Don’t be afraid to feel your feelings. Even the despair. I learned something about my own life, a few years ago by now I guess. About my own well-being, my own wiring I guess you could say.
That I should not be ashamed to feel anything, shouldn’t even be ashamed of anything I’ve ever done, or anything I will do. No matter how bad it is, it’s done, or it’s reality, and beating myself up over feeling like shit just makes it worse. Guilt is a waste of time, so is despair, and I’m not going to waste more of it by feeding and dwelling on those emotions when I do feel them. I just endure. I know that whatever logic I use to rationalize my depression when it hits isn’t gonna make a difference, so I don’t bother trying. I endure, and search out things that make me feel more alive.
I look for something to make me feel satisfied, and I focus on that.
I don’t not feel guilt, despair, or whatever… but I don’t focus on it either.
It’s often at the back of my mind even when I’m feeling great about life, about myself, and it always comes back at some point even when it’s not hiding on the periphery of my thoughts. I’ve had to learn to be okay with that, I’d say, and being okay with being my worst self (e.g. fantasizing about killing someone, not really giving a shoot about school shootings on the news, or a neighbor dropping dead) has done me a lot of good. Especially on the days when I don’t feel like my worst self. When I feel like I’m on top of the world, unstoppable, on a path of satisfaction.
This post was inspired by someone else’s blog post, about how they deal with depression, how they’ve always thought they were mentally ill, how morally outrageous have crossed their mind…
Our backgrounds aren’t really that different.
The biggest difference I can see is that I never felt like I was mentally ill, and pretty early on I decided there wasn’t something wrong with me so much as there was something wrong or dishonest about the rest of the world. Their fake compassion, their feigned normality (as if it never occurred to them just how easy killing someone might be). It helped too that more than once those kind of thoughts were justified; I didn’t feel bad for wanting to beat the ever-loving shit out of my step-mom, especially since I had no intention of doing it (I know better than to step over that line), but it’s not much worse than what she did to me on more than one occasion.
People have told me it’s not as hard to accept or be okay with because I’m not really malicious, I don’t hurt people, I don’t enjoy causing pain, I am capable of caring about people… but that’s b.s., because I know if I was wired different, if I was a sadist or more of a narcissist than I happen to actually be… I’d be okay with that too. Plus, just because I don’t proactively fuck with or hurt people doesn’t mean I won’t (or that I feel like I’m in the “wrong”, whatever the fuck that means). If I feel there’s a good reason, I hit back, I hurt back.
My point I guess is, she’s not as crazy as she seems to think she is.
A lot of other people are just as miserable a lot of the time – and of those that aren’t, I often suspect they’re just to stupid, to thoughtless, to dim-witted to consider or think about a lot of the things that end up depressing me. Or they lack the spine to be as hateful as I can be, or as uncaring, depending on what we’re talking about. Because I don’t feel wrong for being who I am, even when that who is more of a what. Even when that what is monstrous.