Is this life?
This inability to function as a normal, average human is
hangs on my neck like a lead ball and chain. The drugs, when I take them, give
me energy and focus, a will to act and interact with others and the world
around me, or so I used to think. Now I see this pattern for what it really
was: the illusory satisfaction of medicated uppers and downers. This routine of
prescribed amphetamines during the day and pills at night to mitigate the
effect to get to sleep gave the semblance of normality for a handful of years
but sadly no longer.
The rush of artificial energy the drugs provided to
replace my lack of will is now revealed as the unsustainable solution to
depression that it always was. At first, when I was just coming out of my deep,
black depression a few years ago, the energy and vigor the meds gave was like a
lungful of air after drowning in the water of malaise. And for years afterward
the effect remained satisfactory, allowing me to attend college and excel in my
studies, but now following graduation, it’s no longer enough to keep me
integrated into normal life.
What once gave me the ability to study and work
hard, now feels like a scattered, rush of manic energy that keeps me moving but
never in a meaningful direction or on a productive path. Before I could study
for hours and apply my mental abilities toward school work or job, now it’s
like a sheet put over my head, allowing me to exist for a few hours in
mindless, purposeless tasks to shroud me from my normal antipathy. For a few
precious hours, I feel alive and happy, but once the effect wears off, I’m left
in a void of desire, caring for little and unable to feel the contentment of
being the rest of the world takes for granted.
It’s a question of balance. I
have no even keel, no natural state of mind. I feel no drive to do, no
satisfaction with life to drive me forward. The mental state that allows you to
accomplish all the minor tasks that are littered throughout daily life remains
ever out of my grasp. I want to be and do and function without having to
struggle through the smallest action. How jealous I am to those around me and
their unconscious ability to live meaningful existences. To be happy, no matter
unthinkingly, is a gift I would do anything to possess. Isolated within the prison
of my own social reality, I can only bemoan with self-pity my own selfish
ailments.
All of the other problems that plague other people appear so minute
and unworthy. To be able to partake of these trivialities would be a pleasure.
For me, these average, banal conflicts represent a state of mind situated
frustratingly out of my reach. My own thoughts are confined inward, barely kept
under control, constantly analyzing my own life and sensory perceptions to such
an extent, that I often yearn for the peaceful, tranquility of a lobotomy.
Constantly over-analyzing the minutiae, endlessly poring over meaningless
detail, is the prison of my mind. It paralyzes my attention, never letting me
lose my strain of thought from moment to moment.
Sleep, when attainable, has become a refuge from the mental
barrage, bestowing a blessed period of dreams. Cut off from the waking world,
I’m free to wander through the dreamscape unburdened by a broken mind. Upon
waking, the experiences that only seconds before were alive with startling
vividness, inevitably flow like water through my fingers as dreams always do,
but one feeling remains; the memory of being and doing unshackled from my
mental bonds. I can just recall the faintest echo of dreaming awareness that
for the briefest moment merged with my conscious id as I began to wake. This
moment of transition where the sleeping and waking mind converge is surely
something all humans experience night after night but never recall. I do
though. The barest wisp of this sensation and the fading memory of sweet
freedom it brings are too alluring too resist a return visit. So without a
second thought I close my eyes and go back to sleep. Sometimes I’ll stay in bed
all day and night, getting up only to use the bathroom or migrate to the couch.
It becomes difficult to maintain my grasp on time as days go by and the hours
start to lose meaning.
How dangerous is this current mentality where the
tiniest satisfaction found in sleep outweighs the total happiness I get from
consciousness? Is this the first step on
the path to suicide? Possibly. I still remember those few years where I had
some semblance of fulfillment and normality in life and so I know this too
shall pass. Holding on to this belief is the most important thing. The all
consuming blackness doesn’t last forever, even when it feels like it will. I’ve
experienced this firsthand and the knowledge will sustain me now.
No comments:
Post a Comment