My depression is back.
I don’t know. Maybe it never left.
I feel so many strong emotions.
Many more than I have in the past and I want to feel them. I want to feel them because I feel like those emotions make me who I am. And then I realize that those emotions might be the first stage of depression. I realize this because I’ve been having suicidal thoughts for the past two or three days and I can feel the fog creeping in because I want the shit feelings to go away.
And what really sucks the most is that I thought… I thought I was better.
I know that sounds insane, because you know what? If you have depression then you just have it. It’s a disease. Like… fucking cancer or whatever. The flu. Shit. Something chronic. Arthritis. I don’t know. But they’ve even proven that now, you know? They can find depression in your blood. So even Western medicine understands it as a disease and not just “something in your head”. Which is all well and good, but I’ve seen people on anti-depressants and just… no. I find it terrifying.
And then you can’t feel.
So you shut down.
And how the fuck can you make art without the strong emotions?
This is why artists don’t get medicated, which I suppose is also why so many artists die.
No one wants to talk about it, but it kills people, you know? People fucking die. From depression. It ends in suicide.
I feel like… a failure and a wash out and a pathetic piece of shit, honestly. I get why people drink themselves into oblivion because that’s exactly what I want to do right now.
And I want to escape.
I want to move.
I love it here and I already feel like I’ve been here too long.
We’re building this house but I just want out. I want to be in Northern California standing on a rocky beach or kayaking with fucking whales or whatever. But I’m trapped again. There’s no freedom. Back in the rat race just right back in and I don’t even know what to do with that.
I’m overwhelmed by what the kids are doing. They’re both so damn busy and that makes them happy but I don’t know. I want to get the fuck out of here.
Travel more at very least.
I’ve been talking to Ed and the Ex about going on a pilgrimage. I want to write a whole bunch of shit about things that happened to me and I want to burn it and then I want to spread the ashes in significant places to me. It sounds insane but I think it would be important.
Maybe I’ll ever blog about my “journey” or some shit.
I don’t know.
It wouldn’t be around long enough for anyone to read it. But I’m fucked up and want to feel important. I want someone to notice me. I want someone to ask me to hang out with them.
I’ve always felt like the group of people I was with didn’t really like me. It wasn’t until I left the group that I realized they actually did like me. Did want me there. Loved me, even.
And now I feel like a fool.
I want to just drive and I want to talk to certain people about certain things. I want to take care of business. I want people to know who I am – the people who are important to me. I don’t know why my bisexuality matters so much or my polyamorous tendencies or any of it. But it does matter. It fucking matters and I need to take care of some business.
I want to go back to the town where I was born and spread some ashes there. Maybe find the farm where I hung out with my best friends and make some sort of repentence for telling both of them they were the better friend – really my best friend – vs. the other one.
And I want to spread ashes on the spot where I had my first kiss.
I want to go to the old candy store and look around.
I’ve been thinking I might be suppressing something that happened to me as a child. I’m afraid of that.
I have this memory of it being really hot and my dad telling me that I could just sleep in my underwear, and feeling horrible and exposed. I look at my kid who runs around in her underwear all the fucking time with no embarrassment and I think … I was damaged somehow. What the fuck happened to me? Did I suppress the memory, or am I just projecting? Was I naturally super fucking modest? I don’t think I was.
Anyway. There are just some things I want to do.
That is one of the things.