Habits are difficult

To sustain a habit takes motivation. You have to really feel comfortable, good, or otherwise pushed to keep doing something. Yeah, there are some things that we do regularly that we hate. But there's something underneath that hate for those habits that keeps us doing them. We could be comfortable with the fact that at least everything is in order. We could be relieved that at least we're avoiding doing something that would pain us. We could be doing it because it'll pay off one day.

Then there's depression. Apathy and emptiness are my favorite words to associate with the condition. And do you know what that means for habits? Well, let me discuss something else. The phrase "old habits die hard" means that breaking a habit can have difficult repercussions, which can motivate a person to pick up the habit again. However, when I think of something dying hard, I imagine it dying quickly, brutally, and even irreversibly. Not quite what the phrase means. Applying that meaning to that phrase is pretty appropriate for a person in the throes of depression, though. Nothing really feels comfortable, or good, or motivating, because nothing really feels meaningful.

So, all those habits? The good and the bad, they just drop like flies. My habits all dropped, I remember that. It took time to start picking them up again, to make more habits. New habits can come up from things that can bring temporary and false relief, such as substances or self-harm. This blog became that habit that relieves me from my depression. Yes, sifting through and sharing my thoughts here is such a relief, no matter how much the urge to disappear tells me it's a burden. Disappearing is the true burden, though, and communication is my salvation. Keep talking, and eventually I'll get to keep talking to you, after all. You're my meaning behind all this.

Was a good beach day today too

Lucky for us, my weather app was wrong. Today was warm and sunny, so after school my little brother and I packed up a bag and headed down to the shores. I didn't really think about it much before just now, but this was the first time he and I went to the beach on our own. What other times he'd gone, our mom or grandparents had come with us. But lately mom's been giving David some room to spread his wings, with me keeping him under my own. Well, he's the wings guy, not me, but I think it sounds nice to describe us as birds of a feather.

So, first time at the beach on our own. Thanks to some last-minute interwebbing, we'd known that the water was in the lower 60s. Chilly. We didn't bring wetsuits, but we did take the caution of bringing swim tops. Actually, we don't have wetsuits. Anyway, apparently he's not resilient to temperature like I thought. He just gets used to it after a while. Meanwhile, I'm the one who charges into freezing water and dives into a wave before anyone else is ready. It took me a little longer than usual, though, with 30 pounds of insulation off me since the last time I'd gone in. We agreed that you wouldn't have been able to bear this water. I'm pretty sure the water up north was at least in the upper 60s back when we drove up there with you.

We chatted quite a bit while we were diving around. He asked me whether having tap water touch your eyes while they were open hurt. And that's how I discovered that he'd never washed out his eyes before. Wow. Misunderstanding, I told him that water with a low concentration of chlorine or salt doesn't hurt much if at all. And of course I told him that tap water doesn't hurt, it just feels weird. I thought it was a silly question, but apparently he was being quite serious. Well then!

But we had deeper conversation as well. I explained to him a few after-death concepts from different beliefs: paradise on Earth, heaven and hell, heaven without hell, reincarnation, even Valhalla. And he asked what I think happens. I told him that I think many things can happen, revealing my belief in spirits; from reincarnation, to roaming as a spirit, to being released to an afterlife. I said I trusted the Bible on what the afterlife is. He said he believes in reincarnation; the body is a machine, and when the machine breaks the energy moves to another machine. And I tried to come up with my own metaphor for it; if you've got the Minecraft launcher on a USB drive and you plug it into a new computer, the data for the launcher itself will stay the same but the game will have to be newly installed on this computer. Yes, I linked Minecraft to spirituality. I'm so silly.

The water became too cold for us after a little more than an hour. We sat on the beach for a while hoping it would warm up again. Walking back in, no, it'd gotten even colder. We pressed on, noting that were you here you wouldn't go any further than ankle-deep. I probably would have splashed you a little just to tease you. At this point my brother perfectly imitated the screech you've given when I did that before, I swear to God. And here I thought your memory was only vivid in my mind! Anyway, we determined not to give in. But we gave in anyway and left for Pizza Hut. We got a little cheese pizza, cheese-covered breadsticks that might as well have been a second pizza, cinnamon sticks, and a 7-Alarm Fire pizza. It was all delicious, but that pizza was just not spicy enough for me. My taste buds are scary, aren't they? We had a Supernatural marathon, and I probably ate enough to bump me back up a few pounds. I've got to make up for that tomorrow with more spices, absolutely no sweets, and a walk.

