October was a challenging month. My depression flared up, I felt sad most of the time. My emotions were out of control. My sleep was filled with nightmares and vivid dreams.
It extended until November, which is also synonymous with my birthday. Every year, I welcome this day with bittersweet emotions. The priviledge of aging, of being surrounded and loved. But also noticing the lost ones, the changes, unfulfilled expectations. The dreadful feeling of time passing and standing still. Time going so fast, you can’t catch a breath.
Last week, my doctor increased my sleeping medications both at night and, a first, in the morning. Unsurprisingly, I have been fighting constant drowsyness for a week now. While I sleep better, I can’t help but feeling bad for my unproductivity, my brain fog, my lack of focus. I feel bad about myself and fear of dumping this incredibly heavy emotional labour on others. I can’t practice the compassion I preach to others on myself.
I am surrounded with brilliant writers, piling words like it’s nobody business and I can’t hardly focus to write a blog post. I sit in front of the screen and my mind usually spilling decides to go blank. The words feels wrong, the story doesn’t make sense. What do I have new to bring to this world?
I hate myself. I hate myself for feeling so much. I hate the brain fog ever so present. I hate the lack of focus. I hate pressuring myself so much I fell into inertia.
I hate that I can’t be my own best friend. Something that comes so easily with others. To care for others, to love them, to listen to their mind chaos.
I have no mercy toward my own chaos. Mercenary. Expecting productivity. Control. I have no patience for this shit. I want have everything. I am to do it all. Now. No compromise.
But at the end of the day, I am sad, restless and drowsy. I never expected this adult life to look like this. Years passes, and I have yet to find my way. Perhaps, there is none. Perhaps, this is the way.