I did exactly… nothing for my book. At least I cleaned my room and bathroom. Yay. Awesome. Oh, yeah, playing hours of No Man’s Sky. Apparently there was enough for that. Maya’s pushing me really hard to get into therapy. Feels kind of semi-great. I think I’m slowly developing an idea of how Annabelle must have felt when I asked her for it. Pressure, even well-intentioned and meaningful, tends to create a defensive attitude in such situations. But I promised her tomorrow (i.e. today, but tomorrow is effectively after waking up) to write an email to the hospital and then wait and see what happens next. This is more than I have done during the past two weeks in terms of worrying about professional help for my mental well-being. The advantage of this promise: I can’t break it to Maya. I would probably cut half my arm open before I could live with the emotional pain of not being honest with her. Wherein – would that be an acceptable trade-off? Joke. Don’t even think about it. Not gonna happen. No matter how unproductive I may be tomorrow, but this is the e-mail I’m writing. Need to write. It’s impossible to break a promise like that. It just occurred to me there was another success today: I stayed sober. Although I almost gave in to the need to go out, somehow NMS was more interesting. In this sense, the smaller vice saves me from a bigger one. Does that count as a coping mechanism? Crazy world. I’ve been asking myself more and more lately whether it would be useful to share these lines with a treating therapist. Maybe it would be a waste of time for the therapist at the end due to the triviality of most of the statements. But hey, at least he gets paid for it. Is there any diagnostic value to be derived from this? I haven’t the slightest idea. The fact that I have massive mood swings with self-harming tendencies is really not something that requires a reading of my confused thoughts in order to come to this conclusion. But who knows? Maybe there’s some value after all. I’ll probably mention it at some point and just wait where it might lead. I may now be accused once again of using the English language for the sole reason of elitist distinction, but nothing could be further from the truth. Occasionally it is simply easier for my head to switch to another language for a moment, as I sometimes lack the adequate words in German. It is therefore much more a sign of my intellectual laziness and less elitist vanity. It sounds a bit like the irony of my life. As a rule, I do not consciously set myself apart from other people, quite the opposite, I would like to share more with others much more often, but for some reason this detachment usually happens completely automatically. Maybe it is actually due to my choice of words or language. Or maybe it is because of the topics I like to discuss or the opinions I hold. Note to myself: People love stories. Our brain is evolutionarily biased to believe a good story rather than plain facts. Stories specifically appeal to emotions, whereas rational arguments often have little effect. As unpleasant as it sounds, it doesn’t matter if we have the better arguments, because if our counterpart doesn’t feel the same way, we have little chance to convince them. Now I’m not so sure if I hadn’t already written down the same thoughts on Tuesday after the conversation with Tom, but since I was drunk that night, my memory seems to have suffered a bit and I’m not willing to look up a few pages further up. In any case, it can’t hurt to write down a thought of such monumental significance again. The probability that I will forget it in the future is extremely low, which gives me reason for cautious optimism. Somehow it is quite fascinating to observe that my abrupt mental leaps nevertheless often succeed in forming reasonably consistent sections of meaning. Perhaps my mental degeneration is not as far advanced as I had assumed. Or maybe this kind of soliloquy is already an excellent indicator for the first faces of the madness that will soon haunt me. That would probably also have a unique charm of its own. The only question is for whom.
