? You know it’s coming and you await it in dread? I feel like that 90% of the time; debilitatingly(Is that even a word? It is now I suppose.) so, and I feel like a weak fool for it.

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