Friday should be a good day, but today I can feel the darkness engulfing me. It is the end of the week, and I have all the motivation of a very content lazy cat. You know the type that is snuggled up on a pillow and will not move for anything, yeah that’s me. Except I am not content, I am very far from content. It want to do something, I want to do ANYTHING. My mind is screaming at me ‘what about this, what about that’. Then I start, and my mind starts to laugh at me, ‘hah, got you again’. This will be the third thing I have begun this Friday, it will be my third and final. If I don’t finish it, I shall torment my mind with alcohol, I shall be doing that anyway. I will just be starting earlier.
This, I think, is the most annoying thing with my depression. I can tolerate the bleak feeling. I can endure the darkness, the thing that makes me incandescent with rage is the blankness it brings on. The sense of nothing, nothing is good enough, or nothing works. I stare at a blank page throwing ideas down, scattering them like a toddler with a paintbrush. I then scrap it all and start again, only to find myself with pages tossed in the – virtual – bin, and no end product. Then I get even more depressed and miserable because I have not completed a task that I love to do. So I start once again, or if it is a weekday, I just give in and go to bed, I mean fuck it, why bother.
So I am now forcing this out, squeezing it like an empty tube of toothpaste. I will get something out, I need to get something out. Three hundred and eight words, but is it any good? I’ve re-read and meh. I do not know, I suspect I could read the complete works of Shakespear when I am in this mood and come away thinking ‘well, it was alright I suppose’. I could put the TV on, but when I do that alone, it bores me. The mindless chundering of repetition that most TV shows and movies consist of. I could try watching something a little more intelligent. Still, I suspect that my mind will wander, scattering a million ideas across the cells but not allowing me to jot a single one down.
Still, an hour to go until Lilith returns, that will cheer me up, it always does. An hour to go and eighty words, so do not despair about me. Do not worry about me. I have my demonic depression, but I also have my Devil. I shall let him take control for an hour, I shall be mischievous and roguish for a while. I shall keep myself occupied with the brainless, I shall toy with humans and play with Lilith’s dog. I suffer from this, but others have it worse. Look out for them, be there for them. Put your arm around them and listen. Be kind to them, depression is a bastard, and if there is any luck, you’ll never experience it.