On Thursday Night...

It takes a lot of strength for me to write this. But it's much easier than explaining it to someone face-to-face, because then I don't feel as if I am burdening you with my problems. I do not feel as if I am opening up to you, pouring out my deepest darkest fears, while your thoughts remain caged in, walled behind your own personal barriers. Somehow, this is a safe space - the twilight zone in which neither you nor I can truly exist. But I need to tell this tale - if not for me, for the others who suffer similarly. Fellow depressives, you are not alone.

On Thursday night, I was standing on the platform at Finchley Road tube station, peering over the edge of the platform. I stood near the end, where the train would enter the platform at speed. It seemed so easy to just let go, to take a simple step forward and just jump. Death seemed like life - the only difference being that I would no longer have to bear the pain of the latter. But something did stop me. I believe it was thinking of the poor people who would have to clear up my remains, but honestly, it could have been anything. What I was aware of, however, was that I could not simply carry on.

For the last few weeks, perhaps since the beginning of February, I have seen myself slowly slip away from friends and family. Somehow being the constant event planner was becoming exhausting. And my empty Friday nights and weekends became more frequent. It seems as though everyone is always busy - relationships hogged everyone else's weekends, and spare week nights were by now filled quickly with exhausting work commitments. I started to distance myself from reality, escaping the way I usually do, through: comfort reading Ursula K Le Guin and other authors; watching a load of geeky films; and ultimately, using any opportunity to grasp onto any form of the non-real. I knew I was experiencing a low, but for some reason I was certain it wasn't too bad.

I don't know whether it was my action of not contacting friends, or if it was the lack of contact from friends and family that triggered off my current depressive cycle. Whatever the case, I was disconnected from the network. And I began to feel very very alone. Like someone living in plastic bubble, utterly incapable of feeling anything other than the pain of alienation. And this terrifies me.

My anxieties spread further. I could see the campaigning flaws of the 1960s showing up again in the current activist circles. We have the same arguments, the same flawed tactics, and all in all, everything is still run by a bunch of middle-class white boys who see themselves intellectually liberated from the 'common' person (while also claiming to represent them). I saw the focus of our campaigns moving away from caring about social justice towards intergenerational victimhood. Instead of showing off our strength we were now employing self-pity as our primary campaign tool.

I now wonder if we can change anything at all. If we never learn from our mistakes, will we ever be more just? Can society ever be more than a bunch of baboons trying to vie for power as it were the only banana in the world? And if the world can never change, what would my role be? Where would my purpose lie? The emptiness of everything is overbearing. The pain of nothingness unbearable.

And then there was work. Once again, I feel like I'm failing. Like I can barely hold everything together. And for about a month, I can feel my workplace become more and more tense. Yes, I was more stressed - but I don't do stress when it comes to me fulfilling my responsibilities. But the pressure was external, and for the sake of employment, I will not go into further details. But I did feel like I was failing at everything. And so went away the final straws of my self-esteem.

For me, there are few things I want from life: adventure, warmth/love (stability?) and meaning. And on Thursday night, all of those things seemed impossible. I was exhausted and feeling like a failure. I felt friendless and alone. And the world had lost meaning. Nothing was left - and me and nothing don't work well together.

I know what Nothing is because I can feel it. It's not just hopelessness, it is a physical illness. I feel deep in sorrow, and even laughing can't help me escape it. I am easily angered. I am exhausted. I cannot concentrate properly. I cry easily. And I feel like I could scream, vomit and tear all my hair out all at the same time.

I don't want to be alone with Nothing again. I need help, but the psychiatrist I turned to is more interested in bankrupting me than helping me out. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) failed me miserably. And I don't know who to turn to for professional advice.

I want to be able to love again. I want to be wanting to hug everyone again. I want to cry and make it all disappear. I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?

On Thursday Night...

It takes a lot of strength for me to write this. But it's much easier than explaining it to someone face-to-face, because then I don't feel as if I am burdening you with my problems. I do not feel as if I am opening up to you, pouring out my deepest darkest fears, while your thoughts remain caged in, walled behind your own personal barriers. Somehow, this is a safe space - the twilight zone in which neither you nor I can truly exist. But I need to tell this tale - if not for me, for the others who suffer similarly. Fellow depressives, you are not alone.

On Thursday night, I was standing on the platform at Finchley Road tube station, peering over the edge of the platform. I stood near the end, where the train would enter the platform at speed. It seemed so easy to just let go, to take a simple step forward and just jump. Death seemed like life - the only difference being that I would no longer have to bear the pain of the latter. But something did stop me. I believe it was thinking of the poor people who would have to clear up my remains, but honestly, it could have been anything. What I was aware of, however, was that I could not simply carry on.

For the last few weeks, perhaps since the beginning of February, I have seen myself slowly slip away from friends and family. Somehow being the constant event planner was becoming exhausting. And my empty Friday nights and weekends became more frequent. It seems as though everyone is always busy - relationships hogged everyone else's weekends, and spare week nights were by now filled quickly with exhausting work commitments. I started to distance myself from reality, escaping the way I usually do, through: comfort reading Ursula K Le Guin and other authors; watching a load of geeky films; and ultimately, using any opportunity to grasp onto any form of the non-real. I knew I was experiencing a low, but for some reason I was certain it wasn't too bad.

