GuessMyGame

It's always difficult to explain the separateness of my emotions and actions. Generally speaking, I don't do things I don't want to do. If I'm strongly opposed to something (or just generally opposed) there's pretty much zero chance I'll cave. But that ends there. I'll also not do things I want to do. I didn't notice how much I actually ignored my emotions and wants entirely until recently, but I do. My morals, mind, ambition and, of all things, aesthetic are what rule my decision. That's probably wise except for the simple fact that the reason I can do this is because I'm shut off from my emotions. Not because I can control them or really understand why I feel what. So in theory it's fine right up until the moment where I CANT connect to my emotions. Sure, the reason for that is lot more complicated then I feel like thinking about. But it's not the best feeling, exactly. It's like starring at a piece of pie with your mind telling you can't eat it, even though it's just a fucking pie.

The horizon is laid before me like misplaced lighting in the chill of the night. It's splayed like a cat, toes curling as my do in the grass of the ledge I found. I look out, the lazy horizon so far as I watch it fall asleep . I stay awake on the ledge.

"You should get out there." Carrie had laughed. I had laughed back. We all laughed.

I stare at my reflection in my bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth. I'm 30. I have chronic depression. I look average, faint red blotches visible on my face. I'm easily annoyed and aloof. Above all, I'm crippling lonely. I lower my toothbrush, looking into my own eyes. I accepted it, years ago, that thing would end up this way. I may have escaped from my house and past, but I left a bit of me there. This realization doesn't help me. I drown myself in whichever medium makes the emotions stop.

"You're so beautiful." A man lies. I don't believe him.

I put my toothbrush away and get into bed alone. I've developed a habit of staying up late so that the insomnia is more bearable, so I'm so tired I have to sleep. I hate laying in bed, just existing. For hours. It makes me wonder if living is really worth it at all. But that's normal for me, I stopped considering myself suicidal once I realized I would never have the courage to do it. It's shameful, but fear kept me alive.

"I can't believe you had to go through that." Someone says. They sound concerned. But by now, all this is normal for me. The constant intrusive thought, loneliness, urge to harm myself. I shrug to them. I can bare it. The only hard part is when I start to wonder why I bother at all.

As I lay in bed, the thoughts get more intense. But that's normal. This happens every night. People really don't understand, when I shrug and tell them feeling horrible is just what life is like for me. That's just how it is. I can't change it, no amount of medicine or therapy will help.

"There's nothing I can really do for you. Your depression is situational." I nod. I knew that already.

It's normal. It upsets me, sure. But what am I going to do? Get out there? I don't even know how to get out of my own head. My life is average, really. I'm pretty average. So, it all really doesn't matter.

Looking back on how horrible I felt during freshman year, I don't know how I survived. The anxiety still resurfaces sometimes as I stare at the pastel walls of the halls. I am reminded of the deteriorating mental state I had experienced. The swamp I stood, only half in reality. The confusion, harsh feelings of deep love hatred, I remember thinking that if I stayed still long enough I could sink into the ground and become nothing. I have thought that I really didn't have the strength to combat such feelings, that I should not have lived. Then I realized, I was correct. It's wasn't strength that got me through those desperate times, but fear of death.

True strength is having a normal, polite conversation with someone you hate, it is treating the person who broke your heart without contempt.