Life moves in very strange circles sometimes. Well, not mine. It currently runs in a very monotonous, very unhealthy, destructive, but certainly not strange circle. If I were to string together all the days of the past weeks like a snake of dominoes, most of them would differ at most in a few small details. I eat and drink almost the same thing every day, my activities are almost identically unproductive and my mood is either in the dump or at the level of complete indifference. At this point one could even look at it a bit optimistically: The “classic” borderline symptoms fade into the background, as they have almost no trigger, while a tangible depression takes its place. Depending on one’s perspective, this might be a step forward. However, in view of my current physical and mental condition, I dare to doubt it strongly. Hm. I have the feeling that I come to this point very often in the last days, where I realize that it can’t go on like this. Yet another cycle like that. Good. Problem recognized, danger averted. How’s that? How did I put it a while ago? It needs an action plan. Action! Yaha! My. Life. Is. Missing. Action. Definitely. I must break out of this utter monotony. That’s what I need the basics for. Starting with sleep. Tonight I will get as much sleep as my body deems necessary until it finally feels fit and rested again. Admittedly, the term “night” is a bit exaggerated considering the rays of sunshine running against my dark curtains, but at least the idea is what counts. After sleep is resolved, I will take a shower. Even before the first coffee and black tea. I firmly believe that this morning shower is necessary in order not to feel even more run-down than is often enough the case. Afterwards breakfast follows. For this I currently still lack the necessary ingredients, so I have to go shopping. As soon as I am back, I will prepare breakfast including coffee and tea, while I clean the kitchen and continue to listen to the course on neuroscience. Obviously, I am currently not able to concentrate at home. Ergo I have to get out of the house again. Off to the library. With tons of people running around. That’ s what headphones are for. I have to go out. Fuck Social Anxiety. Okay, I’m off to the library, where I’m finally gonna work on my book. Around 9 or 10 p.m. I will leave for home to start my workout immediately. Afterwards I can watch the season finale of Game of Thrones. I had just instinctively planned to postpone it until the morning, but no. Not this time. Emotional regulation and all. The final goal of the day is to be in bed by four o’clock at the latest, ideally already asleep, so leave the PC before then. Whenever I feel the need to simply hide away, I will remind myself that a change in my behaviour is necessary if I also want to feel changes in my perception in order to ultimately suffer less. Sounds like a pretty detailed action plan. I like it. Now all that’s left is to implement it. I can already feel the first inner resistance telling me what I could do instead. But no. There’s got to be a start back to normal. Or even any start in that direction. All the other things that my head is showing me right now and making me aware how pleasant they are, I have experienced during the past weeks and months. With what result? I feel as crappy as I haven’t felt in years. A human being needs occupation, otherwise it withers away just like a flower without sunlight. By the way, I could use some more of that. So it’s only to my advantage if I get out of my cave tomorrow. If I write myself an action plan like this every day for a while now, then it wouldn’t be so bad. Even better if I make it happen. My head is telling me right now not to go to the library, but to work here instead. Hmm. At least it would save some time. Okay, deal with myself: If I can stay focused and work here tomorrow, I can do it again. If instead I just loaf around all day again, I’ll go to the library among people in the future. My choice. Action plan with pointing finger. Good idea.
For years I have been trying to answer a central question. Which is worse: extreme emotionality or a void? For years I have been searching for an answer, but so far I have not found it. Currently, however, I am tending more and more towards the latter. Pain is palpable. It is something real. Physical or mental, at least you can feel it. Know it’s there. But how do you describe emptiness? How does it feel other than, well, empty? Is the absence of something still… anything? My life always moves only between these two points. Either incredibly intense emotions or an indifferent void. The extent to which I experience both is probably around 30% emotion, 70% emptiness. These are almost similar relations as the ratio of matter to dark matter. This comparison even works twice, because just like the perceived emptiness, dark matter cannot be directly detected, although we are very sure that it exists. Every time I return from extreme emotions back to the waiting arms of emptiness, I ask myself shortly afterwards whether I only imagined everything that was going on before. If this actually just happened. Provided I regain consciousness in the hospital, then yes, it probably did happen, but fortunately this is the exception rather than the rule. Status report: somewhere between lethargy and a state of emergency. A never-ending cycle. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. The perpetual motion machine of self-destruction. In all these years, I have not been able to escape. Maya was right. I should have taken action much sooner. Success story of the day: Wrote an email to the hospital. At last. After almost two weeks of waiting. Maybe it will end up like that one time in Halle, when I was standing in front of the clinic in the middle of the night, completely exhausted, and was sent back home. This is probably the craziest story I have ever experienced so far. I regret a little not having the presence of mind to get the name of the responsible doctor to sue him for not helping me. But considering the fact that I was very close to actually performing the final cut, it’s not surprising that my focus was elsewhere. However, I have some concerns about the possibility of such a person continuing to work in a psychiatric hospital and possibly endangering patients seriously through such behavior. But that was several years ago. Kind of crazy. I still have that night pretty clear in my mind and know how I felt in that situation. How, in an absurd mixture of overexcitement and emotional desperation, I spoke to the doctor on the phone, only to be told they sent me home because my situation did not seem serious enough. Well, somehow he was right, too, as I obviously didn’t kill myself back then, but as I am still in an at least comparable situation so many years later, this doesn’t necessarily speak for his medical expertise. Very well. Now we wait and see. I am relatively confident that things will go differently this time. So far my encounters with the staff of the psychiatric department of the clinic have been consistently positive, therefore I assume things will remain this way. I can always claim later that everything was shitty. Besides, this time I have made a firm commitment to be truly honest with those who are trying to help me. I remember not telling some of the very unpleasant things back then, but this time it will be different. I have the feeling this could be my last chance to get my life back on track. Failing again at this point will most likely have highly destructive consequences. Somewhere I still have Akira’s number and another encounter between us would probably not only end up with police and ambulance, but also with a forensic pathologist determining an overdose on both our corpses. Theatrical, but a fitting end. However, at the moment I don’t really feel a desire for such a cinematic ending, so this may wait. Ideally, it never happens, since this time I finally manage to pull it together. Everything. Me and my life. Balancing lethargy and the state of emergency.
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.