As in I’m.
I don’t sleep properly; I’m always exhausted. I ache. When a weekend coincides with my kid going to spend time at her Dad’s place, I take pills that make me finally sleep. I can’t take them any other time, as they make me too groggy the next day to function properly, meaning that although I finally get some restorative sleep ( about 14 hours on average!) I also get nothing productive (let alone interesting and fulfulling) done the next day due to the fact that I feel so out-of-it. So much for making the most of the weekend.
My life feels meaningless, and I am deeply unhappy. I do experience short bursts of positivity, thanks to an ability to laugh, and to appreciate creativity and the beauty of nature. But these little moments are so quickly swallowed up again by the darkness, which is always there, waiting to devour me again and again. It’s happened my entire life ( even as a kid), and I’m running out of stamina.
I love my daughter infinitely; she is creative, curious, funny, compassionate, empathetic, and intelligent beyond her years. She’s my one anchor to this planet, but that’s a bittersweet thing when that planet is a place that you feel you don’t belong in.
Sorry. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’m sick of pretending to be ok when I’m really not. I feel so utterly hopeless. I’ve tried so many things, and nothing ever feels right. There’s always this gaping hole in my life that nothing seems to fill. No relationship, hobby, or form of spirituality has ever made much of a difference. It’s like there’s a missing part of me that’s hidden somewhere inaccessible, like on the moon, or at the bottom of the ocean or something. There’s this constant feeling of being homesick for somewhere I’ve never been; missing someone I’ve never met. No matter where I go, I feel like an alien. I even hypothesise that perhaps I was supposed to be a twin, and the twin died early on in-utero, and that’s why I feel this way. An explanation for the duality themes: the bipolar thing; the fact I’m a Gemini, the way my best friend in highschool was a girl with the same -yet decidedly uncommon- name who moved to my tiny country school from a small island. The way another great friend was a twin, and another close friend at Uni another twin. It seems silly to mention it, but it’s a thought I occasionally have, and it conveniently explains away this feeling of emptiness and incompletion.
Of course, my birthday is looming ( this will mark my final year of being in my 30’s) and I do tend to be extra existential crisis-y around this time of year, as I look back on all my failures and unfulfilled dreams, and realise with horror what a complete non-event I turned out to be. I don’t even have the basic things that even the most moronic and obnoxious individuals seem to have found, like a career direction that they find fulfilling, or a partner. And the older I get, the less likely it seems that either of those things will happen; the more obvious it becomes that maybe this is all there is. This is it. Mediocrity upon mediocrity then death. The end.
I’m sorry. I don’t expect comments or advice. I’m just sick of pretending I’m ok. I don’t think anything is going to help, anyway. I’ve been to countless psychologists; taken medication after medication. Thing is, nothing is ever going to bring back the huge chunks of life that this darkness has claimed. Nothing is going to halt time so that I can catch up with everyone. Nothing is going to turn me into someone else; someone competent; better. I just don’t know how much longer I can do this. If I was religious, I’d ask for a miracle.
I’m supremely grateful to the lovely people who have made the effort to chat to me here- it does help me feel slightly less alone. It’s the only reason I blog, to be honest. To communicate; to feel a sense of connection. But I increasingly find that I have less and less to communicate. Nothing of value, anyway. I have no interesting stories to tell; no useful advice to offer. No special skills or talents to wow anyone with. I am essentially nothing. I don’t know what to do, apart from go away again; hide myself away until the next 5 minute surge of energy compels me to get overly excited about something nobody else really cares about, or to create my latest mediocre attempt at “art”, only to sink back into depression again as quickly as I emerged from it. There are only 2 settings, it seems: waaay too fucking ON or completely OFF. No inbetween. The cycle is tiresome to say the least.
I’m sorry I’m such a downer. Sorry this is so badly written. I’m rambling and incoherent. (At least that’s a consistent theme). Don’t think I don’t appreciate the friendliness I’m shown here by the few kind souls I encounter here. I really do appreciate it. I’m just so tired, and tired of being tired. For my daughter’s sake, I’m trying not to think about ending it all. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t contemplated it on at least a weekly basis for the last few years. I almost managed it years ago- before my daughter came along. A flatmate’s earlier than scheduled return home prevented my successful departure. I can’t say I was grateful. I resent being chained to a world that feels so alien, and which clearly has no place for me. I thought moving somewhere full of natural beauty would help. I guess I can’t move away from myself. don’t know what to do.
Again, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do or where to go from here. I’m very much lost. I’ll be back if I can ever muster something worth sharing. In the meantime, if you read this far, I’m impressed and eternally sorry. Stay cool.