6 months with depression. Struggles and Celebrations.

Haven’t been writing at all recently because my head is the equivalent of scrambled eggs right now. But as I’m writing this line immediately after having scrambled eggs, my stomach is starting to churn, and not in a good way.

I think I’m on the verge of falling sick. The throat is feeling scratchy, and I’m constantly tired. The meds don’t seem to work anymore. My mood has been constantly low for the past 3 weeks. I’ve had a few good days here and there (but good days have been defined as no longer having suicidal thoughts… so about a 4/10) and my ability to work has still been zilch. Things have finally started to stabilise with the main trigger source removed. The scores have been hovering around a 3 for the past 2 weeks with no signs of improvement.

Thankfully for the people that love me, gun control is strict in Singapore. So getting my hands on a firearm is going to be quite difficult. Because the lyric “I’ve got the gun/ All I need is ten cents for the bullet” have been ringing in my head for the past month. Anberlin does write some of the best lyrics for a struggling head and heart. I’ve concluded that putting a bullet through my head would be the quickest and least messy way to end my life. I even went scouting for spots that would leave the least mess. Scrubbing brain bits off a wall isn’t something I want for anyone to go through.

Sleepless nights still haunt me. I haven’t had a night’s sleep where I didn’t wake up mid-sleep in months, and I’ve often had to take afternoon naps (sometimes two naps) just to get through the day. So that’s definitely a problem.

Probably a change of medication is due. For some strange reason increasing the dose hasn’t helped one bit. Maybe I’m just unresponsive to it and the side effects have chipped away the edge of therapeutic ones. Or perhaps it is finally after three weeks that things have finally stabilised enough for me to form lucid trains of thought.

I’m happy to report that the self abuse has stopped. Although my head still aches in the spot that I hit it previously. I’m starting to wonder if there’s a clot in the brain that is preventing my thoughts from connecting. Also, the last time I raged resulted in nothing more than a broken phone. Smashed my iPhone 6 to smithereens (at least the screen was in thousands of little shards) and the body was bent into a neat little curve. I guess the upside of it is that I finally got myself a new phone. Although I’m questioning the validity of a brobdingnagian monstrosity that is the iPhone 7 Plus. The camera is amazing though. And I have a portable ping pong paddle in my pocket.

But there’s also the looming spectre of my TAC meeting. Say a prayer for me, and ask that God return me to my faculties quickly, that I’ll be able to pass my TAC in time. Perhaps there’s fear underneath that’s preventing me from doing what I need to do. The depression definitely compounds the issue. Fuck.

Progress, however incremental, I’ll take it. At least I’ve been able to read books. Like “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck”. The dude Mark Manson pens down some really practical words about life. Vulgar to some perhaps, but exactingly practical. I picked this up from the recommendation of a friend. Thank you J. This book has brought laughs when I could just as easily be tearing on the bus.

Thankful for afternoons like these. A good meal, a couple of cups of awesome coffee, and the lucidity to write. I needed this very much.

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