Good Riddance, 2012

Once again I am feeling oppressively sad and lonely. My crazy-meds don't seem to be working so well as before: or, I suppose, it's rather that they can only do so much and lately my psyche has been too shrunken for them to have much effect. I imagine I'd feel even worse without them. I'm not sure why I have shrunk. I suppose it's mostly the combination of the holidays, and having only six local friends who are all busy with their families, and the shortness of daylight. I've also been feeling the weight of my (admittedly limited) obligations to others, and feeling as though I have little to lighten them. I have been waking at 7:30 but unable to haul myself out of bed until 9:30. There are several things I would, in the abstract, like to do but cannot muster the energy for so I waste time on the computer until aroune 12:30 when the sense of wasted time finally guilts me into dressing. Then I waste more time on the computer until the last possible moment before I must leave for an obligation. Upon returning home I waste still more time on the computer until it is time for bed.

Repeat. 

There are movies I would, in the abstract, like to see, and books I would like to read, and projects I would like to undertake, and even chores I would like to complete; but just thinking about them seems to sap whatever energy and interest I have for and in them. Since at least my middle-school years I have been able to undermine myself by thinking immediately past whatever I feel any enthusiasm about, to the moments when whatever-it-is is over and my responsibilities remain; and my enthusiasm seems pointless and transient, and wanes quickly. There are always more responsibilities and they always outweigh my enthusiasm. I seem to see enthusiasm as a distraction from responsibility rather than an easing or lightening of them, so that I feel too guilty about deferring my responsibilities to indulge an enthusiasm (but never too guilty to indulge procrastination on the computer); or I so convince myself of the pointlessness of an enthusiasm that I cannot enjoy it even if I do indulge it.

The Emperor's New Clothes

Fashionese for "I got nuthin'."

Chef Lonelyhearts

In every way that counted, I was dead. Inside somewhere maybe I was screaming and weeping and howling like an animal, but that was another person deep inside, another person who had no access to the face and lips and mouth and head, so on the surface I just shrugged and smiled and kept moving. If I could have physically passed away, just let it all go, like that, without doing anything, stepped out of life as easily as walking through a door, I would have done. But I was going to sleep at night and waking in the morning, disappointed to be there and resigned to existence.

—Neil Gaiman, "Bitter Grounds," 2002.

Is This How You Imagined Your Life, Edna?

This is how I've been feeling lately, with the laundry and the internet and even the thing with the videos (but I use Netflix so there are no late fees piling up–just the average rental price of the same 3 DVDs I've had out for the last two months–and no slow, resentful bike rides to the video shop. Instead I take slow, resentful walks to the supermarket and occasionally the library). Except for the end. I still have feelings left. I spend a lot of time feeling like I'm about to cry and I kind of wish I would because maybe that would be cathartic.

I have many thoughts about what causes me to feel this way but they're disjointed. I've started seeing a therapist again, and I wonder whether it would be useful to write down all of my thoughts and feelings and have my therapist help me organize them in a useful way. I could organize them myself but I'm not sure my arrangement would be useful. But I have no inner strength for anything any more, not even that. I'm almost unable to write this any more right now.

I feel as badly as ever I have, more or less just waiting to die. I can't bring myself to make it happen but part of me wishes I could. I think eventually I will, probably not this time, or the next, but maybe the time after that, or the one after that. I guess I'm not entirely hopeless yet. I don't have any faith that my hope will be realized, but for now I still hope, even though every day shows it to be vain and makes it seem like an obstacle.