Hope Contagium

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

Tag: sleep

Hide From the World

It was good to sleep. The anxiety is gone for now, but the depression is here. Though I do feel anxiety every time I think about going back to work. It feels unbearable that life is so difficult for me… And others who are troubled, of course. I know I’m not the only one to feel this way. I still think about suicide often. And sometimes I just wish I could be hospitalized again. Lately more than usual. I would be looked after and I could hide from the world. I wouldn’t have to lead a life. I know there are happy moments but I hate those as well. Because I know I’ll be depressed again; and even though I enjoy them while they are there, I despise them in times like these. I hate myself for being happy. For letting myself feel joy. Every bad thing that happens I hate myself for. So much self-hatred. Even now I know this is a message to nobody; there is no receiver at the other end. So my words will echo empty and I’ll keep counting down the minutes of my loneliness.

Eureka!

It’s 2:30 am. I have to get up at eight. Apparently, this is what kind of night a good/positive afternoon leads to: insomnia; anxiety from my lack of sleep; a helpless call to Levin who speaks gibberish to me in his sleep; depression from Levin’s inability to help; suicidal thoughts from the depression. There’s always a downfall. When you’re up there’s only one way to go and that’s back down. Eureka! Never forget…

Sweet Sleep

Today I was hit by that deep depression. The one that devours the energy of your soul; it closes your eyes and makes you wish for nothingness which you try to obtain through sweet sleep. As in slow-motion I willingly give in and everything turns dark.

Pear Cider

I woke up by wetting myself. Jesus! Who wets their bed at the age of 21? I just know that I was drunk from my sorrow. I was swimming in self-pity and gulping down self-loathing as if it was pear cider. In reality my mind and body wanted water, but I wasn’t good enough or strong enough to get up and get it from the kitchen. I thought unpleasantly about how the cider tasted of pure sugar as it ran through my mouth and down my throat while hurting my unbrushed teeth. I just know I couldn’t bring myself to getting out of bed. If I pretend long enough to not be present maybe I will disappear? So I go to the bathroom wondering if I’m still dreaming in my sleep or if I actually did get up. I don’t feel awake.

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