Click for feeling

I find myself summed up by another person's worldview. Or at least a part of me that has not been seen, only glimpsed, for over a year. This is unacceptable. In that I have not sought to find myself before someone else articulated what it is that I have been avoiding in myself for so long. I am not my depression, but it does define some of me. How could it not? It is a part of me after all.

I used to get these horribly black episodes in my life, where nothing and no-one could touch my inner emotions past the void that separated me from interaction in a meaningful fashion. Only one man in my life ever found the tiny little rope strung across the gap (whether it was always there, or whether he built it by merely being who he is to me, I do not know) and for a long time, he has sheltered me from myself. This has given me time to accept myself and to find faith that I am stronger than myself. My will is stronger than the voice that whispers to me that I am unworthy of attention and that to find a way to gain that attention is best sought by self-violence. I found this in me again in the last few days, this yawning gaping abyssal trench in my mind, where the cynical black has spewed forth its venom into me. And at risk of sounding like a fucking emo-tweenage whiny bitch, I am slowly falling into my black moods again.

I find myself needing more from my husband than he has to give right now, simply because of his workload and stress he is under providing the single income we live off of. I have not been able to get a job since just before we got married because my cataracts had been getting progressively worse, to the point that I could no longer trust myself behind the wheel for the last few months. I only recently got one removed, and am waiting on the next appointment for the last one. Then I have adjustments for them once the eyes have healed.

My music has been devolving into black-goth-metal type stuff, and the screams of bands like Arkona, and the socio-political cynicism of Nevermore have been sustaining and succoring me. Is it pathetic that apart from one man, my life is complete to the point that I am content to become a hermit and not interact with people socially except via telecommunication such as this? That if I had my way, a lot of pointless people wasting their lives would just die? I wist that I too, could perhaps be accused of pointlessness at the present, I seem to contribute nothing to my life. Does this make me deserving of death? I feel it is not so, I feel I contribute meaningfully to other's lives, and more to the point, I know that while at least one person would mourn my death, it is not pointless to live. I have no sympathy for those who would give up and end themselves. It is a weak cop-out and I cannot condone that weakness in myself. I am not suicidal people. I am blackly depressed and apathetic about life, but I am not interested in ending it just yet. No, I do not choose to die. I WILL not.

Fucking self-pitying bitch.

I won't feel sorry for myself either. That is another cop-out. I blame nobody for my mistakes, I blame nobody else for my choices in life. I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR ME. And me alone. I cannot and willnot try to save anyone else. I am not a lifeline. I am not the ladder for someone else to crawl out of Hell with. I give of myself freely and I do not expect succor or sympathy, or pity or generousity from anyone. I do not give two shits whether anyone reads this or dismisses as tl;dr. It is not for you that I pour this out. It is mine. My soul, my life, my mind. My heart is no longer my own to pour out across this digital landscape. Hell is not looking inside of yourself and accepting EVERYTHING you find there. If you do not accept something in yourself, or, not accepting, try to change it, if you delude yourself, then you are in Hell. If you are dishonest in your introspection, then you present a dishonesty to the world when you rant that you are whole. You don't know who you are, you have no fucking clue.

When I have completed my healing, and finished with the cataracts, I am going to actively and relentlessly search for a job. Having a job, I will get a paycheck. Having a paycheck, I will be a productive member of my family. Being a productive member of my family, I will reward myself. I will get the drum-kit I have always wanted to learn, I will get a new laptop, and a tablet for image manipulation, and I will teach myself how to draw again. I will use my melancholy aggressively. It will fuel my creativity or I will rend it from my very soul. Nothing that I am will be accused of being useless to me. I will write, and refine my story, and one day I will submit it to as many publishers as I can. I will use any and all feedback to further improve my work, until I am accepted and published. For my own peace of mind I will teach myself to accept all rejection with good heart. I am too soft right now, each rejection, be it from work or life, cuts too deeply. I will end that.

/end rant