Delirious Deliberations

Disclaimer: forgive the inevitable myriad of misspellings and grammatical errors. I’m totes out of it…

It’s official. I’ve succumbed to kidney infection round 2: Electric Boogaloo. I’m supposed to be working on final papers but my fever keeps revolving from 100-104 degrees. Thus, I can’t craft any kind of prose that would be remotely suitable for an academic paper. Besides, my brain feels like it’s cooking inside my skull, a sensation which makes focus all but impossible. I haven’t left my room or my sweat-stained sheets much in the past 48 hours, except to refill water and/or Gatorade, or vainly attempt to wash off the faint odor of sick. I can see why Sheldon is such a baby when he’s under the weather; being in a solitary state when ill just sucks. Truthfully, I’d been ok with it for most of the weekend; After all, it’s hard to concentrate on any one thought train when your eyes continually unfocus, therefore how much would I really be able to entertain a guest?

My level of delirium kept any sadness at bay, until this afternoon. I’ve finally gotten to a level of clarity where I’m capable of rational thought, and where does it lead me? Inexplicably yet not remotely surprisingly, to loneliness. I’ve been a busy little bee for the last few weeks; it’s my one non-detrimental coping mechanism for breakups. I haven’t been drinking as much, and I’ve been forcing myself to get out and socialize or visit family. For some reason, however, I have a proclivity for that negative emotion. Rationally it doesn’t make much sense, I know. I’ve got all the friends and family I could ask for, who are always ready and willing to keep me company. I guess my predilection stems from memories I had as a child and young teenager. I hadn’t yet outgrown my severe level of introversion/low self-esteem, and frankly, I was alone a lot. My parents worked, my sister was always extroverted so she kept herself busy, and I sat in my room listening to angst-y rock and punk, feverishly writing in a journal or staring out of the window, lost in reverie. I used to say that it didn’t bother me much at the time… but the more I think back on it, it really did. I rarely took the initiative to fix it; that’s one of the most frustrating things about depression. The knowledge of how to fix your plight but lacking the energy or drive to do it. Some might call it ‘wallowing’ or ‘just feeling sorry for yourself’, and to them I say, ‘You’ve obviously never experienced depression.’ It’s like an ugly, fat, sad dog that just sits on your chest. No one else can see it but you. You try to push it off but end up just getting lost in its watery eyes. It’s sallow expression convinces you that nothing you do will change your circumstances; you’ll still feel lonely, separated, outside looking in. So just don’t even bother, it says. Just sit there and accept your fate.

Based on the skeletons I’ve managed to unearth from inside and beneath my family’s closet, I’ve realized and accepted that both depression and alcoholism run straight on through our combined genetic codes. I’m susceptible to both, unfortunately. Fortunately, I also know that… and despite my own hangups, my ongoing issues with depression and potential alcoholism, I try to remind myself of the one glimmer of hope: the first step is what? Acknowledging that you have (or could have) a problem. What comes with experience, self-esteem and maturity, is the understanding that you do have control over how you use that knowledge. You can be the victim or you can choose to be stronger than your inner evils. It’s an exercise in discipline. I’m certainly not the most “in-control” person I know, but I try. I really fuckin’ try.

*Sigh* Well I should make use of this possibly short-lived lucidity to get some work done…

Current Jam: “Beeswing” Richard Thompson

Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee’s wing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She said “As long as there’s no price on love, I’ll stay.
And you wouldn’t want me any other way”

Current Netflix: The Returned, aka Les Revenants

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