Nr. 10

I’m gonna let my low speak today. It may not be a good idea, but let’s open up and dissect that fucker:

One of the most defeating thoughts ruminating my mind is to live my entire life with depression. As of this moment I feel that is highly likely. I think that even with stability my depression will in one way or another constantly be there. And how can I expect anyone to go through a lifetime of added pain like that? I feel as though whenever something truly good happens, it crumbles because of my depression. However, I cannot blame the depression like a separate being, it is ultimately me who will ruin or destroy. 

Life has surely been unfair, but it has for most people and they have managed to pull through. Underneath all my ramblings and pseudo intellectual analysis lies just a broken and insecure little boy, who lost his heart a long time ago it seems. I convinced myself that I’m capable of love, understanding and giving, but time after time it’s been proven wrong. I alienate or overthink. It’s either too much, or too little.

I feel I’ve played my part. I feel done. I just want to quietly move away. 

But I am still writing. What is that? Is there some spark left in me? Or is it that reek of cowardice that stops me from actually going through with it? Whatever it is I am still here in limbo waiting for something to happen I guess.

I can hear my so called rational self beating on my door. Desperately and ferociously arguing the case for staying alive. That innate survival instinct that I so destructively diminish by fog and apathy. In these moments I humor myself with schizophrenia, but there is no delusion of multiple personalities. No, I’m quite clear, and it scares the rational me. 

I never intended to hurt anyone in my life, but I have. I feel remorse and regret for every single thing. Some I’ve managed to apologize for, but the regret is still with me. I feel it in my bones. Every time I interact with someone I review my “performance” afterwards. Finding flaws and things I ought to have said or shouldn’t have said. But unlike most people who can relate to this, my regrets stay with me for years even if the wrong has been sorted out. 

However, none of this is the reason I want to leave. My perfectionism is a struggle, yes, but the reason I want to leave is quite simply that I don’t feel I can contribute anymore. It’s not a despair or feeling sorry for myself, I am ok. But I feel done. It feels right. I love the people around me more than any word or gesture can tell. And it was never about that. I cry for my faults, and for the pain I have and will cause, but I am not fit for this life. I am calm, transcendent, and at peace if I can remove myself from the existential equation. There will be so many counter arguments to this, I can hear them all. But there is one thing that can’t be countered: I don’t feel I belong.