On solitude 

I spend a great deal of time in my own company in my own head. I’m usually pretty good at amusing myself and I’m not an intensely social person.  That’s not to say that I dislike or avoid other people,  merely that I’m socially selective.  Perhaps eugenic is a superior term here. I try to devote my time to the relationships that I consider worth cultivating and frequently don’t hang on to casual friends.  However,  the friendships I’ve maintained are deeply meaningful. 

As a person who struggles with depression,  I have very mixed feelings about my ‘me time’, personal space or whatever the hell one chooses to call it.  I require a certain amount of solitude to have time to reflect and ponder my existence.  But my alone time can also be highly seductive,  like a warm bath that I drown myself in. I find that there certainly is such a thing as too much personal space.  It’s like the deeper I retreat into my head the more it becomes a living tomb insulating me from the utter rot of the modern world.

I must admit that I’m being a bit slanted here. I’m in a wonderful committed relationship with the most dashing and handsome gent on Earth. He’s so good to me it absolutely floors me and I’m grateful to whatever Gods may be for him. He makes me laugh and glow like no other.

Still, it’s hard for us with our schedules being what they are. He works overnight so he’s usually asleep when I’m up doing stuff.  We make as much time as we can,  but the situation still wears on me. It’s frustrating to have to spend so much time by myself.  More so lately as I’ve been under some intense financial pressure. 

I love my friends.  I miss them too. Lately life has just been getting in the way. It seems like nothing ever lines up any more time wise. I guess that’s part of growing up,  a certain amount of drifting that is to say. Still, if it’s important you make the time and I’m grateful for the time we have. 

That aside, I’m in kind of bad shape of late.  I’m highly stressed and broke all the time but that’s nothing new. I frequently ask myself how I ever let my life become such a mess. My lack of success frequently finds me entertaining highly morbid self-destructive thoughts. I don’t do that kind of stuff but sometimes I just feel like my life has no value and I want to disappear. It’s something that I’m trying my best to deal with constructively.  I try to keep myself together mostly out of being sick of being a burden on my family.  

I don’t want to hurt anyone,  I just don’t want to hurt the way I so frequently do.  It fucking sucks and I don’t want to do it. This is what a few hours at home by myself does to my mental state. Nothing to do but sit around and withstand the cyclone of dysphoria.

I’m relatively calm, but things seem beyond impossible. Sleep is my only escape from this. I’m not making enough money fast enough.  My head is under so much pressure I want to scream with feral rage.

What was the point I was making?  I’m not sure.  I’m holding but carrying a deep sadness within me every day.  Such is life. It hasn’t killed me yet, though I take little pride in survival.  


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