Saturday, 17 October 2015

a "depressing" post I guess

I hate depression.

I'm beginning to recognize it after a day or so now, the cloud comes in and suddenly all I want is to go home and be in bed. I'm anxious about going to work Monday morning on Thursday afternoon. Not that anything is even happening on Monday, I just don't want to go and am worrying about it 3 days early.

I get confused in a weird way sometimes when the cloud rolls in. My mind tells me things that are counterintuitive. Hey, the light just turned red, you better hurry and run across the street. Hey that person isn't moving, maybe he has a mannequin face. Hey you're waiting for the number 50 bus, that one actually says 4 but it could be the 50, it probably is, so go flag it down.

It's scary to have these nonsensical thoughts. But when I recognize them as weird I know that I'm not losing it because I immediately know they're not real. If I believed that man at the bus stop actually was a mannequin or that buses magically change numbers because I wanted them to that would be another thing.

It was funny, I told Ryan about the mannequin thing and not half an hour later we saw a man at the same bus stop wearing a full get-up including a trench coat laden with home-made weapons and a Guy Fawkes mask. He turned to me and said "that's really there". I laughed and told him he could have really messed with me by pretending he didn't see it.

It's so great to have somebody I can tell my fucked up thoughts to who doesn't act selfishly about it. He doesn't pretend it's not happening, he doesn't immediately try and get me to go off my meds, he doesn't overreact. He listens and we can make stupid jokes about my chemical imbalanced brain. He asks what he can do and sometimes the answer is leave me alone, sometimes the answer is I need a hug, and anything between. And he doesn't take it personally and I don't scare him away. He says "the only direction I'm running is towards you". ROMAAAANCCCCE.

I take all kinds of medications right now and some things are better because of them but they're not a magic cure-all. I still have good and bad days. Unfortunately I'm in a string of bad. I'm still going through the motions, going to work, going to class, doing my school work etc etc but it feels like torture. Sitting at a desk! Saying HELLO TO PEOPLE I KNOW. HORRIBLE. Seriously on Thursday it took all my might to work my four hour shift. It was so hard. I could never explain why. It was like every cell in my body was saying NO DO NOT WORK JUST LAY UNDER YOUR DESK AND GO TO SLEEP AND HIDE FROM THE WORLD. STOP WORKING STOOOOPPPPP ITTTTT RIGHT NOWWWWW AND HIDE.

I did find that putting myself around artistic types helped. I went to my 1:30 life drawing class early, like the minute the clock struck 12 and there was 5 or 6 of my classmates already there for a caricature drawing lesson. They're setting up tables in the cafeteria and doing them for $5 to $30 depending on if you want just your head or full body in color. I ... declined. I am absolutely not good enough to draw caricatures. Although maybe if they were Simpsons character ones I could probably do it. Damn maybe I'll suggest that next time. Anyway they let me join them because I was there. I ended up just furiously crossing out every face I tried before it was done and not showing anybody but hey, I tried.



The great thing about artists is they really allow for you to be as moody or friendly as you like. You don't have to do anything but you're always invited. I didn't draw my best that day because the spark of inspiration and the love of learning has been temporarily extinguished. But I still showed up and listened to the lessons and tried to draw a nude man and I think that's important.

I know my dad and step mom and other family members read this and so here's a little disclaimer I guess: don't worry, all in all I'm fine. I don't think most people even notice anything is off. They might thing I'm grouchy or lazy maybe.

Today I feel like I'm coming out of it a little. It's taking longer than usual but I'm ok with that.

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To end this post let's just look at this picture of a painting I did last night while the boys watched some inspirational true story of a white track and field coach who moved to the ghetto and won the big game or whatever. 



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