Yes, there are those who have it worse than I do, however there’s nothing I can do for them when the damaging wave of my mental illness sweeps me up and smashes my helpless head against the eroding rocks of my ruined life. Think about that for a minute. As analogies go, that’s nearly like beating a homeless man to death with a bag full of money. That is not far from the present tone from which society sets its standards.
But it’s not the the planet depresses me. It will, but it is not the main reason behind my ailment. Some individuals are just built wrong. Their biological contraptions are not made to survive or they endure faulty wiring. I guess that the latter is me personally and consequently I probably care more than I should if I have it in me to care. But melancholy for one is not just about feeling awful. Most often I feel nothing at all other than a continuous feeling like I am being crushed slowly to death by gravity.
And the funny thing about living with anxiety and depression is that everything rests at once, both your brain and your body suffer exactly the same aching feeling of despair and the longer you live with it, the tougher it is for messages for site back and forth between the two. I’m a zombie. I’m barely over thirty and I’ve lived with it because my last years at high school. Until recently there was not much that didn’t function.
Most of the time that I felt as a warm corpse, see (a fantastic read) wearing the terrifying novelty of getting up a lot of my mum’s cash, patience, time and distance.