Humans are weird. I'm a human. I am weird.
We're all weird for many reasons, but one reason I'm weird is because I'm so decidedly flip-floppy in my disposition. I have enjoyed the last few days, wondering why some people can be disappointed with life. It's full of free things. Snow recently came to visit my college. That is free. The wind that bites my face and gives me a newfound appreciation for the mere existence of four walls and a roof, that's free. Smiles from strangers, waves from friends, those are free.
Now, today, I'm stuck upon a hitch that has me thinking in the dumps. I spent my lunch alone in a corner of the cafeteria, listening to music, ashen-faced while people moved about around me. I didn't move, just listened to my music and sipped tenderly from the blazing hot cocoa that I made by the coffee station. I was in there for a good two hours, just thinking about many things yet coming to no real cogent thoughts.
Sometimes I find myself wishing I could walk up to a perfect stranger and just give them a hug. It'd be just as much about getting a hug as it would about giving. I dont know why I think that, I think it's because I feel urged to believe that humans can not only coexist, but co-thrive. We seem to co-thrive in every way except emotionally. Any given room of people is full of dozens of different problems and grievances inside the hearts of those that occupy said room, and very few of the people know about each other's problems. What's more is that they don't even look to see if anyone else is hurting like them.
I find myself losing motivation to do anything. I have nothing to do until 4 pm, except to write a paper for the class I have at 4. And yet here I sit, whining to the internet and 10 people. I suppose maybe this is one step closer to the room that is my blog becoming less of a room full of strangers.
I don't mean to come across as a whiny girl who does that stuff on facebook like
"Wow, great...another WONDERFUL day...why does this always have to happen to me?"
It's in pink because it's a girl.
People that do that crap online leave it vague enough to prompt questions from their BFF's and relatives, but make it specific enough so that whoever is responsible for making them unhappy know it's all their fault.
But yeah, I don't mean to come across like that. I guess this is my therapy, wondering things aloud. I suppose it beats other therapies, chemical therapies. I have one 50mg lifeline of Zoloft to last me a week. That therapy is failing me slowly as the serotonin is re-uptaken by my synapses quicker than it should, quicker than the medication lets it when I have a steady flow of the small blue tablet. This is why I didn't want the damn things in the first place. They become the deciding factor in a good or bad day. After I stop taking them, I have about 1-2 days before the high that normal people call normal disappears.
I know that God has given me this heavy case of dysthemia so that I can relate to others who have it, so that I can think like a broken person works so that I can help them and love them. But what happens when I find myself broken? When your car breaks you don't go find other cars to work on. When your coffee maker doesn't work, you don't spend time making sure the refrigerator won't break down soon. You just want to fix that which is yours, and that which is broken.
So what happens when I feel broken? How do I help others when my selfish self wants only to fix myself, but I can't, because a psychiatrist, who gives out prescription slips like golden tickets to the happy factory, decided that I too can enjoy the bliss of terminal codependency on something so tiny but so decisive.
I'm not sure how to go about ending something that has been so completely downhill. Maybe that's what some people who get really really depressed, farther than I've ever been, think about their life.
No comments:
Post a Comment