So, really, maybe it's a bit presumptuous of me to post this under depression. I have no clue if its actual depression or me just conjuring things up and putting a name to the nameless emotions i go through, simply because some quizzes and tests name it as such. But I thought that maybe, just writing it all down may help me organize my thoughts just a little bit.
Sometimes, like now, I simply look around my room and i see static at the edges of my vision, like i'm putting in the barest effort necessary to see the things around me, and even that is just giving me a headache. My hands, while typing this, feel heavy and sluggish and trembly. But that could just be laziness, or maybe even explained away with me being a drama queen. Am I? I don't know. I could be. I definitely do think that sometimes when I try to rationalize what I feel, that it is way too over-dramatic. Like the way sometimes my eyes just fill up with tears that make me feel so tired. Like the way I would stay cuddled up in my blankets, with all these ideas and things I really want to get a start on buzzing continuously in my head but in the end, never really conjuring up enough energy to even move the barest muscle to do it, which just makes me feel even more pathetic but even that doesn't prompt me much and time just gets wasted again and again. Like the way I look at my roommate, who's been sitting silently immersed in whatever she's doing for a few hours now and I just get more and more worried over the silence thinking maybe it's my fault or that maybe I'd done something stupid like I always end up somehow doing and now she's ignoring me or something and then I work myself up into a frenzy and throughout it all, i selfishly just want her to pay attention to me. Me. Because clearly I'm selfish and really stupidly believing it's about me when most probably it's not.
See? Dramatic.
And the truth of the matter is, it's not like I'm trying all that much to gain her attention anyway. So, why do i still have expectations? like an idiot.
Sometimes, I feel chilling apathy. I worry myself into a frenzy with the smallest of things and feel self-pity but for the big things, somehow i detach myself from it and everything just seems to be happening from a distance. I should be feeling way more, I know. I should be reacting way more, I know that too. I should be not numb or indifferent, is the end line. But.
I worry over that too.
I think I'm attention-seeking. I wouldn't be surprised if someone thinks that. Hurt, definitely, but not surprised. I almost always think I'm being dramatic--i don't know if it's because that's all i've heard about such reactions due to a certain stigma attached to the concept of a mental illness or whatever, or because once i read this from a rational, 'normal' point of view, then maybe it is. And I feel sick whenever i realize that a small part of me does want someone or the other to realize that I'm not okay, not really, even if I do joke and smile and act crazy. I feel sick whenever I realize that I do want someone to look at me all concerned. it's selfishness at its finest, maybe. Wanting to drag others into this mess, but not strong enough to do it yourself. Because who can I ask if what I'm feeling is normal or not? if wanting attention but at the same time wanting to hide is normal? If looking at life in such a blase and indifferent way at times is normal? if sometimes even the roots of your foundation isn't enough to stop some thoughts or perk yourself up is normal?
And the most idiotic part of all this, is that I don't even have the 'excuse' to say that i've even gone through anything deeply traumatic or excruciatingly painful or life altering to even be feeling all of this. There's no true reason. I have a beautiful family that supports me like no other, friends that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. I'm studying something that I thought I'd love, even if it was something my parents were a bit against, because doing anything without passion is like a slow death, and i naively thought i had enough energy for passion. I have a livelihood, i have money, i have food, i have love, i have laughter--in the eyes of some, i really have everything.
But then, why did writing the last bit of that paragraph, instead of making me feel even a smidgen of contentment, make me instead breathe in deeply to ward of another spiel of loathing?