musings on misery

When I first started getting really bad, I used to wonder if it was possible to get so sad that it would just kill you.  Like that sounds so emo, but the emotional pain kept getting worse, and it genuinely made me wonder if it would keep getting worse until my body gave out.  Eventually I realized, yeah, that can happen.  You can get to be so miserable you die.  But that death isn't because your body gives out, it's because you can't take it any more and you end it.

I'm not there.  I think (and fantasize) about dying often, but I'm not going to do it.  But I understand it a lot better now, how you could get there.

But I've realized lately... there's a huge difference between wanting to die and wanting to kill yourself.  You couldn't understand unless you've been there (I know this because I never understood before).

The only scary thing is that it's always the worst it's ever been, in my experience.  People say it gets better, but nah... it keeps getting worse.  And it always feels so bad I can't take it anymore... and then instead if easing up, it just fucking gets worse.

So no, I'm not there now... doesn't mean I won't get there.  This isn't a threat or a cry for help.  Just opening up... since I'm told I should do that (not that anyone wants to listen lol...).

I used to really love to cook.  I used to really love to write.  I used to really love to play The Sims.  I used to really love to brush my dolls' hair and change their outfits and photograph them.  I used to really love to post on social media.  I used to really love to watch movies.  Now... I don't really enjoy those things anymore.  They kind of actually make me want to die... writing and cooking especially.  It's kind of like staying interested in the same shit is another thing I'm expected to do.  But its not like I enjoy other things... I just don't have fun anymore or like anything anymore.  I just spend each day getting closer to death, but not fast enough.

It's been almost two months

And I've only not updated this blog because I've been lazy.  Life has gone on, in much the same fashion.  I've wanted to die most of the time but hey!  I'm still here.  I've been cooking and writing and been made to feel guilty for being unemployed.  Nothing new in any of it.