I wonder if my not-so-sober brain is any more rational than I am. Under the influence of alcohol, it seems pretty clear to me what has to be done. But on days like today, with enough sleep, good nutrition and sport, things look quite different. Then my head imagines that I’m actually doing quite well, I don’t feel any serious symptoms and it’s quite enjoyable to be alive. In a way a somewhat paradoxical world. Well, one could mention as a legitimate point that I’ m writing these lines at 6:30 a.m. (which at least does justice to the title) and thus my sleep rhythm is once again quite chaotic, but who cares about details? I was thinking about going out with people sometime this weekend. I asked Alicia if we wanted to see each other. No answer yet. The usual. Sometimes it can be a strain on your patience when your friends are as antisocial as you are. I suppose that’s what you call the irony of history, or something like that. I have a plan for the time after getting up. Drink coffee and tea and then work on my book. I think this time in the morning (or whatever it is after I’ve woken up) makes the most sense, because I’m not yet stuck in any routine, but rested and ready to go to work with the powers of the night. I know that I am planning to do it at this point, but as soon as it comes to implementation, all kinds of motivational obstacles will once again get in my way. Fortunately, I still have the Cold Turkey Blocker, which I have probably subconsciously not used for several weeks for very clear reasons. All the more so, the current situation seems to me to be an excellent opportunity to break precisely this cycle of unproductivity. After all, I have managed to establish a routine like this one here, just as I do exercise very regularly. Integrating new habits is definitely not witchcraft, and I am confident that with the right form of nudging I can achieve similar success when it comes to working on what is probably the most important project of my life so far. I have already invested so much time in it and have a very concrete plan of how the final product should look like. And if I have to force myself to write at least one page every day, then so be it. In the end it will be more than this one page anyway, but the most important thing is that I manage to take this first step and finally start again. Habits are the building blocks of our life. Every day a little bit more, this is how I can succeed in completing this project. This will require the support of external mechanisms at the beginning, but once the foundation blocks have been laid, the rest will follow automatically. I am confident that a higher level of measurable productivity will make me feel more satisfied and balanced, as I will have been able to pursue the goals that have been with me for so long. As I recently learned and later wrote, we humans have an evolutionary need for goal fulfillment and the setting of these goals. One cannot not plan, I once wrote and these words still apply. As soon as I succeed in overcoming my inner blockades and continue this project, other problems will also become marginalized. Another advantage of the continuous work is that I can expand my intellectual horizon every day. This is something I have always been very keen on anyway, because nothing seems worse (or more tragic) to me than waking up one day with a narrow-minded world view and vehemently resisting changing one’s own views or even one’s actions one iota. Occasionally, however, this very change is the necessary spark that sets off a chain reaction of positive events. Is there a guarantee for this? Certainly not, but the attempt alone should be worth the effort to at least do the best we can to increase the probability. Now these words sound again like the typical motivational babble, but since I find it quite difficult to keep my eyes open anyway, it shouldn’t be surprising if my eloquence suffers a little bit. The tiredness takes its toll and I am inclined to pay it. Tomorrow will be a productive day. I’m sure it will be.
I feel completely lost. The days are like clouds passing by on a clear, gloomy autumn evening. No matter how much I plan to do something productive, these lines are the only ones that come anywhere near this aspiration. I am already back at the daily grind of self-destruction. The referral for the clinic as well as my medical file have been lying in my room for a week and a half because I have not yet managed to gather the necessary energy and submit all relevant documents. I feel guilty because I promised Maya that I would take care of it, but for some reason I just can’t do it. I can’t manage to leave my apartment to do the things that are really important and could help me. I would love to scream because I’m unable to handle even the simplest things. And yet I know how necessary, how important it all is. Instead, my life passes before my eyes and I am condemned to be an eternal spectator. Fuck. I have no idea what to do. My pulse is racing. I feel like crying. Right now I’m craving a knife. There are so many knives in this room. I’m just exhausted. Me, the world, everything. I wish I could see some way out or some way to deal with these feelings better, but I lack the competence to do so. I know that I can’t go any further without help, but that help is miles away and it is incredibly challenging for me to look for it. No matter how necessary it may be. It seems incredibly paradoxical that I struggle so hard to take this step, even though it is the only reasonable one in my current situation. Somehow I have to manage to get away from this fucked up, self-destructive shit and actually manage to start doing things that are beneficial for my mind for once. I feel like I’m running in circles every day. I don’t know how many times at this point I have written about how much I need to seek help precisely because I can’t go on alone anymore. I am sure that I have pointed out again and again on a multitude of occasions that my current life cannot go on like this. Well, it could, but it shouldn’t. I wondered a while ago whether I would survive my thirtieth birthday. To be honest, at this point, I simply don’t know. Yes, I think that the odds are not completely fucked, but I also know my current mental state and it looks anything but promising. Do I even want to turn thirty? Is it worth it? I have not the slightest idea what to expect. Whether it is even worth the effort. I posted the knife text from yesterday on Facebook. A few people seemed to think it was pretty good. Maybe I was unconsciously helping someone. I wish I had. It’s all so crazy. My head is playing Ping-Pong with an insane approach. Everything is spinning. I clearly had too much to drink. I don’t even remember why I write these completely absurd words here. At least at this point I realize that I have obviously consumed too much alcohol again. Anyway, this is another aspect that has to be considered. This vice is definitely something I have to work on in a much more permanent way. Either I destroy the rest of the liquor standing around my home or I gain so much emotional behavioral control that it is easy for me to resist the need for a drink. This also seems necessary. There are so many things that I should ideally pay attention to. My head feels super fucked up. Not just because of the alcohol, but in general. At least I think so. I’ve been feeling kind of off my game all day today. Depersonalized is the term, if I remember correctly. Again and again I lost touch with what most people perceive as the self. Most of the time I was just a mute observer standing next to it, unable to take even one reasonable step. Fuck. I really have to go to the clinic. It’s becoming more and more obvious. Everything seems so absurd. But I’m definitely not going to be able to cope on my own.