My brain is working against me, tonight. Everything is wrong… well, not everything. Mostly just me. Everything about me. Alongside this delectable main course of self-loathing is a hearty helping of depression. We can look forward to an overwhelmingly rich dessert of anxiety once the apathy passes and I realize I’ve actually written and posted this…. whatever it becomes.
Bear in mind, if you bother to read this, that I am well aware that everything I see and feel right now is being viewed through the dark and flawed tinted lenses of depression. That doesn’t make me feel it less. In fact, it makes me feel even more like the world’s most malodorous and slimy turd, because I know my own brain is full of shit and yet it still drags me down and makes me insufferable.
That said, I offer my sincerest apologies to my dear sister for the amount of whining, bitching, moaning, and exhausting emotional bullshit I spew at you when I am like this. Instead, I shall turn to this blog, at your ever wise suggestion, and spew my late night loathsomeness here at risk of completely alienating my 2 other remaining readers at last.
It all started as a fairly mild but still creeping sadness toward the end of my shift, tonight. Well, technically, last night. That’s always a warning sign, but there’s not much to be done to halt it. The sadness comes whether I want it to or not. The best I can hope for is to direct my thoughts to something that doesn’t trigger more sadness. I focused on work and the comical book I was listening to. It got pretty serious toward the end, but overall, still dotted with tension breaking comedy.
On that note, I strongly recommend “You’re Never Weird On The Internet (Almost)” to any and all fans of Felicia Day, and people who just need a reminder that anything is at least worth trying if your heart is in it, and that depression and anxiety can be overcome. Believe me, the irony is not lost on me that I slipped into the early stages of a depressive spiral while listening to my dream girl telling me how she overcame depression and anxiety to achieve her greatness… Thanks, Brain! Love you too! *mutters* Asshole…
Then came the familiar feeling of not belonging. The inner monologue went something like this:
Brain: “What are we doing here?”
Brain: “You know what I mean.”
Me: “I don’t care. Working now. Ignoring your hateful voice.”
Brain: “You can’t ignore me. I’m your brain, dumbass.”
Me: “Watch me.”
Brain: “You know that no one actually wants you around, right?”
Me: “That’s not true… my sister loves me. My husband loves me. Hell, even my in-laws seem to like me for some reason.”
Brain: “They’re all just being nice to spare your feelings, because they’re not total tools.”
Me: “Congratulations. You can alliterate.”
Brain: “Fuck you, too. Look, I’m just saying, what’s the point of all this? No one wants to play games with you because either you suck at them or you can hardly pay attention to begin with. No one wants to talk to you except that crazy mexican chicadee”
Me: “Watch it! THAT’S MY SISTER! And chicadee is mine. It’s a happy word. I use it on people I like. When I’m happy. You? You are not being happy today. You’re being an ass.”
Brain: “Dude. I’m your fucking brain. If I’m an ass, you’re an ass. No wonder no one likes you. “
Me: “That…. that’s not….” *resolve wavering* “That still doesn’t give you a right to talk about my sister that way.”
Brain: “You’re deflecting. I’m right and you know it. No one wants you around, really. Even your sister would be better off without you. Kaz wouldn’t turn her out on her own, she’d be safe. No one would miss you for long.”
Me: “I see where you’re going with this and you can just stop right there. Even if I wanted to check out, I’m too chicken.”
Anyway…. It just got darker from there. Once the feeling of not-belonging was well established, my brain was able to move on to its favorite recitations of why I am undeserving of the oxygen I breathe. Oh how I loathe me, let me count the ways.
- I’ve never achieved anything of significance in my life. Top Performing for a single month in a tiny call center counts for jack and shit pretty much anywhere.
- I have no follow through.
- I screw up just about everything I touch. Just look at my $30, 000 of school debt and conspicuous lack of any kind of degree to show for it, and yet I’m still pouring money into this futile endeavor…
- I can’t seem to allow myself to be happy for any more than a few weeks at a time before having some sort of soul-crushing emotional crisis.
- I’m damn good at my job, but it’s only a matter of time before I fall into old habits and become unreliable or get too sick to work or screw it all up in some new and exciting way I’ve not discovered yet.
- I’m a shitty pet parent. My boy is fat and struggles to move around while my girl doesn’t get even a tenth of the exercise she needs because I’m a lazy shit that whines about my aching back instead of getting off my flat fat ass and taking her for walks…. or even throwing the ball for her in the living room for an hour. I can’t even train the boy to stay off the table and the girl to lay down on command without throwing herself on her back.
- I’m lazy as liquid shit.
- I have the vocabulary of a somewhat slow, drunken sailor with head trauma.
- I have the intellect of one, too…
- I used to be smart, but these days? Not so much.
- Did I mention I have zero follow through? What happened to that book I was going to write? Or that mission to master knitting? Or learning to play the guitar? Or re-learning to play the violin? Or any of those tabletop RPGs I try to run and peter out after a session or two? Or my breadmaking hobby that pretty much died out in the night with a faint squeaking ‘what a world, what a world’? Or…. the list goes on.
- I never appreciated my Mom until the end, and was so eager to run away with Kaz that I wasn’t even there to help her when she got sick and, ultimately, died.
- I have a tendency to alienate people I want to be close to with my mood swings and other crazy shit.
- I have run more good people out of my life than I can count because I’m a gullible and suspicious imbecile.
- I’m so fucking confused, I can’t even pick a gender and stick with it. I’m an amorphous blob that can’t make up its mind what it wants to be when it evolves.
Yeah…. the recitation goes on for hours in that way. Every. Single. Time. Occasionally, my brain even throws in jabs about my spirituality. I may be a proud pagan now, but I was raised a southern baptist. Sometimes my brain likes to tell me I’m going to hell. See, Mom? I don’t need any heavily accented, bible-thumping, hellfire and damnation pastors in big white revival tents to tell me that. I got it handled all on my own, in my handy dandy swiss army brain. All the tools I need for a truly unhealthy self-assessment.
Put all of that together and you get a great big heap of soul-crushing despair and a distinct urge to crawl in a hole and die.
Here’s the thing… I’m not dead yet!
Sister of mine, my dear one… You were right. Blogging was a great idea. The hateful things my brain says to me are already starting to look pretty ridiculous as I read over this post again… You know… Someday, I’ll learn to listen to you the first time you give me a piece of advice.
Screw you, Brain. Consider yourself ignored. /ignore Brain
Good night, folks. It’ll be better in the morning.
Just for you, Sis.