For the past 8 years or so, I had an incredible fear that, if I ever were to *not* be in a depressive episode again, that is, if I were to either be manic or in some vaguely normal state, that everything I ever refused to deal with would sort of hit me over the head at once. All sorts of denial, repression, and just refusal to think about shit, and that all of this would sort of incapacitate me in some way. I feel like I’ve failed as a human being. But as it is, it sorts of trickles into my consciousness slowly, here and there. Life still seems nightmarish but in a very different way. I sort of went from a tendency toward being apathetic and sober to being very energetic and volatile and that clashes so much with my self-image that I still am unable to integrate into human society in any sort of meaningful way that doesn’t seem nightmarish to me. And it’s probably true to an extent that I avoid people because I don’t like seeing happy, well-adjusted people because that hurts me, and I am not exactly sure how to improve my situation. Also, because I take a stupid amount of pride in attempting to be an island and to withdraw from all human contact.
I don’t think there is much chance of me enjoying being around people, not as long as I live in this place, no. I have given up on that.
Anyway, I was not prepared for a huge personality shift at this time and it will take me a while to adjust, that’s all.
I’m just not good with people. And any time I am around people I can’t quite shake the feeling that I am wasting my time. I just had a brief moment of weakness and cried myself to sleep last night.
Now that I have some energy I would like to paint more, get some more decent portfolio pieces together, apply for other types of jobs.
When I was still in therapy, I sometimes complained about not having emotions, and I’d say that certain things are objectively shitty in my life and I should feel sad. He told me I shouldn’t complain about NOT feeling bad. I still completely fucking disagree. Feeling awful and going to bed crying every night is 100x better than how I was before. It was just complete emptiness and not caring about anything, not caring if I was alive or dead, and that fucking terrified me because it bore absolutely no resemblance to being alive.
Still having trouble sleeping and eating and spend most of my waking hours (and there a lot of them) struggling in one way or another. And because I have this bottle of 151 I started drinking before 8:00 this morning, which I think counts as an ill-advised attempt at self-medication. But as I said, it’s better than before. At least I feel like I’m alive. I’m sure my old self-discipline will come back to me eventually and I’ll level off a bit.
Mostly it just seems like I am in hell. Part of this hell is of my own making, and the rest is due to circumstances beyond my control. And part of it is I was in such a severe depression for 8 years that I accomplished pretty much nothing at all. I don’t see many good things in my future, certainly not in the near future. Also, fuck my life.
Someone assumed I was depressed and I had to tell him I am not; I am most definitely extremely manic. I’m just not in the mildly psychotic euphoric mania state that I was in when this all began. But as I said, bipolar depression can apparently have a lot of differences from regular depression. Personally anyway, when in a legitimate depressed state, I do not and cannot feel sad, I do not cry, etc.; I’m just very apathetic and rather grim. In a dysphoric manic state (which, so far as I can recall, is the state in which I’ve lived most of my life) everything just seems rather sad and nightmarish, but in kind of a beautiful way. Also obvious signs I’m still manic: still can barely eat or sleep, still have headphones on 20 hours a day, still making idiotic purchases on ebay, crying myself to sleep for no particular reason, obsessively exercising to get rid of excess energy, racing thoughts, and so on.