I don't know whether it was my action of not contacting friends, or if it was the lack of contact from friends and family that triggered off my current depressive cycle. Whatever the case, I was disconnected from the network. And I began to feel very very alone. Like someone living in plastic bubble, utterly incapable of feeling anything other than the pain of alienation. And this terrifies me.

My anxieties spread further. I could see the campaigning flaws of the 1960s showing up again in the current activist circles. We have the same arguments, the same flawed tactics, and all in all, everything is still run by a bunch of middle-class white boys who see themselves intellectually liberated from the 'common' person (while also claiming to represent them). I saw the focus of our campaigns moving away from caring about social justice towards intergenerational victimhood. Instead of showing off our strength we were now employing self-pity as our primary campaign tool.

I now wonder if we can change anything at all. If we never learn from our mistakes, will we ever be more just? Can society ever be more than a bunch of baboons trying to vie for power as it were the only banana in the world? And if the world can never change, what would my role be? Where would my purpose lie? The emptiness of everything is overbearing. The pain of nothingness unbearable.

And then there was work. Once again, I feel like I'm failing. Like I can barely hold everything together. And for about a month, I can feel my workplace become more and more tense. Yes, I was more stressed - but I don't do stress when it comes to me fulfilling my responsibilities. But the pressure was external, and for the sake of employment, I will not go into further details. But I did feel like I was failing at everything. And so went away the final straws of my self-esteem.

For me, there are few things I want from life: adventure, warmth/love (stability?) and meaning. And on Thursday night, all of those things seemed impossible. I was exhausted and feeling like a failure. I felt friendless and alone. And the world had lost meaning. Nothing was left - and me and nothing don't work well together.

I know what Nothing is because I can feel it. It's not just hopelessness, it is a physical illness. I feel deep in sorrow, and even laughing can't help me escape it. I am easily angered. I am exhausted. I cannot concentrate properly. I cry easily. And I feel like I could scream, vomit and tear all my hair out all at the same time.

I don't want to be alone with Nothing again. I need help, but the psychiatrist I turned to is more interested in bankrupting me than helping me out. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) failed me miserably. And I don't know who to turn to for professional advice.

I want to be able to love again. I want to be wanting to hug everyone again. I want to cry and make it all disappear. I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?

Happiness: the BIG lie

Does everyone hit a point in their lives where nothing matters much anymore? Right now, everything feels rather like a burden. And memories of better times just really hurt. I find wonders, but am too exhausted to really notice. And more than anything, my mind longs to escape.

Has society really ever improved? Is there any way to really make the world a better place? Or is there a hidden balance that makes everyone mostly miserable?

Tell me please: are you happy?

Cracks in the pane of Enlightenment

I think there is a dark space within us all. And that darkness is only growing, its roots growing thicker into the inner essence of who we are. But those roots are breaking apart the fragile pieces that keep us together. We're like cracks in glass, splittering apart, only to shatter into a thousand pieces.

I don't think this darkness is caused by a greater understanding of ourselves, as we are repeatedly told. All that we say we know - through cognitive sciences, neurology and and other neurosciences based on cultural imperialisms - there is within its own language enough logic to refute itself.

No the darkness comes from this belief that we can somehow know better. The myths of Enlightenment that for whatever reason we cannot seem to shake off. The colonial, social Darwinist myths of Enlightenment, I should add.

This superior belief is the foundation of the hierarchical systems that cause inequality, and cause endless power battles.

This needs to end... Before we are pieces of glass that can no longer connect.

Confessions of Depressed Mad-woman

I am in the shower, curled up on the floor. The hot water splatters down the sides of my neck and down my back. I am quivering, shaking, and exhausted, despite the fact that it's 9pm and I've spent the whole day sleeping. The salty tears roll down my face.

The memories are coming back. The years of insults, bullying, endless dreams of a future that would actually mean something. The beginning of all of this: the on-going battle just to live. And more than anything, the loneliness. The deep, haunting loneliness that bellows out from the deepest part of my soul.

It's no dog barking. There is no fucking black dog.

It's a creature of thick black tar that insipidly crawls in my body. All is heavy. All is disgusting. I want to tear my insides out, rip away at my flesh and push the thick darkness out.

Five years of this. Five years of my life have gone on a battle I don't want to fight. How much longer? All my ambition, my drive, my excitement and enthusiasm about the future has been washed away.

And the anger is building up. All that frustration, that feeling of being treated like an idiot by everyone. Around me, people are building up a life. I still feel like a teenager: angst, rebellious, desperate to escape from a world that has bound me to its expectations of propriety.

I want to belong somewhere. I want to feel like someone actually wants me. I don't want to be a burden anymore. My heart is tearing at itself apart, desperate to find the Nishma who used to believe in a better world.