… .. …

being unemployed is not working.

being “unemployed” is “not working.”


Time doesn’t matter. Life matters.

Some alien in The Fifth Element said that before the tv went dark.

See also:


no personal pronouns today. can’t handle it.

what is life. what does that shit mean.

[] was watching a video on Youtube, and the speaker mentioned “The Nothing” from The Neverending Story. [] have never seen that movie, but the concept struck me as she was speaking about it in relation to emotional* voids. God knows [] love a good Google. Here’s what was found:

The Nothing is described as representing ‘human apathy, cynicism, and the denial of childish dreams.’ That is to say the complete opposite of humanity’s imagination, hopes and wishes…

[Everyone] in its presence are compelled to jump into it and meet their doom. [Everything] that it erases gets turned into lies and deceits that manifest in the normal world. Should it not be stopped in time, it would destroy… and leave everlasting damages…

[The Nothing] is stated to be a formless, featureless negation of existence impossible to describe…

The Nothing is influenced by the mysterious Manipulators: incarnations of the worst aspects of imagination, who seek to unleash all the lies born from the Nothing’s victims on humanity to drive them mad and take over.

[source]

aside from the bell jar analogy, this is another apt description of depression.a gem, really.

the shit is insidious and dangerous and holds no punches and doesn’t care who it takes down with it. it just seeks to destroy. until reading those words over, [] couldn’t look at it in the perspective that [] do now. all day [] have been encapsulated by this formless, featureless negation of existence impossible to describe.

the “negation of existence” is important. apt.

lately, [] have been feeling like a shadow. only when [] actively close [] eyes and put my hand over heart to prove my existence can [] step out of the shadow. the beating.

i am.

i am.

i am.

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.

there’s no pain. it’s a flatline. no discernible movement. just waiting for any sign of life.

it’s interesting.

the extremes: “in times of light, there can be no dark.” “in times of dark, there can be no light.”

when well, proclamation: “hey, this depression isn’t even real. see, self? that anxiety? it’s as phony as a $3 bill.”

when not, proclamation: “what the fuck is going on? There’s no way out. hey, look, a $3 bill.”

Both sentiments are detrimental.The former, which I think I have the most problems with, is rooted ableism and denial of my own experience (can be read: humanity, “strong black woman trope” which I haven’t the energy to get into today) stemming from external stigma regarding mental illness. We’ve all heard it a million in one times before in a million and one different overt and covert statements: folks with depression/anxiety aren’t supposed to experience joy, because they’re “voluntarily sad, negative, and volatile.” voluntarily sad. sit with that.

I know this is untrue because I live this. because I’m a human being which entails being multifaceted and capable of a multitude of emotions. As such, I am able to toggle opposing ideals as well. Living my truth has not rid me of the aforementioned elitist and damaging ways of thinking; however, with that being said, it’s made for an exhausting existance. berating myself in one breath and trying to embrace myself in the next. it’s a constant tug of war, and I don’t want to fight. I want to live, whatever that means.

This process is arduous. it’s exhausting: sitting with yourself, sitting with your feelings, being raw and honest with your.self. is hard.

don’t let anyone tell you any different.

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