Hope Contagium

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

Tag: remembering

Memories

I remember crying and cutting myself. I remember sobbing and muffling my screams with my pillow – I was yelling from the damn pain in my chest. I remember crying and beating another person, letting all my frustrations out on him. Then I crushed someone with hateful words only to let my anger out and even affecting her nightly dreams. Finally I choked a friend out of vengeance towards the life I had, the people around me and, and all terrible things in this world that had nothing to do with me. And I don’t know who I am. I’m just still crying. I’m so tired of thinking, writing and pretending to be someone.
I wish everything went dark, slowly and beautifully.
Today I tried to deafen my mind from my thoughts. I curled myself up in our small bathtub and drowned myself in self-hatred. I tried numbing my emotions by turning the water as hot as possible. But the water eventually turns cold and you have to face the fact, that you have to get out of the tub, and face the world again. For the 700th time you have to start over.

Happy Moments

I know that I don’t know myself. I heard many times that the depression is not you. But then who are you? Who am I? Screaming in tears from despair seems more right to me. Tragedy is reality. As if I feel more comfortable in misery. Nobody feels that way… It can’t be true? Maybe my sorrow is just so familiar that when I fall into it I feel a certain peace. It calms you to know that everything sucks and will end up bad instead of being uncertain and hopeful in your good state of mind. It’s hard for me to think back at happy moments in my life. Partially because I’m sad things haven’t lasted and partially because I can’t remember them. I’ve had good times – of course. But does anything stand out? Levin has brought me much joy. The other day I was crying from my longing for love and affection and I asked him:
“Are you tired of comforting me?”
“No. I’m tired of you feeling bad,” he answered washing away my guilt. Later I asked him to name one, just one, who loved me for who I am. He said, “Me.” Both answers perfect and exactly what I wanted to hear. What I needed to hear. These were not happy moment; they were beautiful and I will cherish Levin’s words.
The next thing that pops out while I browse through my thoughts is the time I worked with children. Playing, teaching, learning with those 0-3 year olds was absolutely amazing. I love children. They do fill me with joy. But then I remember that I probably won’t know my little brother in this age I love the most and I become melancholic.
Swinging. Role-playing. Diving into my imaginary land. Some music. Films. Naruto. Clothes. All things that make me happy. Sometimes happy memories make me happy – just not right now. I’m not sad or depressed, I guess I kind of feel nothing.
Oh! Babushka and Dedushka! They also make me feel happy – but sad. For a long time I’ve felt unpleasant in happiness. I know it will end again (the happiness) so it feels fake or deceiving. Actually I kind of hate being happy – even if it’s just a little happy. But then again, are these my feelings or my depression’s? I don’t think I know who I am or how to find me.
I dreamed about being completely full of happiness because I was in my favorite town, in my favorite country. As far as I know this place doesn’t exist, but even though I was all alone I was truly joyful. Then my dream changed or I woke up. Looking back at it, the feeling and the place in my dream seem scary. As if something was not right in my brain… So I guess not even my dreams can trick me into feeling happy. Even if it felt so real for a moment.

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