I just realized that my lack of things to look forward to is due to my lack of looking forward. And that’s got to stop.
Trouble with the future is a known symptom of depression. The pessimism endemic to the condition makes it nearly impossible to see the future as anything but bleak.
And for me, that’s only gotten radically worse since my health started steeply declining. Before, when I tried to imagine my future, all I got saw was an angry wall of grey static. My mind refused to go there. It knew better than to stop at that dismal station.
However, by default, like all young people I assumed that whatever the future held, I would be there to experience it living more or less the exact same life.
But now all I see is things getting radically worse until I am a gimptard lying in a hospital somewhere unable to move a muscle, tubes everywhere, drooling and twitching until the day some bored nurse unplugs my ventilator so she can charge her phone and my walleyed angel of mercy finally does its job and put me out of our misery.
Not that I’m bitter.
But I can’t leave it like that. Despair is a luxury I can no longer afford. Giving up loses its appeal when it can actually kill you.
I’m not goddamned dead yet. I can move, I can think, I can have fun. I can get something out of this stupid goddamned life before it’s too late.
And my life is not undifferentiated misery for fuck’s sake. I have fun. I play games and listen to interesting YouTube videos and write this crazy frigging blog and I don’t exactly do these things because I hate them.
And I treat myself to ordering in three times a week. That’s something to look forward to if I can be bothered to look forward.
And with a little extra effort, I can build more things to look forward to into my life. I can buy neat things online and anticipate their arrival. I can start saving up to upgrade this ol computer of mine. I can try out different virtual hangouts and expand my social vistas a little bit at a time.
And those are just off the top of my head. I am sure I can come up with lots of other ways to enrich my life if I could just burn all filthy frost left behind by my negative attitude off of my otherwise mega potent imagination.
If I want to live, I have to exit survival mode. [1] I need to start thinking in terms of what will make me feel like life is something to enjoy, not just endure. I want to find the things that pull me forward and then hitch my wagon to them and RIDE.
I have a lot of mental dead weight to shed first. But I am getting there.
And if there’s one thing I am sure of, it’s that I will KEEP. ON. TRYING.
More after the break.
The only way to let it in is to let it out
It’s like our hearts have only one door.
And that door is either open or closed. Totally binary. No middle ground.
And so the only way to let something in – like love – is to open that door and risk letting the bad stuff in too.
Or letting something else out.
My door’s been sealed tighter than an airlock at pressure for a long time now. Forever, really. When I reacted to being raped by withdrawing deep within myself, I closed that door and welded it shut on the way in.
And like I said recently, I’ve never been truly close with anyone since. I’ve had friends, and loved them dearly, but that only gets you so close. We hang out, talk, laugh, have fun, love each other’s company, and share wonderful companionship.
But that is nowhere as close as one is supposed to be with one’s parents, siblings, lovers, and other “inner circle” types.
I have rotted in the dark without them.
But that’s just the setup for a much bigger and scarier question : could anyone get any closer than that to me? Or did I seal that door too tight?
Truthfully, it’s possible, but unlikely. I don’t know how to be closer than that. I want to be. I long for some way to breach the inner silence and stop being so goddamned alone.
I’ve heard it’s possible to not be lonely. Like, at all. Strange.
But I have trouble imagining it. Maybe if I can dream it, I can make it possible. My imagination is just that powerful.
There’s magic in this mighty mind of mine.
But as to whether someone could have gotten close to me, well, yes, but they would have to have been a pretty extraordinary person.
They would have to have been strong of mind and will and very stubborn yet also gentle enough not to spook me. Having great personal warmth would go a long way.
I am drawn to personal warmth like a cat is drawn to a dryer vent.
My inner world is so desperately cold that even the smallest of warm gestures can leave me close to sobbing with gratitude. It’s like food for my starving soul.
For everyone else, I am quite the challenge to get close to. All the moreso because I am such a master of illusion. I can seem completely honest and open and my high powered insight and empathy means I can get to know you very well very fast, and that sure makes it seem like we’re close.
But it’s all just a projection, and the real me is buried so far away it can’t be reached by slower than light communication.
One thing is for sure : if anyone is ever going to get close to me (or vice versa), I am going to have to help them a lot.
Maybe if we both push as hard as we can, we can pry that door open for good.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.