Some people might call me morose of mind, others have said I hold on to my misery because it's a habit and it feels comfortable. My husband told me recently, if a person is depressed for any more than 2 weeks, non-successively, in a year, it could be classified as clinical – I thought 'well, fuck me'.
Who the fuck really wants’ to deal with anyone else's mental health. Sure, we may do it for our most loved and cherished ones, but even for them it has a pretty finite amount of time it can be handled for, or persisted through, without some relief.
So for the people who you would like to consider yourself close to, or maybe you would like to become better friends with… when one is in a shitty state of mind, you really do not want to either A. expose them to it, nor B. have them endure through it, or C. maybe even make yourself vulnerable to their judgments about how sane you actually are, (which is to say… not very, IMHO).
*Whistles*… It's pretty fucking isolating in here, I do have to say. No one likes maudlin. No one wants to deal with the raw emotion of futility, or uselessness individuals sometimes posses, particularly in a society they may not have adapted very well to, in a culture, which on face value seems somewhat devoid of any emotion at all. Every one thinks it's self-indulgent and, to hurry up and get over it. They have a point. Solipsism at it's best, I suppose.
It's like one's appetite for everything just stops. You can't sleep. You don't feel like eating. Forget going outside, it's a novel concept, but waaaay too much effort. Showers become bi weekly optional… mmm-mmm, odorous at best. And interacting with people is chore-like when hibernating in ones brain while it screams: ‘Oh, the humanity’. I can't even be bothered smoking cigarettes that much. That, in itself, is depressing. If you can't be egged on by your nicotine habit, there is something seriously wrong.
Cut ties, hit the gym, get a new girlfriend. The Internet's arm chair philosophical and relationship advice to just about everything.
Well, for me it’s more about learning a language which, going on past experience, I have little to no interest in, a hard time picking up, and no ability to remember. Plus, not one in 6 people speak it in the world, like the useful language of Chinese or the sexy language of Spanish. At best I will be able to order Thai food (I don't even like Asian food, but whatever) in some other country, with the possibility they might understand what I am saying. Unlikely though.
Why yes, I do have to hit the gym. Probably not the gym though, more likely to be Yoga or Pilates. But after living through Red Shirt riots with fuck all money, I am a little hesitant to pay a lot of money on what would be considered a middle class hobby, past time, or luxury here, no matter how good it is for me. And too lazy and impatient to wait for the Youtube downloads to induce the self-motivating, home care package. I possess absolutely no discipline when it comes to exercise… bonus. I am the fattest thin person, EVER. Note to self, if and when genetically spread seed, encourage exercise as a trait in children (+1 personality, +3 hotness, +2 charisma).
Get a job… ahh. This is the quandary. Work for fuck all money doing something you hate for 10 hours a day, 6 days a week, just to feel ‘useful’, well, at least for a few months before you slit your wrists (proverbial ‘you’ just means me in this case really, most people probably have a higher tolerance to this 9-5 'normalness'). Intern in a job (at age 30+) for no pay, most probably working for Douchebags & Turds Co. INC, but at least doing something you might like, your labor and time hideously devalued though. You eventually find yourself doing some arbitrary task and wondering why you spent so many years educating yourself, if that's what you can call it. Become a 'teacher' of English - largely a misnomer in this country as any fucking hack can do it. Again, not well paid, and something I would hate. No patience for idiocy, no love of training people, no wait, just no love of people, period. Ebay? *shudders* The most likely option, since I can *try* and spell words in full sentences, get a pay pal account (while annoying, not impossible), speak the England and post pictures on the Interwebs. It took me a month or so to find my local Post Office, and it is pretty fucking close. Handy.
I know, I know, I should be grateful. After over a decade of having passionate, artistic endeavors, and dreams destroyed in front of my eyes and slip through my fingers, coupled with the inability, strength or social support at the moment to fight the good fight and start again… I guess I'm going to end up a stereotypical white wife in South East Asia, slightly bitter… (well, granted, I was jaded by the early teens, this place don't help any), speaking some of the language, I would judge at this point badly, maybe with a hotter body if we get richer, and an Ebay account I can sell knick knacks on. *Claps* Oh boy, Oh boy, all my dreams have come true. Fuck me, no wonder I am so maudlin.
Cake and icing: a friend of mine just died of cancer this morning, or yesterday. I am not quite sure when, I got the status update from Facebook…classy, yes? I feel bad because I didn't really answer his last email, which, granted, was a carbon copy group email of a jpg of an expensive bike he had just bought; rather a moot object, I thought, since he was dying of stage four cancer. So, really that just makes me a Cunt. I had known him since I was 19 years old, from memory (a particularly bad one). A good guy, nice is too beige a word. One of us, and I will always remember him fondly for his impish smile and lothario behavior. Not to mention his excellent wordsmithy-ness, and his great capacity to help others. He will be eulogized by far better a person than I.
Maybe the ability to work through depression, or whatever it is this darkness is, which clings to me with such a possessiveness and has for so long a period… maybe bitching about it on the web might help. Probably not for any audience, save myself… maybe it's like ablutions, or a confessing, or a therapeutic kind of thing. Writing that is. Posting is… well, some poor fucker has to read it, I guess. That's what social media is for these days. Polluting the minds of other people. Just a lower class of people, making more noise.
*I have no idea how to use comma’s, and every time I try to research the grammar on the Google, I get confused. Quality education there Australia, thanks for that. I’m not paying back my HECS debt, FYI.