Carry On


Depression is a war, not a battle.

It’s fighting not to call off once a week, because you just can’t do it today. So you get up and plod along, and you make some resignations. “I laid in bed too long. I’m going to skip the shower. I can’t be bothered to care about what I’m wearing today, I don’t even care to put any jewelry on. They’re lucky that I am making it there.” You start your day emotionally checked out from the tasks at hand.

It started with a dream. I dreamed of an old friend. He had let me drive his car and I had to adjust the seats because he is a good bit taller than I am. I woke up and realized this friend has 2 kids and a wife. I am still living single in a rental. What these people are going through, creating families, is probably a level of maturity that I won’t get to understand. I’m creeping up on 40 and I’m still driving my mother’s car. I used to partially pride myself on being so mature. But at some point, I’m pretty sure my emotional disabilities left me in a state of arrested development.

I started my morning by beating up on myself. I should have gotten married to the man who put a ring on my finger, even if he cheated on me, my groggy, sad brain said. He was willing to put up with your hang ups and your mistakes. I should have kept on pretending that I was enjoying the sex, and kept going some place else in my mind. Worse comes to worse, if I had selected another path, I could have been a single mother. I would have a preteen child. I would have given up being selfish and had someone else to live for. I wouldn’t be having existential crisis if I was trying to make sure my child had everything they needed.

But the truth is that I don’t know how I would have managed that. A part of my brain thinks if I had gone that route that my depression may have been exponentially worse. Because the truth is the grass is always greener. That was what I came to realize about my longing for another life, one that wasn’t the one I’m in. I wondered what it would be like because it becomes more and more unlikely, more and more foreign to me. Much like that period of time that I kept dreaming of NYC because another of my “childhood dreams” was to live there. But now I work full time, and I have a lease and 2 cats.

I also began to feel a bit of the old penis envy, because as a man you have all the time in the world to find yourself and discover meaning for yourself before you decide to turn around, find a young, hot, piece of ass and make a baby. That’s not so much entirely an option for women. 

When I do think about my life, I often feel like I always had so much more time in the past. I remember the casual down time. The times that I went out places, or did really fun things. I don’t think about the hours that I sat in front of a computer. They feel like sleeping time, dreaming. Add them together and I’ve spent less than a 3rd of my life living.

But still, I get up, I go in. I walk the long way to the bus stop, so that I can say I did 20 minutes of walking today, at least. I try a new drink at the coffee shop to try to perk me up, but it’s a disappointment. I’m trying to wrap my mind around being in the present. That’s why I decided it was a war, and not a battle. A battle is fought and won or loss. A war is waged on and on. There are victories and set backs, and no clear winner.

All I can do is just keep living this life the best I can, and hope that in the conclusion that it was worth it.  


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