Payday. For the average brained amongst you this will be a good day. Finances picking up you'll probably already have picked out the new shoes you want online or decided to go to that gig next month with your friends. When you're depressed it's not quite as easy. We all worry about money. No doubt you said to yourself 'well that's already spent' or 'now I'll be living on beans for the month'. But you'll still find a way to go out the Saturday after next or go for dinner with your bestie, to that little restaurant you've been meaning to try for ages because she's got a crush on the beardy guy who works there. You'll worry. Possibly complain to your partner. Make a mental note to start a finances spreadsheet like your dad. But then you'll get a text, or turn on the TV and life will continue. Your brain will move on to the next thought. What shall we have for dinner.
Just to illustrate the absurdity, this in the space of 10 seconds of logging on to Internet banking is what went through the brain of an anxious person - 'Why don't I earn more money. It's because my career is going nowhere. There was no point doing that degree. You should have known you'd never end up doing anything worthwhile. You might as well just give up now. Is it possible to retire in your 20's. Don't be stupid people are having to work much longer now. There are a lot of people on the street and you are complaining. What bills do I have to pay. I don't know when they go out. I can't face checking it because maybe I worked it out wrong. I'm bound to not be able to pay them. What if I lose my job because of all this going on. What if I can't pay my rent. I'm bound to end up on the street. Would I get killed if I was homeless because I didn't know the 'street code'. Which place in Cardiff would be the safest to sleep in. I'll have to start planning that just in case. Maybe if I make friends with that tough guy with a dog who lives under the bridge...'
The next obstacle is the shower. I like to think I am a clean person. In fact it sometimes forms part of the ritual OCD to wash my hands. But when you're depressed everything feels like the hardest thing in the world to do sometimes. Today the thought of having to shower is physically difficult. I have to consciously focus on making it happen. I am torn by the want to go out and the need to curl up in a ball and block it all out.
When I do make it in it's not the most pleasant experience. I marked my skin last night. I hesitate to call it cut because that sounds so bad, so detached from the actual feeling. I wince because as much as I love original source mint shower gel it is not kind to the burning reminders of my feelings on my arms. People do this for many reasons. I cannot claim to know or understand them all. For me it's like a bubbling up. It gets to the point where I cannot feel or think anymore and a purely physical sensation elsewhere is like a release. Luckily I couldn't get the blade off my razor. Well done to the company for making it so impossible. I am going to take steps to make sure it stays that way. I think watching that documentary about Amy Winehouse may have been a bad idea. It was like looking into a mirror at times but then so completely different to what I am going through. I made a mental note to myself to put down the alcohol in my hand.
The doctor asked me 'Are you suicidal'. And I could immediately and confidently answer 'no'. I don't want to die. I told her. Just sometimes I don't want to exist. I want to cease being. Or rather I want to be, but just not be me. And as long as that distinction is clear to me, I know that I can still be here.
When I finally make it to the park there is an overwhelming feeling of anti climax. The court is taken so I can't play. I walk to the lakes. It's beautiful. And usually a good place to come and think. But today. Now that I am here. I think 'what now'. I am completely alone and the thought that usually comforts me sends a chill through me. I watch the seagulls on the water and wonder what it must be like to be them. Consumed by the need to survive. To eat, mate, purposefully eat your garbage and crap all over your cars. I doubt a seagull spends hours worrying that it looks too feathery today or that the other seagulls won't like it. In fact annoying your own kind seems a pre requisite for seagull-kind.
There is something hypnotic about the ripples and I cannot deny that I get the same thought as I do every time I cross a bridge. I just want to throw something. I don't know what or why. Then the thought hits me to throw the ball. The thing that has consumed me to get over the last day was another let down. Now I know what the rational reading this is thinking. Why would you not just go back and play later. Well that's because the depressed mind cannot comprehend a later. Right now there is only the rustling of the trees and a lack of direction. I decide it's probably best to just keep walking.
On the way back I buy a glass bottle from the shop with some fancy fruit drink in it. I have no idea why I chose it but I become aware of the urge to crush the bottle in my hand. Luckily it passes and I somehow make it back unaware of how I got here or why I now seem to be unable to stop tears streaming down my face. I wonder where my place is in the world and realise I should probably eat something as it's nearly 3. The washing up is looking at me, reminding me that the world doesn't stop because you are struggling with it. The day has passed in a blur. One more day closer to the meds settling in. One day closer to clarity. I read a quote today from Robin Williams. He said that the saddest people are always the ones who want to make others laugh, because they never want anyone else to feel the sadness they feel.
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