Or: I should start sleeping with pen and paper next to me because I had a really good title for this in mind right before I drifted off to dreamland.
This one is me doing what i do best – whine about my first world problem: depression.
I’ve been dealing with it since I was 13 when I first had a major episode that I consciously remember. For no explicable reason at all, I just started to never leave the house unless I had to and kept blowing all my friends off until they didn’t speak to me anymore. I suppose it’s genetic? Not entirely sure how trustworthy Bill Bryson is, but just the other day I’ve read in one of his books (granted, that came out in the late ’90s) that a „worrying-gene“ actually exists. Meaning, some people can’t help but constantly worry about everything, while others just naturally go with the flow (gosh, I do hate this saying. After all, I am not a surfer high on marijuana, just a neurotic German lady. Kawabonga, dude).
I figured, I could learn to be happy here in Australia. Everyone else who has already been here loved it so much. That coming out here and handling this thing all by myself, it would boost my confidence, putting myself out of my comfort zone like that. Or that I’d be at least too busy to get depressed. But here I am, can’t shake that feeling. This time even worse, because it’s not just the usual „something is missing“, but the very essential „Oh lord, how am I gonna come into money and provide for myself?!“
Many fictional characters have names for their mental illnesses and diseases – Dexter’s ‘Dark Passenger’, anyone?
It’s not so absurd! I have a name for my depression as well: It is – lo and behold – „The Blob“ …… Aaaaahh!! Hide your children, hide your wife!!!
It doesn’t sound very impressive or dangerous, and it’s not like one day I sat down and decided that the poor thing needed naming; that was just always how it felt inside of me, squirming around. Basically, the Blob lives in my stomach and eats me up from the inside like a parasite. Unfortunately, it doesn’t eat fat. It feeds on negative emotions only. As soon as the tiniest negative thought crosses my mind (‘Hm, I think I gained about 50g?’) it jumps on that, has sex with it and multiplies thousandfold until there are thousands of related negative thoughts in my head and little blobs in my stomach. Yeah, that was a bit gross.
I suppose I have a tendency of running away whenever the Blob gets too active. It’s the whole reason why I came to Australia! I felt like I had to cross half-way around the world just to outrun that disgusting oozeling in my stomach (I should actually try to draw it one day) (Never mind, it would just end up a white bean with a squiggly line for a mouth). This is rather pointless, though, since it’s moving with me. „Where I am, there I am“, + Blob. I always needed to go through the same lesson many times before I learned it. I actually don’t think I’ve ever learned anything.
And it gets even more ridiculous when I tell you that I have figured out it’s not the location that causes the Blob to be active, it’s the people that matter. Yes, I am very codependent. My rational side, that I am trying to surpress more often than not, has realized that.
My emotional side, however, tends to act much too impulsive. Essential for my mental well-being is the company (did anyone really think this was easy? Ha.)
The Blob is a thing that is so frustrating because it holds me back. It’s the voice in my head (or, in my stomach) saying „You can’t do this! You suck! Nobody likes you!“ You know, like repeatedly poking a sleeping dragon (haven’t we all done this before?) until he snaps and lashes out at everyone in his range, regardless of them holding a stick or not. This is one of the many reasons why I hate facebook – at least since Marc Zuckerberg thought it was such a splendid idea to show if your message sent has been read by the receiver. Everytime I send a message that goes without a reply, the Blob is raging! „They hate you! They’re ignoring you! They wish you were dead!“ … Okay, maybe not that extreme.
I should take this opportunity to apologize to everyone I have snapped at in the past for something that wasn’t your fault (pretty much everyone I know, I suppose) but rather the monster’s inside of me. I sincerely hope this makes sense and is understandable. I don’t wanna confuse anyone. I promise, I am just as confused as you.
I do remember to a T the last time I felt truly happy, no Blob, no negativity, just comfortable happiness, no worries whatsoever. This situation occured not too long ago, and it was one that I hesitated to put myself into at first. It was one of those times when you actually live in the moment, past and future do not exist, there is music playing, albeit not hearable, just feelable, and a magnetic feel that guides your body to exactly where you should be. I am trying my best to put it into words and hoping at the same time not to sound completely and utterly insane. It’s like a Disney movie come to life. Which leads me to believe, the people at Disney must be an extremely happy bunch (but I know better).
But the Blob fucked it up royaly for me (it’s nice to have something to put the blame on, that’s how religious people must feel) and is now inside of my stomach, with an evil grin and rubbing his hands together. Actually, he doesn’t have hands, but you get what I mean. Since that happened, he won’t go away anymore at all. Sometimes, when I drink alcohol, he hides, because that’s sort of like his kryptonite. I suppose I now understand how alcoholics come to be.
I just want that situation, the feeling back. And I’ve been wrecking my brains on how to get there. I have figured out the key components, but they are hard to come by. It truly is an epic quest, and sometimes, you just have to sit back and breath in, breath out, until your head is as clear as possible again (for some more, for some less clear). This is what I am doing right now, well, while worrying about how I am gonna pay rent next week. So less for me. But there only is one ultimate goal for me, and I’m gonna be working towards that until the end of my days. They’re my shoes.