It was a nice day. It always is, going about with my brother. But I came to realize that I'm not the only one that misses you. He does, too.

Would have been a good beach day

Today my brother and I planned to go to the beach. The days have recently been warm, sunny, and just lovely for a few hours in the sand and waves. But we weren't able to go, because I was told while he was at school that I needed to stay to take care of our great-grandpa. I insisted to my little brother that he should ask some friends, even you, if they wanted to hit the beach with him. He didn't want to put in the effort to set something up with anyone else. That's my brother alright.

I'm entirely unsure how warm the water is. I intended to brave whatever temperature on account of the lovely weather. My brother probably wouldn't have noticed; he's always so warm, you know. I remember that the last time we went to the beach with you, at the coast up north from us, the water was pretty cold. Miraculously, you got in and got mostly used to it, something that's not very characteristic of you. Thinking back on it, you must have been trying so hard to enjoy yourself with us. Thanks for that.

Remember how you got tired of swimming and I had to carry you in my arms as I kicked through the water? Yeah, you probably remember that I admitted afterward how that exhausted me. I complained about how difficult it became with the rough, cold water and the voluptuous girl keeping me from using a stroke to swim. You felt so guilty after that, and you were frustrated that I didn't tell you at the time I was struggling. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner about it, but you were enjoying me ferrying you around so much and I didn't want to spoil that. Even though I did afterward. Anyway, that didn't put a damper on the rest of our trip. We still had lots of fun and ended the evening happily.

Remembering things like this, I feel less guilty about our separation. We did go out and make a few memories together. Not enough memories, but much more wonderful than nothing.

How this grinds on

How this grinds on... precious time is wasting away.

My state doesn't sit well

I've been sleeping in until around 9:30 lately. That suggests that I'm having it good. Though I am going to sleep past 1AM, so maybe that's pushed my sleep schedule over. However, that is at least 8 hours of sleep, which I couldn't get normally before. I still wake up early. I fall right back to sleep. But the sleep I get after waking doesn't feel restful.

For all that I say about getting rid of binary thinking, I can't help but think like that with my depression. Am I well or unwell? Recognizing that I'm somewhere in the middle is strange. Being in this middle ground feels confusing, but I know it should be straightforward. I'm not all better, and I'm not all gone. Something in me rejects that notion. Maybe it's just the discomfort. I'm comfortable with not being depressed. I became comfortable with being depressed. I'm still not used to being in between.

I'm not constantly asking myself, "Am I or aren't I?" It's just this omnipresent, subtle unsureness. It's replaced that constant, obvious apathy. I can't just think, "This is how I am now, but it isn't how I really am." The question creeps in: "Was that really me?" It isn't the static of thinking that I'm a monster or failure who should die. It isn't the trickle of a stream of satisfaction and positivity. It's an ominous hum that I can only just barely recognize the presence of. I feel like it has meaning, but I can't understand at all.

I want to bring this message to some sort of conclusion, but it just isn't coming to me.

Spaghetti

Whenever someone else makes spaghetti around here, I'm not satisfied. They salt the water, pour cold water into the strainer to cool the noodles, and butter the noodles when they're put away. I like my noodles freshly-cooked, too. So I made some spaghetti for myself earlier, since I haven't had any in a while. When I make spaghetti, I keep them plain from water to storage. At room temperature spaghetti in open air cools very quickly, so I put the strainer in another pot and pour the water and noodles into it; the steam keeps the pasta warm for a while, and I can heat the water if it stops steaming. Once I've served myself some into a bowl, I pour a little vegetable oil and cayenne powder into it and mix it in. Today we had some marinara sauce in the fridge, so I added that, too.

