Numbness breakdown

Well, dear world, I´m sorry I´m bothering you again with my nonsensical ramblings. I honestly don´t know who I expect to be talking to. Why do I bother to make another attempt at communication? So I feel deeply depressed, alright. So I cut because I need to hurt something and that thing may as well be me. So what? I still do stuff that indicates I want help – like cutting, admitting to it on my blog, and even adding that I´m somewhat drunk as well. BUT I DON´T EVEN KNOW WHAT WOULD ACTUALLY HELP ME!!! I can´t imagine anything that would make me feel like it is good to be alive and good to be me. I can´t imagine anything that would make me feel safe and happy and at home in the world. But whatever it is that I am missing, I know I wouldn´t find it in death either. There is NOTHING good and desirable. Not even dying.

I cannot cry properly, not for the life of me. I come home, actually fetch myself some crisps and some lemonade because I know I´ll be hungry and thirsty soon, then lie down on my bed and try, TRY to cut (I can´t even do it properly, there are just some minimally bleeding pathetic little scratches), and shed two or three tears, let them run down my face melodramatically….well, and then I empty the bag of crisps because if you´re hungry you must eat, right?

I´m so unable to respect my depressive feelings. I´m never overcome by anything (except for panic and anxiety); I´m so shallow and calculating that I even take a bag of crisps with me before I throw myself down on my bed and cut and cry. How real, deep and serious can my “depression” be, then? It really stuns me how full of shit I am. And in a weird, unemotional way this lack of feelings is agonizing. It makes me want to commit murder. I´m so empty and hollow and numb that I´m grateful for every moment during which I at least feel depressed!  At least that makes me feel somewhat, somewhat like a living human being!

I´ve resorted to punching myself, but I don´t know how hard I´d have to punch myself in order to get any kind of release. I just wish I could deliver such a harsh blow that something inside of me breaks and I can finally cry.  It´s no surprise that I´m portraying myself as a pretentious brat here (the crisps thing, the lack of feelings) even though I know very well that numbness is a very normal part of clinical depression. I just want to be hated. I am provoking punishment, harsh comments, scorn and disgust so I can at last feel something. Anger, or hurt. Any kind of emotion I can get release from.


Well, guess what, it seems I found a way. I realized that I´m constantly punishing myself. And so for once I tried to have compassion for myself. I tried to look at myself as if it did not happen to be me. I made some clumsy attempts at hugging myself as if I was a little toddler. I tried to feel sad for myself, because I figured that this might actually make me crack. And guess what: I was right. I was bawling my eyes out within seconds.

I could cry. I even took a stuffed toy I recently bought (a cute little sheep whose naive, good-natured, gentle look would make a murderer feel lovable) and held on to that. And suddenly something happened. I got scared. I could feel anxiety creep in through the corners of my psyche. I suddenly felt like a little child who is scared of the dark. That is: I became aware of the fact that I was drunk and miserable and alone and that it was already dark outside and that I couldn´t sleep. That even if I fell asleep some time this night I would wake up with a panic attack, not knowing anymore what about this day had been real and what hadn´t. Completely disoriented. Internally crying out for comfort and reassurance.

Two things happened: I felt like I should 1) stop crying straight away and 2) go to work. Do something useful. Something normal. Something that makes me forget that I´m drunk and emotionally instable. Then, some time around 2 a.m. when I´m sober again, I can go to bed as if this was a normal night.

So – am I in denial about how appalling it is that I am drunk this early in the evening? Is that why I cling to a normalcy which minutes ago I could hardly bear? Which felt like such a drudgery that thoughts of suicide crept into my head? No. My “normalcy” was fake ever since. My anxiety has fuck all to do with the two beer I had today. Well, okay, I might not be experiencing it if I weren´t drunk. But my drinking doesn´t justify the anxiety.

No, what I believe is happening is this: Until now I have been living in some kind of bubble. A bubble which was at the same time a prison, but alright. I was holding on to a fake sense of normalcy. Living at home, my family, myself – all that seemed normal. I have plenty of reason to not believe anything about my life is normal, but on some level that just doesn´t affect me. On that level I am absolutely sure that me and my environment are absolutely normal and that one day I will live a happy, special, extraordinary life.  But that day is still far away. The thought of having to be independent is scary, but I´ll be another person then. Another person, it´s as simple as this. Someone else will do it for me.

