Nae idea why I’m calling these “parts” Like I have a grand plan for this shit. I don’t. I never dae. Its part of what makes me an unbelievably charming, troubled soul. Seriously though. Words….
Been on the antidepressants for a week and a half now. Was told they’d take 3 weeks to work, so I’m not overly worried about feeling pretty much the same/slightly worse since being on them. Or I wasn’t worried until today. Today’s been a fucking huge, howling, stinking bastard and its worried me a lot. Whenever I feel a day is actually worse than the 8 years of pretty much constant depression in some way, I worry like fuck about it never going away again. What’s the best I can hope for if it gets worse and worse? A lobotomy? Who knows. I feel like withdrawing more and more every day. I’m forgetful. No attention span. Still largely numb to things that usually induce trooser wrecking stauners. My comfort zone is nothing. People go on about stepping out of their comfort zone and doing something a wee bit risky. Something a wee bit out of the ordinary. When you’re in a depression like this, certainly in my case, my comfort zone is nothing. Lying down. Darkness. That’s comfort. Being able to deal with the waves of anxiety and heart wrenching sadness from underneath covers. That’s what comfort is to me right now. Sunday was different though. Sunday was a big fucking deal….
Sunday was Fear and Loathing at The Barrowlands.
The biggest night in ICW history. A company I have written about for 2 years now, and my stuff about them has led to opportunities I could only have dreamt of a few years ago. Its given me a voice that a small pocket of people give a fuck about, and for that I will always be grateful, but its the aftermath of that show that’s made me realise how much I’m struggling right now in the grand scheme of things, cause I’ve barely been able to lift my heid off the pillow since it finished. An awful comedown. Natural enough though. I’m sure 90% of the who were on the show, or at the show experienced the same thing, but when it happens when you’re going through a down spell, its fucking grim. The wrestling was cracking though. Thats always 3 hours of relief, even if I don’t feel it like I usually do, its still engaging enough to not think about the infinite darkness.
Earlier today I was told “lying doon disnae help” and I’ve never felt annoyance like it. Do you think this is a choice? I got up at half 7, showered and fully intended to go back to college today. Then it took a vicelike grip of my brain and that was it. Game’s a fucking bogey. Pop a beta blocker and hope that helps. Oh it didnae help? Fight the overwhelming urge to secretly drink during the day. The only thing that ever used to bring any relief during the years of this shit before. Not even getting drunk, just a few drinks so I could get to a point where my own reflection didn’t make me want to whitey up my small intestine. Dire. I have fought that since this got bad again though. Went a bit daft at the weekends, but I’ve not slipped back into the daily boozing thankfully. That’s not to say I’m confident it wont happen though. At its worst with depression, there’s a need for relief. Its like you’re brain’s version of needing a shite. When it hits, nothing else matters but relief. If relief isnt possible and it gets desperate and theres nae toilet, you might have to shite in the woods, or perhaps the swings at a local playground. Thats the equivalent to day drinking your way through depression. If healthier ways of feeling better dont work, the desperation wins and all of a sudden yer guzzling a 2L in the middle of Possil, wondering why people are asking you for all-day tickets, then ye look about and realise you’ve hi-jacked a bus.
Christ know’s what’s next. Or if these things are of any help to me, or anyone else at all. This one feels heavy depressing. Although I suppose by its very nature it is, but there ye go. Things are shite. One of my Snapmare Necks Generals and co-best pals isnae well again either. Cancer fight number two. I will ask her if its cool if I post this before I do, but words cannot describe how much of a sense of injustice and sadness I feel about that. I’m not going to hit you with some cliched shite about how all these bad people seem to go through life without a problem, but good people like her get stricken by things like this. I’m not a believer in Karma, or looking up to any other idealistic higher power, but I do know that her being ill again just isn’t fair. In any way, shape or form. The devastation that cancer leaves even after you beat it is bad enough. I don’t think she’s had a day without pain in a year and a half of knowing her, but the fact that its back and trying to take her again is fucking awful. Soul crushing shit.
Fuck cancer, fuck injustice, and perhaps most importantly……fuck the polis.
Wrestling.
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