The Missing-itis: Depression, take 2

Well, here we go again.

Lst January I thought I was over it, I really did. But hey-o, I couldn't have been more wrong.

The summer was when it started up again. There were days when I would stay at home and watch YouTube all day. It made me feel trapped again, trapped in my own life. No, I was not and am not going to commit suicide. But I still felt trapped. It was better when I got out and about, but still.

The fall, that is, school, looked really great in September. It was good all through the fall. But all along I was anticipating coming here. And towards November and December it went back. Then I get here and, WHAM. It's here. Full-force. For a while, singing to myself before I went to sleep helped, and sleeping itself always does, of course. But when I start texting and chatting and FaceTime-ing my friends, it comes back. Sometimes they'll say something like, "Oh, ___ and I are doing ___ tomorrow" or "I'm sitting next to ___" and I get this pang, the discontent just bubbling up, mixed with sadness. I cry sometimes before I go to sleep. I find myself crying at YouTube videos that I watched with my friends or ones that I watched a lot during the fall. I text my friends that I hate my life and then look back at our conversations and realize how utterly idiotically horribly irrationally pessimistic I sounded. And then I beat myself up over that. And then at school I put on my happy girl personality. It worked during the first couple of days of school here, but I find myself longing to speak English and be back home. That's another thing that's been bothering me. Right now I have no doubt that America is home. And then I realize that after this I will never again have one home, never again be wholly tied to one place. And then I get sad over that. It just goes on and on and on...and it's too much for one brain to hold.

A lot of writers go mad. No one knows exactly why. But my theory is that a mixture of solitude, perfectionism, self-judgement, and over-understanding brings it about. Writers have to know and understand people more than some in order to write a good story. Or maybe, as they say, you have to turn bad days into good stories. Perhaps writers have an over-abundance of those.

I don't know. At night I often really do hate my life, like a burning black candle that eats away at my sanity. And I hate that in itself.

A friend of mine recently commented that I shouldn't be depressed. It's true, I shouldn't. And that too sometimes makes me feel worse. I resolved to try, but sometimes it's no use. I can't have it all in my head. Which is why I'm writing this blog post.

I can't...

I can't...

I can't...

And I miss home...

I want to go home...