you need to get up and move because there are things to be done and you just can’t. there’s a deadline looming and your feet won’t budge. you tell yourself to do it, that there will be consequences if you don’t, but you don’t care. you don’t care about much. you’re going to disappoint someone but the blankness has you in its grip. chaos builds up around you and you don’t have the energy to be vigilant against it so it builds and builds til you’re crushed under the weight of things left undone and the world unravelling slowly around you and if you didn’t have any energy before now you really don’t. just looking at a task saps the life out of you. you know what needs to be done but your feet won’t move. that part of you that is sane and rational and wants you to live and be happy, it’s fighting a titanic struggle with the sucking void. most of your moments are that struggle. you watch as your will is hammered back again and again by apathy and inaction. it doesn’t help that you’re good at these colourful turns of phrase. everything is cast into much more dramatic terms. the void is lent strength by your strengths, the things that people praise about you just make it stronger. you’re smart and creative and imaginative and resourceful, and so is your enemy. your ability to analyse a problem is turned in on yourself and you burn an ever widening hole in your heart with your laser-like focus. you’re bleeding out and no one can see. what they see is the detritus of the battle. things left undone because you’re walking wounded but they can’t see it, so you’re just lazy. there’s something wrong with you but it’s a character flaw, a moral failing, nothing else. you can overcome it if you try and you’re not trying hard enough.
you’d try harder if you could just get up and move.
so today has been worse than most days. I hate trying to figure out why. it’s my hormones or a conversation I had or the weather or something I ate, god only knows. it’s a thousand little things ever day and day by day it’s just a matter of something breaking the camel’s back. but it’s more like quicksand. I’ve spent the day trying to keep from getting sucked into the morass of despair that’s always looming, and it feels like I’ve barely managed to stay alive. certainly there’s been some very alarming imagery in my mind about ending it all. it’s difficult to talk about. if you come straight out and say it you sound melodramatic, but if you hedge around it, it loses a lot of the sense of just how awful it is. everyone feels the drudgery of existence sometimes and struggles to find the energy to go on. but to have genuine suicidal thoughts about actively ending your life, well, that’s a different beast. there’s a great deal of horror at yourself, and shame, but at the same time it feels inevitable, like it’s the only possible conclusion. the depression, the hopelessness, it feels so inescapable, because it’s always there no matter how many good days you have. and when it’s bad, it’s fucking awful and climbing out of that pit isn’t just a matter of picking yourself up and making the effort. it’s like beating and clawing and scratching against a smooth impenetrable wall that has defeated you a million times over until there’s a tiny crack in the surface. then you do it all again until there’s another crack, until you have handholds to pull yourself out. “out’ is merely returning to a somewhat normal state where you don’t feel completely despairing.
I get asked if I’m feeling better. I want to reply, “well I don’t want to actively kill myself today, so I guess? but it’s still early, who knows what the day holds.”