I’m going to start a depression diary. It’s not really something I highly liked or approved of doing publicly, for myself that is, don’t care what others do, but I don’t want to bore people with my moods and I do want to have some outlet.
Yesterday then, the 16th.
I felt hopeful for about 4 hours. This is quite something because I have felt no hope or optimism for a very long time. I made plans how to get out of the place I had fallen in. I briefly believed I could do it. My goal was not to target the problems I had but the character flaws I had instead. I wanted to train perseverance, social skills and strength of character. The reason I don’t do much is that I tend to become paralysed by my moods, so I wanted to learn to transcend that and continue doing things that I believe in and want to do, even if I feel absolutely horrible and would rather lie in bed. To cater to my love of variety, my method was to give myself numerous tiny challenges, most of them completely unrelated to the things I want to do, but serving the same purpose of training perseverance and strength of character. I considered sports and learning a new handicraft technique, among others. Perhaps cooking one new dish a week. But also things directly related to the things I want, obviously. I thought I’d write myself a nice curriculum tomorrow (that’s today) and see how best to organise this training.
I did say about 4 hours. At bed time, I got doubtful. I felt overwhelmed. I realised I’ll not be successful. I can’t get out. It’ s not going to work out. It never did before, why would it now? Logic does not support it. I had the choices I had, I was stuck with them. I read Les Miserables to the end. Jean Valjean’s death must have impacted me. I have since felt physically weak, eat little and don’t want to get out of bed. I suffer from grief, inability to cope with the fact that almost none of my dreams came true, and consequently, there is nothing I cared to live for.
Two (the 17th-18th)
A bit less bad. Occasional flashes of more hopeful thoughts and plans, but no attempt at trying to take them seriously any more or do anything towards them. Just treating them as thoughts. Perhaps not daring to because I’d just fall flat on my face again.
Woke up into a reasonably good morning, was able to dream a little and be optimistic by blocking out a great big chunk of truth and pretending it is not there. Dreamt of what I shall wear when I visit Ludwig’s castles (because it is important to dress for the occasion, right? Decided upon a long blue tulle skirt and …a white T-shirt, and thought it completely acceptable this skirt will take up half of my luggage space). Head feels funny and I’m still tired.
So, gradual improvement then, as is clear from the previous two entries. The past few days have been fairly good. I made one plan. I’m very lazy, though. Very, very lazy. I also realised I can be obnoxiously confident at times and that exposure therapy does work if one sets very small goals instead of jumping headlong far out of one’s comfort zone. It was an accident, anyway. I’m not one to set very small goals, but clearly I should because the accident produced results. I feel like I’ve gone off goal-setting anyway. It puts pressure on me and nothing ever comes of it because I get overwhelmed, but self-engineered accidents, non-verbalised movement in a specific direction, that may be better suited.