Spaghetti was something I cooked often for you. You didn't have it as often as Hot Pockets, chicken strips, or potato fries, but those are things we didn't cook after all, just heated. You like your spaghetti with mizithra cheese sprinkled on. I used various other shreds of cheese. I really liked mizithra too, but I never told you or used any because I didn't want to deprive you of it. I'm not very quick at preparing food and hadn't thought of the steam trick at the time, so the noodles always went cold too quickly and needed to be microwaved for you to finish it. You know, I think it was also the fact that the bowls were cold. I'll use my head sometime and think about how to warm the bowl on the edges before serving. Otherwise we could just warm the bowl completely and place it on a cool plate.

You left a container of mizithra here. I saw it the other week in my fridge. It had gone bad. We threw it out.

Not revealing all

I talked to a friend today who I haven't talked to in a while. We caught up a little. I told him that you weren't talking to me anymore. I mentioned my depression lightheartedly, and it probably seemed like I was just joking. Actually, he was wondering whether I was still with that girl I got with at the beginning of the year. Yeah, I haven't talked to him in months. I didn't tell him very much about how I have actually been doing. I felt bad even saying what I did say. There's a time and a place.

He could have already known how I was doing just by looking at my Google+ profile. We're in each others' circles. He could have easily found Tell Her Before I Die through my posts. So I don't feel guilty about not saying everything. It's convenient that the people who care enough can easily find what they want about me, while I don't have to say more than enough to anyone myself.

Another thing. When you repeat something over and over again, things get lost. Putting my thoughts into these messages avoids that. Every time they're read, they will say nothing less. I may forget exactly how I once felt and why, but those feelings and reasons are preserved in the words here. No matter how many people will seek to know, the response in these messages will remain the same. No matter when or where, people will be able to learn what it's like. I think that's a beautiful thing.

What I would like to say will rarely come out of my lips, but it will come from my fingertips. Until we speak again.

When hope slips

Yesterday I felt really meaningless. Nothing I did felt worth it. I did it just to be who I was. I thought, maybe it wasn't an extraordinary mood after all. Maybe I really am getting better, and all I have to do is hold onto it. So I told myself that I was fine, and I acted as if I was fine.

Now I recognize that, no, I'm still not fine. I'm still depressed, and that still governs how I truly feel. I can't blame myself for my wishful thinking. But how dare I be stupid enough to delude myself again? I probably wouldn't be feeling so bad now if I'd been honest with myself earlier. Once again, I'm not even sure how long I've actually been down. I've covered it up by saying that I'm better than before. The fact is, I may be better, but I'm still not good enough. Like I said, I can't blame myself for wanting it, but I'm foolish for believing it.

I was putting hope in the wrong thing. I was hoping that I was okay. When I realized that was wrong, that hope slipped away from me a bit. I can hope that I will be okay when you see me again. That won't be for quite a while, so I've got a lot of time to fulfill that. No need to force it. And if I'm wrong, at least I can hold my hope until then. I'm not lying to myself, because I know that I could be okay. I can hope that you will be okay, too. That's not a lie either, because you could be getting all the help you need. If you aren't okay, then I can help you. Ha, imagine me helping you? Like I used to, being the person you turn to for everything that you want. I can hope that I live long enough for you to speak to me again. By the time that's proven wrong, hope won't really matter. So those will be the things I will hope for.

I missed my second post yesterday. I thought that I didn't have anything to say. It's concerning how easy it's been for me to lie to myself. This scaffolding I've constructed out of the depths of my depression is shaking and splintering as I jump for joy on top of it, celebrating a victory that I haven't yet achieved. If I am to proceed, it must be with caution; I don't want to slip and fall.

Id fail

Remember in February I wrote a message about how I run Tell Her Before I Die? One of the things I mentioned was that the ID attribute of each article element "is the date and daily post number, in the format of DD-MM-YY-#". Turns out that's bad naming convention; IDs shouldn't start with a digit. I found this out while messing with CSS3 animation.

Starting today, I'll be adding the letter a to the beginning of each ID. I could leave the old messages as they are and simply move forward with this convention in mind. But, gah, I have a huge urge to correct all the other messages I've written. I mean, come on, all those screw-ups! The deterrent is that this is the 153rd message I've written here. I've got a lot to revise if I take this on.

