in a drunken d&m (shouted over loud music at a bar) my housemate asked me if i’m happy/ excited about eventually going home. i said yes and n, i will miss everyone but i miss my home too. but really i feel nothing. he asked me if i’m depressed. it took me a while to answer because i thought i was covering up really well this time (apparently not) ‘i am’ i said, ‘i’m sorry’ he said. he knows what it’s like because he’s been there. and he doesn’t pity me like other friends who don’t know. we compared old meds and the zombie feelings they give you for a few weeks. he asked me if i had thought about going back on them, because he thinks i probably should. he gets it and maybe that is why i feel so comfortable with him- my cynical friend in a house full of loved up crap.
i wonder if the other notice or if they’re too involved in said loved up crap. probably. that’s good.
i’m not sure what i should do. i hate that doctors don’t work weekends because i don’t have the time off to go to see one during the week. i should go back on meds though. mum would be relieved. and i would probably be relieved. i hate that my smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes. i hate that i always feel numb. hollow. or sad. and i can cry over anything. like i’m crying now.
and i really have no one to talk about it with because i feel uncomfortable with friends and i don’t want my mum to worry, not with me living across the other side of the world. so i write about it on a blog that people i know are not linked to, somewhere that only strangers are likely to see. but maybe strangers will understand it better than people who know me.
i hate that i can’t keep a happy mood going for very long. it’s not fun. my happy point of the day- i went shopping and i saw beautiful clothes (i can’t presently afford because i want travel and tattoos… and to lose a few more kgs), i love the 80s metal look with faded denim and washed out prints. it’s fun and has restored my faith in fashion.
x
