Depression at 30

update: featured image credit to Shawn Coss []

17 October 2016
Update: 18 October 2016

A part of me still can’t believe that I’m 30. If life is measured by accomplishments then I can’t help but believe that I’ve somehow fallen behind. How many of my bucket list goals have I met and accomplished in these past few years??? These last few months of (F)unemployment have not been very fun. I’ll have to admit to myself that I’ve been suffering from an undiagnosed case of depression (God that word sounds so… depressing). That’s what it is; no point in skirting around the reality of the situation any longer.

I still have goals and things that I need to do and I cannot get them done from underneath the covers of my bed, nor from binging behind a PC screen. I must find a way to force myself to be fully conscious and in the moment -I fear that for a majority of my adult life I have only lived a half life in an inebriated stupor and weighed down by my very own body.

hold up. I need to bring attention to this: the present continuous conjugation of binge is binging… BINGING!!! English is so weird!

I have suffered from depression (I really hate that word) through out high school and university, though have never been clinically diagnosed or have sought out treatment. I have suffered on believing that my state is normal, lying to myself and reiterating that my dearth of energy is one that can simply be solved with sufficient determination. I would look at others in envy of their seemingly boundless energy and their hearty strength of character, then slink away to the shadow of my sullen and barren domain. I was shackled by my very own body.

For too long I have pushed down and skillfully hidden those feelings of self contempt. I brandished them only to myself and held them close as if the were some source of toxic pride, as though saying to the world ‘Here I am! I suffer! I live!’. But the truth is that this was merely an excuse. I didn’t want help, I didn’t want to admit that I was so weak willed and that I was not the master of my own body. I chose to maintain a decaying lie instead of building a future.

Suffice to say, failure was the common and normal circumstance; lasting results was few if non existent. Moments of sobering clarity would fade away leaving me a sullen husk. These energizing sparks that are a supposed to be a permanent catharsis -a signal of inspiration and major life change, were fleeting moments that wouldn’t last. It was never long until I would sink and fall back into this cursed stupor. It was never long before I was a walking zombie; trudging through an endless existence with faint glimmers and sparks of clarity is no way to live.

How much of my personal and psychological development has been stunted??? Why had I never sought out help before??? When will I gain control of my life??? Where would I be in my bucket list??? What adventures did I miss out on??? Who were the great loves that I was too tired to meet???

This time I have to find a way to make this spark last. I have to finally come to terms with the realization that I cannot do this as I am now. It’s time to accept that as I am now I won’t be able to complete my life’s work, that I could potentially be trudging through the remaining years of my life as I have with my first 30. I have to accept that I will need a crutch in order to move forward -with a crutch I’ll be able to move forward… somehow.


30 Years Old

13 October 2016

I turn 30 tomorrow…

This is a sobering moment for me. How long have I lived my life with the thought that there will be unlimited tomorrows? That my life would have no end? Where I could waste my days and still have time make experiences later?

Somehow I’ve been living life wrong. My life isn’t my own. It’s the media’s, the society’s, the fear of failure’s. I’ve been living for 30 years now -barring any major incidents this half my life, a third if I’m lucky. I’ve consumed more media than I care to relive and those memories are far from substantial.

I spent 30 hours on Helldivers over the past few days. I binge watched season 1 of Freakish (5.5 hours). I must have spent countless hours binge watching random TV shows. Honestly the plots of these TV shows are largely forgettable. Games, TV -all instant access media really, are unbelievably satisfying but lack any substance. The feeling of completing some random objective, the satisfaction of completing a show and the thought of finishing next one -pure bliss.

Substance. I’ve used that word twice now. What does it mean? A quantifiable definition is one thing, but I speak of a qualitative aspect -a feeling, maybe an experience? I’ll have to revisit this in the future.

I need to find a new way to live and I need to find a way to stick to it.