Feels Like I'm Disappearing, Getting Smaller Every Day
Days off are so rare that I feel pressured to DO SOMETHING with them. I should be writing, should be making music, drawing, something. But the urge isn't there, the Muse is alseep. I feel lazy and bad just resting. Is it resting? I'm exhausted all the time. It's not natural to sleep for ten hours and then take a nap. Am I sick? Is it anaemia? Or is it the cold, grey fog of depression just coming down like a wet blanket over everything.
No one rings, except my mother. (And even she brings ambivalent news. My brother and his partner are moving to California so she can have a baby. And then on top of this, the slap of "when are you going to start dating again? I hear you can meet people on the interweb.") Yes, sorry, just one more thing I've failed at, that my brother has succeeded at. How can I be happy for his successes when I'm always being compared to him as a failure?
I try to reach out when I feel like this, but everyone's busy with their own lives. Why would anyone want to be around a constant lump of depression and bad temper like me, anyway? It's a self feeding cycle, you feel isolated and alone, but lack the ability to reach out and say "hello?" One thing that came out in the Big Talk last week is that my bandmates are afraid of me. No wonder no one ever wants to be around me. I try to say "Look! I feel totally taken for granted. Could I possibly get some appreciation and maybe some understanding?" and the end result is that I get marginalised even more. If they can play gigs without me, what the fuck do they need me for? Being pushed further and further out of the frame. Even my so-called friends don't talk to me lately except to tell me off. So I remove myself, rather than face the ignomy of being pushed away. It's better to cut someone else out than be abandonned Ever. Again.
And I look in Country Life and for sale is an island off Cornwall, accessible only by a perilous looking suspension bridge over a terrifying cliff, a gate and a wall and you could lock yourself away for ever, and no one could ever get in. (Except how the heck would you get your furniture out there, but that's beside the point.) Perfect.
Even my Muse isn't speaking to me at the moment. I don't believe in "writer's block" but my head is so full of rubbish and self loathing that I can't tune into my universal radio and get a song out of it. I've been up for four hours and I just want to go back to bed. But I've got month end to run and I'll be here until midnight.