Now this is true, hardcore denial. I know how erroneous and nutty this idea is. But I cannot shake the feeling. It is there whenever I get scared of the future. I´ve cursed it at times, because I used to think that it stopped me from recognizing how severe my situation is. It makes me feel like a stupid, spoiled little princess.

Anyway, now that bubble is destined to burst. My parents are more or less kicking me out, after all. Not all of a sudden, but I´m supposed to become independent sooner or later. And something seems to be breaking down. I feel like I´m being cast into a cold, cruel, indifferent dog-eat-dog world – and on a rational basis, I wonder if maybe I have lived in this world all along. Maybe I fear to lose something I never had. Maybe my bubble of security and emotional reassurance was fake all along. Denial. A wall against the panic and anxiety that lurks in the foundations of my psyche. And now that the wall is about to give in, the fear threatens to flood my mind. So naturally I cannot believe there is anything worth aiming for. Such as careers. Nothing can replace the sense of security and hope the bubble gave me. And maybe my complete apathy, my utter inability to write my essays is just me blocking anything that could accelerate my descent into independence abandonment. I know that technically I´m not lazy. If I were, I could hardly write such lengthy blog entries ramblings every other day. Besides, I´m even interested in the stuff I´m supposed to write about.

Now. I´m faced with quite an awful predicament. I can either sabotage my own success and fail my studies, or I can move straight towards a life of terror and abandonment. At least on an emotional level, it looks about like this. And emotions are what matters here. Telling myself that my life won´t be ridden by silent panic and that this is just a childhood nightmare won´t do. I have nowhere to move on from here. I mean – I managed to be on my own side and feel like my suffering is real, meaningful and deserving of comfort for about thirty seconds before I was overcome by anxiety. It is much, much more bearable to just give up on myself and my life. It´s not even a conscious choice! It is something that happens! My mind just shuts down and I cannot feel anymore. I feel like everything will work out eventually, but right now that´s none of my business. I´ll just have to kill time until some day, miraculously, I´ll snap into action, write my essays, enlist for my exams and even pass them. Because then, I will be somebody else. Somebody who has never felt that anxiety. Someone who doesn´t know it exists. Somebody who can, therefore, work and make progress without fear. One day I´ll wake up as that person. Why wake up? Because in the mornings I´m least prone to fear.

I think that, from the point of view of my feelings, I´m in a mortal trap. I will lose the fake construct that always protected me from this abysmal, catastrophic, claustrophobic fear. (It´s like this fear has no cognitive content, it just attaches itself to things like vomiting or fire. I couldn´t even tell what it is that I fear might happen to me if I vomit. But it seems to be a matter of life and death. )

So given that I´m in this trap, it´s no surprise that sometimes, out of the blue and without me feeling anything in particular, suicidal thoughts pop up inside my head. “You could just jump, do you realize that?” I might suddenly find myself thinking when the train approaches.

And whenever I feel bad, I instinctively think “I should just die. I should just die.”, and I feel some relief upon that thought. Ironically, it´s this precise thought which often gets me through difficult moments. “Just get out of this situation somehow, wait until it´s over; and then kill yourself so you won´t have to be scared that it happens again.”

Well, how exactly does it work? Okay. Say I´m in the bubble, too apathetic to work and unable to think of a career, and thoughts creep into my head, like: “You´re life will be unhappy. You´ll always be this numb, you´ll never be fully alive. You´ll never be doing anything meaningful.” And then I automatically think: “I´ll just kill myself. Not now, but before I have to move out.” And I feel a little better. I might even be able to get some work done. I take on little baby step at a time, making myself believe I`m not doing anything at all. And eventually I´ve overcome a major hurdle. But I still don´t feel stronger. I haven´t gained any self-confidence.

And at some point some feeling overwhelms me, like anxiety/panic or angry depression/refusal/rebellion. If it is the latter, then the bubble seems like a prison, or I see a meaningless, dreary life ahead of me with no hope at all and I just want to smash everything, including myself. And if I stop being angry and feel compassionate for myself – well, then there is this anxiety. And suddenly I crave the dull normalcy of the prison/bubble/fake reality.

Damn. I cannot express half the things I would like to express. No need to mention I´m fairly empty and numb again. Not in an agonizing way, this time. I just notice it. I can, on an intellectual level, write about the bubble, and how it is fake, and yet on an emotional level I am inside that bubble. It used to be confusing. Now it is merely frustrating. At least I´m almost sober again. Wow, what a fucked up day. I´m starting to feel pissed off again. Maybe. It´s so great to be unable to know if your feelings are real or not.  I hate this.



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