Today was awful. And it was made much more awful by the fact that it didn’t start awful. I woke up and I was happy, I took the train and I was happy, I was so happy it felt real, I thought this is it, this is the other side, day one of not being depressed. I was a little spooked by it even.
If there was a hell the greatest torture would be letting someone believe they got out.
I had a 1408 moment (it’s a movie, watch it). I was out, I was free, and that just made returning to the feelings so much more painful.
And I’d decided last night to give Maria some space, some time off from being my crutch and my therapist for her sake and to work on regulating my emotions, so I didn’t say anything to anyone.
I envy people who require something bad to happen in order to get depressed. For me even the good things that make me momentarily not depressed -like I felt at Distortion- become reason to be depressed after some time has passed. I always sink back to normal, back to nobody. My dear friend Bob is still happy about things that happened 20 years ago and I decay completely after 5 fucking days. I know, when I’m absolutely content and everything is pleasant like hanging out with Maria, that I’m going to start getting unhappy again the minute it’s over. The last practice with Reckless Heroes, maybe an hour of fading happiness after. From the show Thursday until today I didn’t have a bad moment, it was a great weekend, and I got suicidally depressed anyway by Monday at 3. And the feeling that it’s always going to be that way makes it snowball.
I left work. Just left, didn’t say anything, couldn’t. I was thinking that I just have to take a nap and I thought I don’t want to take a nap, I want to stab myself in the heart. I wanted to drink. I can see how my drinking is tied to my depression but not in the way I expected. I don’t crave drinking to cheer me up or run from feelings, it’s when I’m depressed and self destructive but just too damn rational to do anything. I do it to hurt myself, so that I feel sick and mean. I get this vision of myself dangerously drunk, throwing my life away.
I went to Shoppers and I googled the best sleeping pills to overdose on. As I suspected they don’t make dangerous dosages available to basic consumers anymore for exactly this reason.
So I came home and laid on the bed and tried to work passed the feeling that I want to die today. It amazes me the human mind can put itself in such agony, how can something honed by evolution crave self-annihilation? It’s insane that 90% of my thoughts and feelings are telling me I have to die, there’s no reason not to, and a tiny, artificial feeling 10% tell me I don’t have to listen to myself.
I sent Mandi an email, the bitchy shitty kind I’d stopped myself from sending this whole time. I told her I knew we had to stop talking and the reasons why I hadn’t already. She agreed. It’s over.
We’d talked on the phone a few days ago and agreed that we didn’t feel there was an ‘us‘ anymore. Just a her and an I. In fact I told her that Maria got everything she wanted, the fun intimate intellectual emotional friendship with a flirty vibe and no romantic agenda.
Maria and I feel like us.
So of course I texted her and of course started feeling better. Feeling better, but not getting better.
My sobriety ends Dec 10, the same day Simone is moving out. I’ve been thinking a lot about the story ends and what it’s supposed to mean. It would be great if this was the story of me realizing it’s worth getting back into music, or the story of me discovering physical health and mental health are co-dependent, but really the end of this story is no end at all. Things are changing externally but not internally.
All I’ve learned is what I’ve always suspected; trying to be happy hurts more than being unhappy because it means I can fail. I’ve proven that I’m broken by trying to fix myself, hope is where pain flourishes.