It’s been a long time. I have a dozen or so books to catch up on, and I just can’t do it. Once more, I’m fighting a battle in the hundred-years-war.
I’m not good enough. I can’t do anything. Everyone else is being amazing, and I’m still in this quagmire.
I texted a friend the other night while at work. In my long message, I’ve commented on something I think about constantly: “I lost so much in high school and college, personality and vibrancy wise. The depression crept in on top of so-called intellectualism, and I was too tired, too jaded, to stop it…” That’s how I’m feeling again and again. I start to pull through, to find my way out of the riptide, only to get a cramp, and fall back into drowning in my own life.
I have no motivation.
Tonight, I almost walked into the front of a moving car. Not on purpose. But because I’m just stumbling through life, so completely lost that I forget to look where I’m going. My mind is cracking: I find myself yelling the same three sentences over and over, sentences that sound constructed by a two year old. Twenty-three years of life has disappeared, save for the memories that no one wants to remain, and I’m a toddler again, living in my parent’s care, no complete sense of self yet, a world more black and white as my palette hasn’t developed color.
On the way home, I wanted to put my foot to the gas, to drive as fast as I could. I couldn’t go fast enough. I couldn’t escape, not the thoughts, not the memories, not the emotions.
I’m off my meds. i get tired of the stigma, tired of taking them every night with a — count them!– one, two, three. Staring at them, pulling them out. I’m tired of it. This does not define me. But some days… It seems like people see this side of you, see through your melting facade, and know that you’re a lost cause.
I am strong. I am brilliant. But I keep forgetting to remind myself.