After writing the last post yesterday night, something very curious occurred to me. I realized blogger Allie Brosh has a post exactly on what I was feeling, or you know, what was happening to me. It was quite interesting, finding people that go through the same emotions as you, trying to make sense of the same illogical mess as you are. And it raised a tiny beacon of hope.
You can read the full post here, but I am just going to attach some excerpts here.
" I remember being endlessly entertained by the adventures of my toys.
Some days they died repeated, violent deaths, other days they traveled
to space or discussed my swim lessons and how I absolutely should be
allowed in the deep end of the pool, especially since I was such a
talented doggy-paddler.
I didn't understand why it was fun for me, it just was.
But as I grew older, it became harder and harder to access that
expansive imaginary space that made my toys fun. I remember looking at
them and feeling sort of frustrated and confused that things weren't the
same.
I played out all the same story lines that had been fun before, but the
meaning had disappeared. Horse's Big Space Adventure transformed into
holding a plastic horse in the air, hoping it would somehow be enjoyable
for me. Prehistoric Crazy-Bus Death Ride was just smashing a toy bus
full of dinosaurs into the wall while feeling sort of bored and
unfulfilled. I could no longer connect to my toys in a way that allowed
me to participate in the experience.
The beginning of my depression had been nothing but feelings, so
the emotional deadening that followed was a welcome relief. I had
always wanted to not give a fuck about anything. I viewed feelings as a
weakness — annoying obstacles on my quest for total power over
myself. And I finally didn't have to feel them anymore."
This does not solve the problem though, while Allie's post ends on a slight grain of hope, it is made clear there is no complete redemption. Just like I feared. I have lost something I may never get back in this life.
