Every Christmas I begin to write down my New Years resolutions. A very depressing and somewhat masocistic tradition. The long list of how I will change myself so that it resembles a life so beautiful. Nothing works anymore it seems. My writing is inarticulate. I look at Bukowski books and remember when I had his insight and raw wit. I think it depresses me more to think he would have thought me as trite. Very typical of me. Panicked over the idea that I won't measure up to other people. I can usually see the humor in my life though, and painful laughs come out through my nightly sobbing. Friends would find it strange to know how much it killed me to be with them. Just my luck to grow up with a circle of friends who could all pass as Twiggy-wannabe models. So put together you'd think they had super glue running through their veins. Yea, just my luck.
If it's not one thing, its another. Such a cliche', but so entirely true to my life. I get a hold on the depression and my anxiety takes over....the self mutilation loosens its grip, but obsessions close in on me....medications make me less sick, then I find out I have glaucoma (Ha! A 20 year old with glaucoma- what's next, menopause at 25???....now that's comedy!).
I never had a problem with people knowing about my depression. I think I must have been hoping they would rescue me. Take me to the door I can't find. There are windows...lots of windows. Sometimes I am able to find them and stick out my head for a few hours. See what the world is like for everyone else. I have to be honest thought, I've never been so terribly impressed. A lot of angry people...self absorbed....boring...souless. It almost makes me feel better. Better because I am not them. If there is one thing I know, it's that I feel. I feel so many emotions. I go from one end of the spectrum to the other, experiencing everything in between. I don't know where to find myself within the messy terms of depression. Latest is that I suffer from bipolar. Honestly I don't buy it anymore then some of the other diagnoses'. Borderline personality disorder....OCD.....attention deficit disorder.....major depression.....blah blah blah. I'm not looking for a name.....I spent a long time looking for that. I'm just looking for me now. I'm sick of felling so incomplete. I don't know where I am going from here....it helps me to look behind and see where I have been. Reminds me of places I hope to never revisit. It's a sad and scary feeling to not know who you are. I imagine the only thing worse is to think it'll never get better. I think it has to, get better that is, if only because I can't believe there are that many more dark corners to visit...
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