I'll do it, after all. At the moment, I'm pretty sure it doesn't benefit anyone but me. This could help keep things simple for the future, though. And this is one of those cases where rewriting the past won't hurt anyone. Why not seize the opportunity? Better to turn something negligibly wrong into something negligibly right, especially when you're grasping for everything right in your life. For that matter, I will edit that February post with my updates convention. Nobody needs to know, muahaha! Though they can still find out here.

So, off to make edits!

I've been very blunt

I've been very forthright with people. When I have complaints about what they do, I haven't been holding back. I come off as ungrateful when they've done me a favor but done it wrong. Well, I am pretty ungrateful, after all; I would be grateful if I were well, but how can you be grateful about something that doesn't mean anything?

It isn't like I want to hurt someone. It isn't as though I believe unbridled honesty will always do less harm than good. It's mainly that I feel so misunderstood and I say everything too clearly to make up for that. Sometimes I've complained repeatedly and somehow the other person still hasn't gotten it. One option is to stop accepting that person's actions by ignoring them or by not asking for them. The other is to simply be more blunt.

I don't feel like this is a huge issue for me. When I'm better I'll just say, "I was depressed and apathetic. Being so rude isn't who I really am." I can't get away with everything just by blaming depression, but I think that's an understandable argument. You would always be clear about your feelings because that was your way of showing your love. You've hurt me a lot in the past with that thinking. When I'm clear I also hurt people. Yet I've learned that some things need to be out in the open, for my own good.

I hope you feel like you're well-understood. Don't be too frustrated if you aren't. One can never be fully understood neither by oneself nor by another.

Just bring it back

I stay still, avoiding depths and death
I push on, rebuilding my foundation
We can stand; just bring it back

Thankful for my brother

I'm very thankful for my little brother. He's so cool, though he's a bit derpy sometimes. Well, same goes for me, but in much different manners. He's much more subdued and shy than I am, and that makes all the difference.

There are many things I could praise about him, but there is one thing in particular that I am so grateful for. Before recently, the only times I would take him places, you would always come with us. It's already so likely that you're in my thoughts, but it's simply inevitable when I'm out and about with him. "She would really like this shirt." "What kind of food do you think she would have wanted?" "This is why I don't get lost like you and her in Minecraft." I always bring you up when we're out. He never points it out or even seems to mind. He goes along with the questions and comments as if there wasn't anything to it, just a regular conversation. That's so much more than anyone else can do. Feeling guilty that I was talking so much about you, I apologized to him. He said it was fine.

He's 13, but I believe that, despite his lingering naivety, he knows and can understand what I'm going through. I don't have to hold back any more for him than for anyone else. I don't depend on him, but I feel like I could if I needed to. I guess that's what having a loving sibling is.

Bring it back

Yesterday, I told you about my friend. I turned my back on my friend who wouldn't seek help. But by midnight I'd turned back around, because my friend called an ambulance after suffering the repercussions of a failed suicide attempt by overdose. I was honestly surprised. I thought that it would take hours, even days. I was pleasantly surprised, and so relieved.

I also mentioned my grandpa. After my little brother and I went clothes shopping today, we stopped by my grandpa's house to visit. I knew he'd be happy to see us. I didn't realize that my uncle is staying with him, so I saw him for the first time in a very long while and introduced him to my little brother. If I'd held some sort of grudge against my grandpa, I would've passed on this opportunity.

I'm glad that I haven't left anyone behind. I remember that, when I broke up with you, we stayed very close friends, and that worked well for us. Yes, I kept lying to myself, but maybe I could have done that longer if I hadn't tried to move on from you. If I hadn't stopped trying to see you, hadn't tried to leave you behind, maybe we could have made it more comfortably. Instead, all this happened, and you're further from me than ever.

Maybe people need boundaries, but trying to leave behind love can make it twist and morph into something horrifying and painful. Don't leave love behind. Keep going for love.

I hugged my grandpa

The other day my grandpa was at my house when I drove home with my little brother. I knew he'd be there; my grandma gave me a heads-up before I left. I've already told you that I stopped working with him and why. I'm not ready to work with him again. He's not able to help me with my depression.

