Vague Depressive Nonsense

July 6, 2007 at 10:00 pm 1 comment

I want to die. I’ve been mentioning this a lot in the last few days, I know. I’m not going to do anything precipitate, so don’t worry. This is somewhere I’m honest and this happens to be true. The feeling recedes. The feeling expands. It’s all the same, really.

Maybe it’s because my hair is clean and my flat is tidy. When I haven’t showered in a week and it’s difficult to get to the door because of all the crap between there and the sofa that I’m sitting on, it’s somehow easier to deal with these feelings. Yeah, I want to die, but wouldn’t you if you lived like this? Life sucks, but look at this, of course it does. Without these external signs of my madness there’s nothing to latch onto. I can’t say “if only I could actually get stuff done, then I’d be happy” when I’ve got stuff done and I’m not happy.

I look in the mirror. Do I really look this worn out? Is that really me, or just how I see myself? I don’t trust my impressions. Yesterday I shaved using Lynx Touched showergel in place of shaving foam, because I’ve run out of the real stuff. It tingled while drying my face out terribly and for the next hour my face felt sunburned. I made an appointment to see my GP on Tuesday. My current sick-note runs out the day after. I anticipate sublimated hostility.

It’s not that I don’t want to work. It’s that I think working to any set schedule will kill me. Or, rather, it will get me into a state of mind where killing myself becomes unavoidable. I’d rather like to avoid killing myself if possible. And if I do end up doing so, I’d prefer it to be a free choice, not the result of sleep-deprivation induced psychosis. I woke up at 7 p.m. today.

I’ve been trying to write a post about my father and failing. The problem is that my memory of him for the decade between me being five and fifteen is extremely patchy. I remember arguments, but not what they were about. As I say in an unfinished post:

Determining exacty where bad parenting stops and abuse starts is difficult, particularly with emotional abuse. The worst violence leveled against me was of the flailing arms variety, when my father snapped during one of our frequent arguments. Other than that, it was limited to pushing and, when I was younger, smacking. We’re not talking bruises here. My mother’s presence limited any potential violence against me. She’s a nice person and comes across as rather docile, but push her past a certain point and she can get very, very angry. There would have been severe repercussions if my father had actually hit me. I don’t think of myself as having been abused; I think my father was a bastard, but it’s difficult to draw the line. Certainly what I went through was much less severe, much less damaging than many people.

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Noncontingent Human Being Feh II

1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. patientanonymous  |  July 7, 2007 at 11:26 pm

    One of the toughest things that I had to come to terms with was the fact that emotional abuse/neglect is exactly that–abuse. I never gave my parents “their due” in that respect.

    I also have vague if not ZERO memories of my childhood and well…I guess that just goes to show you how bad it really was?

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Hi, I'm James. I'm a 26 year old guy from England with bipolar disorder (currently well controlled). I also have a circadian rhythm sleep disorder (not so well controlled). This blog has charted my journey from mental illness, through diagnosis and, recently, into recovery. It's not always easy, but then, what is?

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