31st December 2020
I picture a slug slowly disintegrating in on itself under a pile of salt.
This picture comes to mind as all the noise in my head gets too much and all the things surrounding me feel like weights pulling me down.
I am the slug.
And the world around me and my own brain is the salt.
But the brain of course is me which means I am the salt as well as the slug.
How a slug that dies from salt yet creates its own salt evolved is beyond me, but here I am.
Perhaps I’m evidence that evolution is a con and God is real and so is the Devil. Perhaps I’m created not by God but by the Devil?
That would be the case if it’s true that God is all loving, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t create me this way, just to ‘test’ me?
I can’t think of anything more evil.
Sometimes when I listen to religious people I find myself having a thought, ‘The bible is satanic.’
I think it’s been inverted, they think the book they read is the inspired word of God. But what if it was the Devil? To me that makes more sense of some of the horrific things in the bible.
Of course, in reality I don’t believe in God or the Devil.
But sometimes I do ponder, if, perhaps, maybe, the book they preach from has always been an inversion of what should be good and ‘proper.’
I also noticed as I typed this, free wheeling it, no plan, no idea what may come out, that the word inspired has sin in it.
I never meant to type up about God, the Devil and religion. What prompted me to write was the image of the slug in my head and then I figured from there I’d probably talk about nature and my place in it, or my feelings of a lack of place in it.
Or my place in it is a slug or some other kind of ‘pest.’
This is the kind of head space I’m in right now.
It’s been brewing for a few months now, I think. My Depression ebbing and flowing in my brain.
Days forgotten because I don’t think I did anything but sit in the same spot all day.
Days remembered because the stress of something, usually quite small to a ‘normal’ person has gotten to me. Nights remembered where I’ve googled the word, ‘suicide.’
The thoughts that occur in my head that when thought about too much bring on pangs of guilt.
Things like, ‘I wish I didn’t have to carry on living for the sake of others.’ After reading articles about the aftermath of suicide and those left behind.
Also, ‘I wish I didn’t have to deal with the budgie.’ Because then I wouldn’t have to deal with the idea that he may be stressed moving to a new place when I’m gone.
In the end I come to the conclusion that I’m stuck here.
That if the thought of other peoples stress makes it too much for me to die by my own hand, then I guess I have to stick around.
Plus, when I’ve had that thought, what is there left to lose. Do all the things I fear matter when I want to die anyway?
yet the anxiety is still there.
Initially this idea that I stick around for others sake mean I’m trapped so may as well just stick with it all is somewhat comforting. Relaxing even.
But the days roll on and the nights blink by and the feelings of emptiness grow.
Emptiness is the only word I can think to describe it but really it’s a fullness of something, but that something it self can only be described as empty.
It’s empty fullness.
The emptiness is a fullness that becomes restlessness.
And tiny things are irritating.
Everything is a chore.
The budgie keeps me going.
I enjoy his company.
The Jays keep me going.
I enjoy their presence.
But I’m not so sure these days that ‘enjoy’ is the right word.
Because I’m full of empty.
Depression is like being bloated with empty air. With a somethingness that merges towards ‘nothing’.
It’s like when you see a garden with weed crawling through the spokes of wheels.
Have you ever tried to move something that has become an anchor to knotweeds? Whatever they can grab a hold of becomes its hostage.
But according to one source on how to kill off Japanese knotweed, covering the area with a tarp to completely cut off it’s light supply can help.
Perhaps I need to live in darkness until the weeds are dead and I’m no longer held hostage.