Hope Contagium

A therapy journal of self-obsession, depression and meaning.

Tag: depressed

My Reflection

I had lost myself. I can’t even place when or how, but I know now that I was lost. My focus had shrunk down to the size of a needle point. My ambition was flushed down the drain.

Finally a day arrived where I could pick myself up; a day of opportunity. I had been up for hours, but only spent 15 minutes preparing for the day. Ready, wearing my coat and big winter boots, I spent the next five minutes staring disappointed at my reflection in the mirror. Staring back at me was a despondent body and a colorless, discouraged face. I did try – truthfully. But the result was tiresome.

Standing, waiting, pacing and turning. Rolling my eyes in annoyance. Letting my past creep into my thoughts and haunt my conscience. Turning back time isn’t possible, I tell myself. It’s wasteful thinking about it.

On my way back home I feel like a used rag doll. The recurring memory of my reflection stiffens a frown on my face all the way home. Bashed by deceiving thoughts that crumbled my spirit I had transformed back to that little girl, blinded by fantasy, who forgot her insight.

My forehead and cheeks turn sore from the constant frown. I keep shaking my head. Hating my longing for youth and serenity, I steal a final glimpse of myself in the bus mirror before stepping outside…

A Day of Nothing

The gentle rocking is usually like a cradle, the constant humming an inane lullaby. But today I was wide awake in the train. It was one of those days where you’re in between. Neither happy, nor sad. Not excited or bored. I just kinda felt empty. I guess I was tired of all emotions, I was letting life take over… As it always does.
Through the day I had learned a life lesson; I gained a motto; I received a compliment. None of which had the biggest effect on me. Then, standing in the same spot for the third hour a little surprise hit me: I was given a chunk of yellow hard candy. Of course I gladly accepted it threw it in my mouth.
The day had passed on slowly. A colleague, I thought was a friend, had ignored me twice just walking right by me as he left the store. Two acquaintances from high school approached me and had treated me as if they didn’t know me. As if we hadn’t spent three years of our lives in the same building, seeing each others faces almost every day. A costumer hadn’tĀ even spared me a glance as I opened the door for her and her occupied hands.
So… A day feeling nothing; a day filled with nothing.

Fear of Future

I’ve become so strong. But still I feel so weak. Maybe I’ll become even stronger, maybe life will get even better. I just can’t help but be afraid that these things will never happen. I’m so afraid and still depressed. Can I not be satisfied? Do I not have the willpower?

Close Your Eyes

You’re desperate; desperate for so many things you are too lazy to even try to accomplish. You give up before beginning. You can’t even remember why you are so desperate. The only thing you see is this black hole you find yourself in. You eat to feel better; hoping the short vague pleasure will help; it only makes you feel worse.
Put on Tchaikovsky and let his creative tunes caress your mind. The music shows you old fairy tales and you taste Russian greatness. Slow beauty, steady accumulation, the echo of careful bells, sharp outbursts, and playful sounds turn into powerful roars. When you hear the choir of little boys sing you imagine such simplified glory. Their song makes you feel loved. You remember when you were happy. Finally the music allows you to disappear.
Just close your eyes.

Becoming Depressed

The air seems thick and resistant, as though it were full of mushed-up bread. Becoming depressed is like going blind, the darkness at first gradual, then encompassing; it is like going deaf, hearing less and less until a terrible silence is all around you, until you cannot make any sound of your own to penetrate the quite. It is like feeling your clothing slowly turning into wood on your body, a stiffness in the elbows and the knees progressing to a terrible weight and an isolating immobility that will atrophy you and in time destroy you.

– Page 50, The Noonday Demon (2001), Andrew Solomon

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