But I walked into my bag yard, greeted him, and hugged him. He may not have the empathy that I need, but I still love my grandpa. He isn't constantly trying to hurt me. He wants me to be better, but his way of trying to help is ineffective. I don't think that I should stop caring for him completely because of those things. After all, it doesn't hurt me to give him a hug. It helps him when I do.

I'm not talking with him. I know that I'll inevitably be hurt. But I think that what I did is enough. He can dismiss the idea that I'm angry at him. He doesn't have to worry that I don't want to ever see him. That's all I can do, and that's what I will do. When I see him, I'll greet him, and I'll embrace him.

I wish that you could give me at least that much.

I just did it too

I had a friend for the past few months. I've been trying to help my friend. Self-harms, lashes out at the people around her, is suicidal, self-neglecting, self-loathing. That's okay with me. What isn't okay is that my friend would not get help. My friend just can't see a psychologist. My friend just can't go to the hospital. Of course my friend could, but can't... I'm across the world from my friend, so I can't do a thing either.

Look. I've made a decision. I've been trying to help you for months, but there's nothing I can even do. The only thing that I've changed is that I've built up frustration and despair in myself by being involved in you.
"I'm not going to talk to you until you seek help. I don't care what you seek help for, whether it's your physical problems or your mental problems, I just need you to take a step forward. Feel free to keep messaging me, but I won't message back until you tell me what it was like to finally get help.
"I love you. But I can't carry your burden if you'll never try to make it lighter. So, goodbye for now.

Tonight, I left my friend. That is what I said. After weeks of feeling helpless and slowly having my hope trampled, I realized it. I said that I don't leave a person unless they've hurt me. I'm hurt. My worry and helplessness has been growing and it's been digging into me. It hurts. My friend just recently tried to commit suicide, even though I pleaded not to be abandoned again. My friend has been paining me so badly, and can't do anything to help. I didn't want to leave my friend all alone, after so many people had done so. I didn't want to be a hypocrite for leaving like you left me. I've left.

I think I can say that I'm not a hypocrite, though. I'm not leaving like you did. You left after 3 days, after I had gone to a psychologist like you asked me to. I left after several weeks, after my friend refused to seek help over and over again. I've given a condition for me to speak again and said I'd still listen, while you simply left me scared and directionless and aren't even listening anymore. I don't want my friend to let me go, I just want to see my friend start fighting to improve. Would you truly even care anymore if death dragged me away from my goal?

No, I will never put my friends through what you've put me through. Maybe I can't take feeling responsible, but I'll never my friends away when they need me. Perhaps this can't be counted as leaving; I've only turned my back, standing in place. You're gone, except that I grip you tightly in my heart in order to stay alive, despite the fact that you refuse me all hope. My hope is the only thing I actually have left that means anything to me.

My mother's worry

I leave my university at 11PM at the latest to get home home in around 15 minutes. The first few times I stayed so late, my mom was concerned. After a while, she understood that it was okay. Now she's concerned again, for some reason. I feel like the concern is different this time, though. It's a little more frantic, maybe?

She's also become concerned about me walking about at night. Honestly, I'm doing something good for myself and there she is worrying about... what, exactly? It's clear that I'm nowhere near hurting myself. It's clear that I've been obeying the law. Returning home at 9:30 isn't late, and it never has been until now. Where is this sudden fear of the dark coming from?

I've lied to her before. The last time that I tried to visit you, I lied to her and said I was just getting gas. There used to be days that I told her I was going to school when I was actually going for a walk. During the short time that I stopped eating, I told her that I'd had my meals and nobody had noticed. But now I don't keep those sorts of things from her. Anything that I've planned or that's made me feel better or worse, I tell her. She is my complete confidant.

Well, it's a mother's job to worry about her children. Maybe there are so few things to worry about with me now that she's finding new things to fret over. That's a good thing, I guess. I'm just glad that she isn't very forceful or upset when she complains about me being out so "late". I love my mom. She's so caring.

Too good

I've been told that I'm too much of many good things. Too sweet, too kind, too funny. I remember when I told her that your love for her had rubbed off on me, and explained what I would be okay with you two indulging in, she said I was too good for her. Do you remember that? You were sitting right beside her. I'm always flattered when I'm told these things, and at the same time I find the people who say them to be cute. I'm wondering if it's me seeing cuteness in response to being flattered, or if only cute people happen to say those things.

