Sorry, Depressed
So I’ve not written anything in a while. I guess it’s time I put finger to keyboard and got something out there, so here goes.
I feel like all the parts of my brain that handle writing have switched off. All the lights and bells and whistles that used to flare and buzz and make me feel well and truly alive have just winked out, and have left me a shell and… wasted. Why is this? What’s changed?
Medication, I think. Maybe.
I once said to my girlfriend that I was surprised to hear she was on anti-depressants because she didn’t seem dead inside. Now I am, and I feel it. I’m considering going off the medication to get the fire back, but I want to be well and not… how I was before I started taking the meds.
But I feel more depressed since I started taking anti-depressants than I have ever felt before. What’s with that? My sister says that it’s probably because the medication hasn’t actually taken effect yet, but it will, and that then I’ll feel better. I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to find out. Everything feels so broken and wrong and I feel like a derelict merry-go-round, nobody wants to play here anymore because it’s lost all the music and fun and love and now it just feels kind of oppressive, and ramshackle, and if you tried to play on it it’d probably kill you.
Probably.
I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I know that I want to write. I want to go back to when I was churning out stuff every couple of days. But I just don’t feel it. And I hate that. I feel like I’ve been neutralised, and I feel impotent. But I’m writing this right now, so maybe there is hope for me yet. Maybe if I could fire up the drive to start something then the words would flow again. If I can break this dam and gush words out, hundreds of thousands of the bastards, all over the screen in something beautiful that I have made again… maybe I’ll feel like I’ve got my purpose in life back. Maybe by writing this now I’m taking steps to get back to that point.
Maybe.
I hope so, anyway. Because I don’t want to be a shell. I don’t want to be wasted. I know that I do still have the power to write stuff that people will want to read, but it’s hidden away underneath a woolly cover of drugs and depression. There has to be some way to let it all out again.
Thanks for reading.
Kedge
Notations & Nihilism 