Battling the nothingness

3 03 2012

The funniest thing about all of this is that normally, I’d be having this conversation with my therapist. Only he’s dead.

It’s unfortunate but the mighty Malcolm Omar, whom I foolishly regarded as a friend passed away a couple of years ago and there’s no one that’s filled that gap for me yet. I say foolishly because I doubt he ever regarded our interaction as friendship, rather simply a client therapist relationship. Despite this, I would still rather count him amongst my friends as he can’t answer back now to deny this. If he could I am sure he would remind me that I owe him forty quid.

My wife, who has similar ambitions to become a therapist, has told me that in her professional opinion, I have not inherited my mother’s bipolarism. That’s as may be, but I have more than my fair share of depressive bouts and times where I feel I am unable to produce anything of worth, where it counts.

At the moment it is one of those times. A real low point where everything seems bleak.

I was sat in a restaurant listening to a character assassination the other evening. Every word was deserved. My reflex reaction was to blame my parents. But that’s all too easy and a cowardly side step away from confronting the truth.

The family at the moment and by family I mean my wider family, outside of my home unit, is fragmented. I haven’t seen my sisters in ages, my mother too. My father, despite the sporadic contact, is an entirely different person nowadays to the father I grew up with. It’s like I’ve lost a family and have had to start again.

Work is hard and constant. Fulfilling in some respects and but never fills my pockets enough and those pockets seem to be getting ever deeper. I’m immensely proud of what we’ve achieved, I’m just not sure if it will ever make me a rich man.

Today I woke up after having slept almost 12 hours, for the first time in a long time. I woke up feeling empty, like the tiredness had left nothingness in its place.

I’m battling, I can’t articulate my thoughts very well at the moment. There are things I want to say but every time I open my mouth nothingness falls out.

The importance of being stupid

9 01 2010

One could well mistake this particular blog for being the hastily written ramblings of a drunkard and for the most part you’d be right. However, i choose to believe that there is genius behind my excenticities. There has to be or else all of this has been in vain.

I have spent most of the past week battling with depression, ignoring important matters and generally burying my hand in the sand. It might be the inclement weather, but it feels as if it has snowed in my head and the council will not be gritting these roads anytime soon.

The heavy snowfalls coinciding with the return to work for the first working week of the year has aided in prolonging the disjointed, temporary nature of the festive period. In short, we dont feel like it is business as normal.

There is so much i have to get done , this is no way to avoid it, but avoid it I have, quite well, until now.

Sometimes in my more somber and solemn moments, I imagine myself as a metaphorical glider pilot, desperately trying to catch a decent enough thermal gust to keep flying above the mountains. Instead lacklustre thermals come my way keeping me inches above the jagged rocks and although i can see my bitter demise very clearly ahead of me, some part of me will not cease to believe that the major thermal is a mere few inches away around the next corner. These are my own delusions. Some would call them futile and condemn me to my own failure.

Of course, i am being spectacularly self indulgent in writing this and publishing it to a blog that no one reads and no one recognises. The potential for some poor sod to stumble upon these inane ramblings is little comfort.