I also remember that I told her soon afterward that I'm not as good as she thought. "I'm not afraid to take advantage of you," I said. If I'm too much of any good thing on its own, then I feel my negative traits bring those things down at least enough that I'm not so amazing anymore. I don't like being amazing. I don't like thinking that I'm better than everyone. I'm uncomfortable with being looked up to; I'd prefer others to see me eye-to-eye. So every time I take these compliments a quiet voice in my head is reciting what's wrong with me. This isn't a bad thing; it keeps me humble, and it makes me comfortable.

I'm sure that she doesn't see me as too good anymore. Being the self-protecting, reclusive, sensitive person she is, I've surely torn apart any hopes of being her friend through my actions with you. I'm not sure whether you see me as too good, either. I try not to think about that. I just keep going for love, and keep going with the love of the people who support me.

Not in the best state

Today I didn't have lecture in my class, so I drove to the bay and walked. It's been a while since I did that. You know how I stayed up all Monday morning but it wasn't the same because of my depression? Well, ever since I started walking the bay I've never felt burdened by traversing 6 miles over the course of a few hours, but today I did. On the way back, I started to regret walking so far. I wanted to stop somewhere, take another break. I wanted to go home. I blame the fact that my depression has been more mild.

When I first started walking, I was suicidal. I was so close to the edge. Walking that distance gave me something. It held my attention. I can't say that I'm unhappy with not being suicidal anymore. Trust me, I'm glad that I feel safe from myself. But I'm disappointed that I couldn't have the same dedication today as I did then. Where did that dedication go? Towards watching TV shows?

I hate being in this limbo. I'm not enough of myself to be as I was before we became friends. I'm not empty enough to easily disregard my desires. I'm even questioning whether I'll now pull up and out of this depression or, like I thought before, I'll dive back down until I catch the next extraordinary mood. In the meanwhile, I'm parts useless, pained, and self-loathing. I'd rather be closer to nothing again. But I think being like this is better than my depression is for the people around me.

Dull beauty

In a photo, a recreation, or the place before me, I see beauty and think, "That's beautiful." But depression saps the feeling of it. I recognize that it's gorgeous, but it doesn't touch me as it should. I keep some images and take some photographs. I show other people and I feel satisfied that they enjoy it. I keep these pictures for that, but also for myself in the future. One day, I'll be able to look at them and have them caress my heart.

There are three exceptions. I always find beauty in these three things. When I have a look, I feel well, even smile. I can sigh in awe, I can be glad that it's been with me. I try to adjust, try to appreciate everything else the world has to offer. I can't just bury myself in these three things. But, once in a while, it's good to indulge myself with memories and photographs.

The night, the rain, and you. Perhaps those are the three most important loves of my life. That must be why they are always so precious to me.

What to watch

I was talking to one of my instructors today about what kinds of shows I like to watch. Well, I was making vague hand gestures and slowly finding words to put together. 4 hours of sleep, night classes, midterms, yeah. I did find words, but I've been thinking about how exactly to explain what I wanted to. Somehow it's always easier to type down.

What I ended up saying to my instructor was something along the lines of, "I like to watch things that give me concepts and characters that I can put together in ways not necessarily explored canonically." My instructor had a different choice of words that I think better describes my taste. Something that keeps you thinking afterward. When it's finished, you don't just think, "Oh, that was a nice story." You start imagining all the what-ifs and filling in the blanks. Yes, not only more eloquently said than I could do, put together with seemingly no hesitation, but much wordier than I could manage. And here I thought I was doing well on 4 hours.

Marvel's put out a series on Netflix for their Daredevil character. My instructor recommended it to me, and I indulged as soon as I got home and reheated some pizza powdered with cayenne and dotted with jalapeño. Actually, I paused the first episode with a bit under 20 minutes left. It has certainly got a great first episode, and I'm excited to watch more. Well, to finish watching this episode, let's begin there. Of course, something like this suits my tastes just fine.

You've probably been gaming, not watching shows. Either way, I hope you've been engaged with your choice of fiction. I'll continue doing likewise, whenever I can spare some time.