Pointlessness
Well, the weepy, crying jag painfulness has given way to just sort of a hollow, empty sense of pointlessness.
I've been having trouble getting out of bed. Not even because I'm tired, but because I can't see why getting out of bed would make any difference. Would I be missed at work? Yes, well, probably. Though I've not really got much to *do* at work at the moment, and bizarrely, their being terribly understanding about my depression removes the "ohmigod, I might get sacked" motivation. This morning, I just lay there, hugging a pillow, eyes open but not really looking at anything, until a man came to read the gas meter.
My stomach hurts and I realise I'm kinda hungry, so I eat breakfast. Pecans taste like something, which surprises me. I've read the magazines on the table about five times already, and I can't be bothered thinking of anything to do, so I might as well go to work. I can't think of anything to post on ILX, and half the posters there make me feel ill, so I don't bother. There's a gig we should be lining up and booking, but you know, I can't be bothered to chase anyone, so I just forget about it. This is the level I've been operating on for the past few days. Subsistence.
And it kinda scares me. I'm going through the motions, interacting with people, saying Kate-like things. But it feels like I'm watching myself dispassionately, like an observer reading a book about myself. I can't bring myself to care.
Is this a brain chemistry or other physical problem, or a psychological dip? I can't figure it out. Going to the doctor tomorrow to try and make sense of it.
I've been having trouble getting out of bed. Not even because I'm tired, but because I can't see why getting out of bed would make any difference. Would I be missed at work? Yes, well, probably. Though I've not really got much to *do* at work at the moment, and bizarrely, their being terribly understanding about my depression removes the "ohmigod, I might get sacked" motivation. This morning, I just lay there, hugging a pillow, eyes open but not really looking at anything, until a man came to read the gas meter.
My stomach hurts and I realise I'm kinda hungry, so I eat breakfast. Pecans taste like something, which surprises me. I've read the magazines on the table about five times already, and I can't be bothered thinking of anything to do, so I might as well go to work. I can't think of anything to post on ILX, and half the posters there make me feel ill, so I don't bother. There's a gig we should be lining up and booking, but you know, I can't be bothered to chase anyone, so I just forget about it. This is the level I've been operating on for the past few days. Subsistence.
And it kinda scares me. I'm going through the motions, interacting with people, saying Kate-like things. But it feels like I'm watching myself dispassionately, like an observer reading a book about myself. I can't bring myself to care.
Is this a brain chemistry or other physical problem, or a psychological dip? I can't figure it out. Going to the doctor tomorrow to try and make sense of it.
posted by Masonic Boom | 1:41 pm
1 Comments:
I felt like that before I started analysis and opera singing lessons. Could have been tangential to some sort of physical or chemical recovery and I know we've got different sorts of brains, but I needed to say that anyways because you're describing exactly the way I used to feel most of the time.
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