I am fucking depressed.
It’s not because I have too much going on right now, or too little. I’m just in a (legitimately) sick, and lethargic state.
My mind is a blur of sadness…
Let’s start at the beginning;
I’ve been sick since Saturday, but the cold has only gotten worse since then, with the peak being today. My dreams were of my Father, and his side of the family. A nightmarish group of individuals who only seem to care about themselves.
I remember lying in a room not dissimilar to my living room with my old dogs, and looking out at the night through the window near me. The cityscape was strange, ethereal, with lights cutting through the streets in the darkness. I heard my grandmother calling out to me, trying to find me, and my fear creeping up on me. I kept completely quiet and still as I heard the group travel up and down a set of concrete stairs outside the door. It began to open on it’s own, and no matter how hard I pushed, it continued to open. I laid back down on the couch, trying to hide from them, but alas, the door swung open, and I was cornered.
My Grandmother called out to me, asked me why I had not called, why I had not kept in contact with her, feeding me lies and guilt that overwhelmed my very being as my extended family looked on with cold, unrelenting eyes. I tried to respond, but I could not come up with the right words to explain my position. The guilt was too great, and my mind too shattered.
I woke up with blood in my mucus, my nose stuffed up, and a general ill feeling. I cleared out my pipes, then walked into my kitchen to make some medicine. I turn on the light, and BAM! It shorts out. Aggravating to say the least.
I looked at the box of Theraflu and realized that it would not be enough to circumvent my symptoms, which were worse than before. “Fuck!” I shouted as I threw the box back onto the counter.
I called my mother to inform her of my plight, but the conversation became about how I didn’t have insurance, and how it wasn’t her responsibility to help me with finding insurance due to my age(though I had asked her many, MANY times to help me prior). It soon degraded to nagging until I just exploded on her. The foul feelings within appearing only briefly, then subsiding as the exchange came to a close.
I got dressed, and jumped in my car. I felt like I couldn’t hear anything as I traveled to the pharmacy down the street.
The past few hours have been quiet once again, but all too quiet for my taste. The medicine helps, but it does not help my psychological state. I feel mindraped, lost, uncomposed… Like a living illusion. A ghost. An apparition.
I suppose that watching Ancient Discoveries about Torture Devices cannot have helped, but I do not think it hurt either. I feel… alone. Like I don’t exist.
I have dealt with this many times before, but recently this emotion has come into play more in this new year than ever. Some of my friends, though very nice, seem to forget I’m around. I guess I can’t blame them, since I hardly make contact on my own terms. I don’t know why I just don’t talk to people because, if anything, all I want to do is talk. I talk to myself all the time. I live within my own mind, having conversations with myself to determine which course of action would better suit me, and which would make me appear to be something I’m not. The only thing I’m trying to be is me, but sometimes, even that backfires.
I can’t say I blame anyone for feeling weird about me, for not feeling trusting, or understanding. It’s hard to understand someone who is completely aware of themselves. It’s frightening. Also, due to my extensive life experience in such a short time, it is intimidating. People are worried I’ll go from 0 to 60 in 10 seconds or less, and yes, I do have my moments, but I’m trying to get better. I’m always trying to get better.
I suppose that this is just a phase, a passing glance of something that may or may not be. I have no ideas, I just have the constant of moving forward.