The title of this post surmises what this entire post is going to be about. I have no idea how long this post will be, nor do I care how long it’ll take me to write. As of typing these exact words, it is 02:28:50 on April 20th, 2020. Approximately fourteen minutes ago, I posted something on my twitter, talking about how I noticed a long trend of me saying I’ll do something then never actually doing it. I want to talk about that, and my depression—if it even is depression to begin with.
I have no idea. As I said in my little twitter chain, I was “diagnosed” with depression. My pediatrician said how I feel is normal for what I’ve been through and what medication I take, but it could also very well be depression, so they’re going to treat it as depression. So I’ve been on anti-depressants since February. It’s been something, to say the least. I feel like I’ve made some improvements while I’m on them—I certainly feel happier on them—but it still doesn’t feel like enough. I know I’m looking at my medication as a solution to all my problems, and that it certainly isn’t, but I’m stuck in this weird juxtaposition of somehow being happier and sadder on this medication.
I’m not entirely sure why I feel sadder on it. I’ve been feeling like my life is unfulfilling, mostly since I’ve felt happier taking them. All I’ve really been doing recently is just sleeping, playing video games, and watching YouTube, which was the same thing I was doing before quarantine went into effect due to COVID-19. I haven’t been particularly proactive with a lot of the things I’ve wanted to do—reading and writing mostly—and I’ve done none of that, presumably due to this quarantine depression I’ve seen several people complain about. I’m underweight as well, and I know I’ve lost weight. I used to be able to only see the bottom of my rib cage clearly when looking in a mirror, but now when I look at myself in the mirror, I can see four rows of ribs.
At the same time, each time I’ve looked in the mirror recently, I haven’t recognized myself. I keep finding myself going back to one of the poems I wrote, (“I looked in a mirror today.”), and feeling the words resonate with me in the exact same, hallowing way, they originally did when I first wrote the poem. I’ve grown a beard and a mustache, I’ve noticed these sallowed bags underneath my eyes, and extra cowlicks in my hair that I’m certain weren’t there before, as well as my hair just being a general mess—it’s been more than a few days since I last showered, and I blame the quarantine depression for that.
And maybe COVID-19 is the entire reason why this has happened to me. Why I’ve felt less satisfied with life and why I’ve lost weight and gotten to the point where I don’t really recognize my own reflection. I see the same damn people every day at my college’s dining hall—I’m still on campus due to the fact I’m homeless, (I’ll expand upon that one day, maybe)—I talk to the same damn people online each day without fail, and I do the same damn shit every day. Wake up at 11:30 AM, but stay in bed until 12 PM. Get up, put on some sweatpants, a hoodie, and some slippers, and get some food at my dining hall to bring back to my dorm, and eat. Watch some YouTube while that’s happening, and play video games/talk to people until 4 PM. Repeat, until anywhere from 2AM to about 5AM, only to get up and do it all over again the next day.
Am I complaining about it? Yea, I kinda am. This idyllic life I’m currently living is anything but happy. And maybe all I need to do in order to feel satisfied with my life is do something different, which is why I am currently standing inside my dorm’s bathroom at 03:05:12, on April 20th, 2020, wearing only some sweatpants, writing this blog post. Who truly knows? All I currently have is time, and yet, I’m absolutely squandering it, save pacing around and dramatically waving my arms around an empty bathroom while I think about how to phrase what it is I want to say. And while doing something like that is fine and not something I’d normally do, all it leaves me with is a meaningless power-trip, a reminder that I’m all alone here, and even more depression once it all ends.
Because, no matter what I do, I secretly believe that even if I manage to change my life for the better—because keep in mind, I said I was going to at some point to somebody, and I always come through on my word, even if it’s many, many years late—it’s never going to be enough for me. Even if I overcome this mountain known as depression for the better, and I figure out everything, and everything turns out perfectly fine for me, I know there’s going to be another mountain for me to climb. Another hurdle in my path. I don’t know what it’ll be. Maybe one day it’ll be the fear that I’m losing who I am—my identity as a person—and maybe another it’ll just be that I don’t feel like getting out of bed that day, like it’s been on countless other days.
But, maybe, just maybe, me realizing my life is unfulfilling, and the desire to change that is the silver lining of all of this. Before, I never really cared that much about what I was doing, and now, having the means to counteract my depression and constantly deal with this idyllic lifestyle, I am starting to care, ever-so-slightly. I’ve started trying to make a conscious effort to start writing more, which has mostly manifested itself in more RPs, but that at the very least is progress to me. I know the road of getting out of this hole I’ve dug myself into for nineteen years isn’t easy—why would it ever be easy when it’s been all I’ve known?—but, it has to start somewhere, and today is where it begins.
Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.