no one loves me like i do
a few weeks ago, J started suffering from depression. she would come down with puffy eyes at dinner, sharing bites about her relationship, pending job hunt, pending dissertation. the word that we all hated was pending - and i think she hated it more than all of us.
i never felt the true need to worry - maybe over recent months i discovered that there was a certain skill to being frivolous, if my way of thinking hadn't seemed to work for me, was it better to try another? in this case, since the external world was already complex as it is, maybe i didn't need to think so hard about my internal self. i'd have to leave introspection to its minimum, could i actually do it ? as it turns out: when you leave your brain to the nurturing master of fatalism, you can indeed leave the introspection in the background.
J's mind starting working on hyperdrive, and the day she told us she was taking antidepressants (but mild, she said), i didn't quite know how to feel. i was capable of empathy, because i love her - but i was also at the selfish stage of my journey where all i wanted to be was a cat and mind my own shit before packing my bags.
the truth is, T was similar to J in many aspects, and i've tried to stick by T all these years, first getting involved, then later realising that much of your agency in depression depends on self-motivation and just plain old time. there was nothing much i could do besides be there somewhere around in the background.
today J doesn't want to talk - "i'm having a bad day." and as for me, i'm typing out words that don't make sense in something i hope to call a dissertation. as the counter for the days here tick by, i'm worried i'll leave her more isolated than she already is, i'm worried i'll leave a more careless person than i already have been.
baratheonpilled
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
prguitarman
snowghoul
