Journal entry 4 – Just one of those days

I’m struggling

I’m trying

I’m struggling

Keep trying

Keep struggling

I’m always gonna struggle

But will I always continue trying?

I don’t know.

I mean, I’ve given up on people I never thought I’d give up on, I’ve given up on goals I never thought I’d give up on, I’ve given up beliefs and practices I never thought I’d give up on, many years ago I almost gave up on life itself before giving it one last ditch effort and miraculously breaking through to the other side. (Even though you and I moved on so long ago, I still have you to thank.)

Here I still am. Existing.

But things always seem to come around full circle, don’t they? Just when we thought we’d broken free.

So, who’s to say?

How simple it would be to slip away..

Spirit fading into the atmosphere. Like an unexpected fog rolling in, then slowly rolling out. A rainbow, gone before ever really being noticed.

Body decomposing and being repurposed. Like the spoiled grapes, avocado skins, and frilly onion ends I cram into the compost jar sitting on the counter. The same compost feeding my garden and its insects. The mini-ecosystem I examine barefoot and bare-chested every single morning for far too long because I’d rather immerse myself in nature than get ready for work. The lizards and small animals my cat loves to chase and kill. He leaves their bodies for me at the door. Thank you for the gift. Another life gone. (A small ant is crawling up my arm, and now I’m going to eat it. Tell me why I shouldn’t?)

I’m trying.

I really am. Otherwise, why bother even writing this..

How easy it will be to someday slip away..

One day..

I’m supposed to be working on a research project but I keep hesitating to read the material. The comic books I love to read, I haven’t read in weeks. When’s the last time I dozed off in my hammock? When’s the last time I sketched? I think I have text messages from 5 different people I haven’t bothered to respond to. Have I drunk enough water today? I should stretch. Maybe I should finally hang my clothes. Have I apologized to you for being a shitty friend this week?

No. No, I haven’t.

It’s not you, it’s me.

Please don’t slip away.

This research project I should be working on, ironically, deals with writing. Expressive writing. The possible health benefits of expressive writing, and how my local community is engaging with writing during these chaotic times. Ethnographies, interviews, observations, surveys, consent forms, etc. It’s a lot. Especially for someone so detail oriented as I am. And due dates. I hate due dates. I’m just not a punctual person. I live within the boundaries of my own time zone. My own existence. No wonder getting from point A to point B is always such a lengthy journey. Am I making any sense? I forget that people might actually read this..

Some of my friends deal with depression. Not your “average” every other day melancholy, but, you know, serious fucking depression. The kind you have to be high all day for just to manage. The kind that creates anxiety at the thought of just stepping outside. The kind that’ll keep you in bed all week and make you lose your appetite AND your job. The kind that makes you seriously flirt with the idea of just ending it, to the point that you start fantasizing about it. The kind that causes you to make off-hand suicidal remarks or “jokes” causing people around you to either uncomfortably ignore you or ask, “is everything okay?” just so you can either “laugh” it off or excuse yourself while you go outside and fall apart in a heap of tears. The kind that makes you feel like your the smallest most insignificant person in the world. You know, that rock bottom kind of depression when you feel you have no possible way out. The kind you probably need a specialist for.

Or better friends.

A new life.

A new approach.

Something

No, I’m not suicidal, but I’ve been there and I know what it can be like. And it’s not always obvious to the people around you.

I do my best to try and spot those around me that are having a really rough time. It’s not like I’m trying, really. More like something I do instinctually. Maybe I’m just drawn to it. That familiar feeling. I don’t know. And I don’t always know the exact words to say, but

I try.

Breaking through with people and seeing even the slightest smile or smirk when they’re down and out is one of the best feelings.

It picks me up a little bit. A small boost. Is that selfish?

Sometimes it’s with people I meet in passing – on the street, at the store, on the job. The young pregnant girl wrapping my burrito with the delicacy of a tornado and frustration in her eyes. The guy who just fell off his bike while carrying too many things on his handle bars and now he’s cursing at the sky. The painfully shy coworker too awkward to share their thoughts. The friend I haven’t spoken to in years but posted one of the saddest updates ever so of course I have to reach out. Sometimes it’s with people I’ve “known” for years and they just finally open up to how seriously bad their mental health is or has always been.

PTSD, BPD, OCD, SAD, MDD, ADHD

Disorder. Disorder. Disorder.

You’re a fucking labyrinth.

Pans labyrinth. The Shining. Inception.

I would love to find you at your core.

I hope the new medication helps.

I had a friend who fell off her scooter one night after driving home from the bar, she banged her head and I watched her die as she bled out on the pavement. The one night she chose not to wear her helmet. I blame myself for her death – for reasons that I’ve only ever shared with one other person because he was with me that night and shared in the experience. I won’t get into it here. I’ve never written about it before, even on paper. Maybe one day..

Repressed memories. How many are there in the world? In a single person? How many dusty shelves and shoeboxes could they fill?

I’m getting off track..

We lived together and the morning after her death I went into her bedroom and flipped through one of her journals (sacrilege). She had been depressed for a long time due to illness and being estranged from an ex-lover, but she was finally getting out of it, her health was improving, her relationship with her father was improving and, according to what she wrote, she was feeling very optimistic about life..

I remember her last night alive. We danced and laughed together. Her smile was contagious. She was a real joy.

Around that time, I was already going through one of the worst years of my life – broke as a joke, no car, a terrible break-up, my third arrest, her death obviously made things worse. My life had been spiraling down, while hers was on the upswing. I couldn’t help but feel how unfair it was. It should’ve been me dead on that pavement that night, not her..

I’m still learning to cope and to not blame myself, but it’s hard, considering all the circumstances of that night, it’s really difficult not to. At best, i seem to make myself feel numb to the memory. But it doesn’t always work.

These winter months coming up are always the most difficult, especially when i don’t have the right people around.

I really want to enjoy the cooler weather. Long sleeves and thick socks. Hot cocoa, a warm fire, a warm bed.

Warm hugs.

A warm body next to mine.

I’m hoping I can figure things out. I hope to write something more upbeat next time.

Times are rough right now on a lot of people. Not everyone is experiencing things the same way. Don’t assume you know what’s going on in someone’s head. Don’t forget to reach out to people. Make time for those you love. But also make time for strangers and new friends, they might save your life one day without either of you ever knowing it, or you might be saving theirs.

Connect, disconnect, reconnect.

Don’t forget. Don’t forget. Don’t forget.

Don’t forget to touch the ones you love.

Touch the ones you love.

Please stay connected.

 

PSA: And please go vote. Mail in your ballot, drop it off or go stand in line. What the frick are you waiting for? Move it!