If I time it just right, I can catch a glimpse of the sunrise from bridge level. With headphones on, it feels familiar, and I can remember that I have a heart.
Fuck. Today sucks.
I spent the better part of my morning explaining what I was doing at work into my selfie cam, so that I could have someone to talk to. I did eventually remember that this blog exists and what it’s here for, but was just barely too busy to ever actually take all of the steps of figuring out what server I put this on and what my password is. I’m pretty into my password manager but won’t let myself log in to it at work.
2020 was absolutely crazy. 2021 hasn’t really let up, either. I know that this has been true for the world at large, but I feel also that it has been individually true for so many people, as well. I count myself among them.
This year, I got put on medication for my depression, finally. It took me a very long time to learn that it actually really was an illness. My belief was that everyone must feel basically the same way as me, but that they were just able to handle it.
This, I am learning, has been a common experience of mine and I am now wondering if this might be something that everyone experiences to varying degrees. I seem to have a habit of extrapolating feelings which notably set me apart to everyone. There may be some tinge of validity to that, but I kind of doubt it at this point. The hilarity of this is that I’ve long considered myself some sort of bring spot of self-awareness in the universe. In truth, I have let something like emotional arrogance trample on my ability to have an open mind, or to simply trust the experiences of people who ought to know more than me on a given topic. For example, the people who wrote the DSM-IV. They probably know, at least to an extent that outweighs my own, what the fuck they’re talking about.
I’ve procured a box of Cheez-Its and am having a hard time pausing my snack to continue explaining that I am a moron. Please stand by.
Being depressed to the point that you can’t conceptualize the reality that all people aren’t secretly miserable (but aren’t they? Because rejecting this still does not reconcile with my beliefs) essentially means that you’re incapable of forming and holding a valid self-image.When my medication started working, it felt a bit like someone had slapped the side of the old TV in my brain. The year or so since then has been illuminating to say the least. Hell, I didn’t even know what we were watching until then.
While this is all very nice to discover, the truth is that…I remember getting prescription glasses for my far-sightedness. When I got home, I was kind of horrified by the amount of dust everywhere. This is similar.
I think that perhaps right now I am having a hard time accepting that I am a giant fucking mess and that, even after all of this time and effort, I am only just now identifying the amount of time and effort that’s going to be required for me to live and be fulfilled. Because something is missing, somewhere, and really it is a lot of things, and they will mostly be hard to get.
I have felt for a very long time that my true feelings are forbidden to express, and I am pretty fucking over it. My deference to others’ emotional comfort has been at extreme detriment to my own, and so thorough that it has likely gone unnoticed most of the time. I hear this paragraph being argued with as I type it, which frustrates me, as they’re winning me over.
If you can’t see yourself, being yourself is difficult. Without being yourself, I don’t know how you assert yourself, because you don’t know yourself, so you can’t really know what you need. For the first time in 25 years, now, I can see myself in the mirror. It’s not just a strange trick of the light with a humanoid shape. I did not really realize it until I caught eyes with myself the other day, but I have not processed my reflection as myself in a really, really long time.
That is not right.