I know this entry is a little later
than normal. Way back when this thing first started, I told you how Jennifer –
excuse me – my “fiancé” Jennifer was helping me out with medication regarding
my depression. I cannot remember if I ever explained this but I did not take it
for long. I was never a big fan of medicating to begin with.
Last night, I remember lying in bed,
looking up at the rafters above the Produce Cooler, and wondering if it was
cheating. Look, in case the whole engagement thing didn’t come across as
tongue-in-cheek as I wanted it to, I don’t consider Jennifer my fiancé by any
stretch of the imagination. If the two of us were a couple and people saw us
together, they would clearly think that I was either extremely wealthy or some
sort of weird Svengali that had hypnotized her. Physically, she is way out of
my league.
But the thing about being confined in
a space with people is that 1) you get to know way too many intimate details
(whether you want to or not) and 2) to pass the time, your conversation chains
take you down some pretty strange roads. And right now, it seems like we’ve got
far too much time on our hands.
And then, lying in bed, I wondered if
being in a faux-relationship was cheating. (Don’t judge me. The mind goes to
strange places in the dark.) I don’t even know if I am married anymore. We were
going to be divorced anyway. Has death done us part?
That got me spiraling down the rabbit
hole with my thoughts and the most direct result of that is often my depression
trying to return. And there is nothing I can seem to do about it.
I have tried reading books from the
collection that the store had on hand. I’ve tried watching my favorite movies
from the video department. I’ve tried working out. I’ve tried sniping zoms from
the rooftop. But nothing seems to be capable of holding my interest for very
long, thus allowing me to enjoy things.
And when you try to do all these
things, searching for enjoyment, and coming up dry, that just makes it even
worse. Inevitably, you find yourself collapsing in your bed and sleeping. A
lot. And I know that is not healthy.
I guess this is the part where the
therapists ask me if I am considering hurting myself. No, of course not. It is
just I am getting mired down in a funk. I don’t like it but I don’t know how to
claw my way out of it. This is not a cry for help or anything. I am just pissed
off about this depression and it is clogging my head up to a point where I
don’t even know what to write here.
And the more futile things become, the
more tired I become and the more I want to sleep. It is like this perpetual
cycle that I cannot escape.
I need a change. I just don’t know
what…
