A state of oblivion
I feel like I’m a black dot on a blank page without any other dots to connect to.
Aside from starving myself and hurting myself via puncturing my skin, as of this year I can add using pain pills to numb emotional pain to my list. I have used them before, but not to the extent that it’s solely for numbing emotional pain, which was the major reason I began using them.
I hate pain pills, too, yet it was so easy. Maybe I was already weak and vulnerable to its effects after I didn’t need too much of it anymore in December after my tooth extraction. That last week of December is what really did me in for the year, for the depression, but January — around two or so weeks ago — is when it started, and it’s so hard.
I just feel so out of focus, so out of touch. And I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted, and yet I keep pushing myself because occupying my head with other things makes me feel at least somewhat useful in the midst of everything other people want me to do — or think I need to do — and makes me hate myself slightly less than I do when I just… sleep.
But I’m exhausted, and it’s like this never-ending, unwinding motion that is constantly happening, and I can’t press pause or make it stop, so I have to keep going — I have to keep spinning — and I don’t know where I’ll end up once I stop.
I’m so groggy and irritable and annoyed, and I’m expected to care more about just going to therapy — I’m supposed to want to have my room perfectly clean, laundry completely done — but I just don’t, and it won’t stop unwinding; it just wants to continue going downhill.
I feel like I’m being ground into a fine powdery substance, and everything just needs to pause — because if it doesn’t, I’m probably going to start hallucinating again.
I’m going in for therapy twice a week soon, because it’s one of the steps before hospitalization, and if I don’t care about waking up, how am I supposed to be able to care about doing things others expect me to do? It just doesn’t make sense. And then money is brought up as if it’s an issue and it’s somehow my fault — because I don’t work — and then I’m told that I need to find “a man who has the ability to provide for [me] the way I’m used to living now” during a merely casual conversation, which I honestly take as an insult, because I’m not dependent by choice.
And it all just needs to fucking stop before I fucking explode. Seriously.
It’s like nothing can be casual around me — like I’m someone they have to make sure understands how ‘lazy’ I am, or how ‘clueless’ I am. There is a huge fucking difference between hating myself and life, and just not wanting to do something. And I honestly feel like exploding. It takes everything to not yell — to not throw in their face the state of my depression and how much I really don’t fucking care.