Sometimes making it through the day as a very depressed person is like going down the monkey bars and it’s fine if I can only be busy and distracted but, come midnight, it’s really like the sensation of swinging through that momentum and reaching for the next bar and grabbing air
(I know, I know, no one wants to hear my midnight depresh thoughts, the worst most hackneyed etc)
Ain’t it just the horrible, formless December darkness closing in and in and in until you can’t breathe
I do my best to keep going because I know I have to but I don’t know, almost every day brings a what-is-the-point o’clock. And I know there are many points, and the world is often beautiful, and I have a kid, and that’s like a contract for survival, but I also just don’t know
I’m sorry
I promise that I even get on my own nerves (often). The nights are the hardest. And then come morning I will feel ashamed and then back into the spiral I go!
I don’t know if this will make any sense to anyone else but it feels like every hour is a room that I have to fill with furniture/art/whatever and at the end of the hour a door opens and I hope that it will lead to a new structure but it’s just another room that needs filling
(I do see a therapist, and a psychiatrist, and I have a good team on my side, and I reach out, and talk to them, and take meds, and try to stay hydrated, and do my best to be a good friend and citizen and be well-hydrated and stay curious etc, etc. I’m sorry!)
I just want to be a cool fun person who tweets interesting history things and has normal interactions with people and no (well, limited) meltdowns
It’s just that I don’t really believe in a future. I will not write a book. I will not write anything of much again. I will not publish anywhere. I will not have new ideas. It will just be less and less. It will be nothing. The way things are going, at least, it will be nothing
Which is the way things should be, because I am nothing. I have no education, the successes I’ve had are a fluke, my following on here is a fluke and they’ll soon see the truth, the one thing I am good at is being kind to people but even that isn’t a superpower
(And seriously I’ll stop now before I TRULY hate myself in the morning)
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I believe in ghosts because I cohabitated with some kind of supernatural entity back when I was 19 and even though I know it is absolutely not in line with science at all, it was still extremely real. A story!
Back in the early aughts, I lived a flat on Pepperell St in Halifax with two friends, near the bread factory and around the corner from Freeman’s. You could still smoke indoors back then and we would stay up all night studying at Freeman’s, chain smoking and drinking black coffee
We had the upstairs of an old two-storey house, built sometime pre-WWI. It was close enough to the university that there were lots of students around, but far enough that some of the surrounding houses were family situations. I had a female roommate (K) and a male roommate (I)
I think everyone should keep a few haunted objects around just to stay on their toes. Some of my favs are: weird Portuguese doll, découpaged nightmare walnut plate, (fake) skull and antlers, spooky painting of a lady in blue
The first three are from Value Village, the last one was from a friend who was downsizing. When I bought the skull at Value Village, the cashier was so horrified by it that she refused to touch it (even though I told her it was fake!!)
A little haunting is bracing for the spirit, like when victorians took cold baths or whatever
Remembering for some reason the time I broke my knee quite badly in a cycling accident and in the ambulance they were like “do you want some good pain meds” and I was like, “no thank you, because they might compromise my decision-making skills at the hospital”
But then, because my knee LOOKED fine from the outside (I didn’t even rip my pants), I had to wait in the ER for like 8 hours. By the time I saw a doctor, I’d convinced myself it was a sprain and was texting my coworker to let them know I’d be fine to open the store the next day
Then the doctor was like “haha well you’ve fractured your tibial plateau and you need a bone graft and a plate ok they’re gonna take you upstairs now goodbye!!!” Then I had to wait three days for surgery because it wasn’t emergency-emergency. BUT they finally gave me pain meds