Aug 18, 2014
Everything is exhausting and unpleasant.
Now I've gone to enough therapy to know that when you're depressed, you're supposed to find something good to look forward to, to be happy about. You're meant to latch onto that and focus on the good things in your life rather than the bad ones. And that's what I did. For a long time, I've been looking forward to a concert that I was going to go to. When I became really suicidal again, I made a pact with myself that I couldn't kill myself before the concert (and then the plan was to find something else so as to make the same deal and refrain from suicide). Now, because of a long, complicated story that I shan't bore you with, I can't go to the concert. And I know it's 'just a silly concert' and I shouldn't be so wound up about it, but I lost it. I completely lost it. It was my thread of happiness, and it was chopped in half. I lost my reason to be happy, my reason to live, my last little ray of light.
I ended up self-harming worse than I have done in a long while. It took a lot of self-restraint to stop myself from attempting suicide right there and then. I'm not quite sure why I snapped so badly. I mean sure, I'd have expected myself to be very upset. To the point of suicide? No. Then again, I have to remind myself that I didn't want to commit suicide merely because of a concert, I wanted to commit suicide because I am severely depressed, and the concert was just the last straw.
I swear I'm not a brat and I wouldn't usually react like this just because I couldn't go to a concert. It's not even really about the concert, to some extent. It's mostly just because it was my last bit of happiness and positivity, and it was obliterated. And I was filled with anger, which was soon replaced by an overwhelming numbness that enveloped my entire body. I was suddenly so hollow and empty again. I should be used to the sensation by now, but I'm not.
Agh I can't remember where I was going with this. In any case, I'm still feeling terrible. I don't know what to do to turn things around again. Or if I even want to. That's the worst thing about chronic depression. It becomes a comfort to you, even though you hate it. I can't remember what life is like without depression and anxiety. It feels like a surreal concept to me.
My skin was so nice before. There weren't any scars, just faint marks from who-knows-how-long-ago. But now it's blemished again. Even when I'd mildly self-harmed recently, they didn't really leave scars, and healed up really fast. These ones though, look like they're staying put for a while. Though I'm not happy about it, I can't help but feel I should care more about the fact that I'll have them and have to hide them from everyone again, etc. I just don't care that much at the moment. Maybe I'll care more tomorrow, when I get dressed and have to wear clothes accordingly. For now though, I feel reasonably apathetic about the whole thing. Maybe it's the emptiness feeling. Probably.
I hope you've had a better week that I have.