This is a post I'm scared to write, but I need to.
Bags Packed: 0
Times I've Left the House: 0
Meals Eaten: 2
Hours Slept: 10? Maybe?
It's like I can feel the depression creeping up behind me. I have sneakers on, I know exactly how to escape, but I just don't care. I don't even fake a light jog to pretend I'm trying to run away from it. As it get's closer and closer I am fully aware of what's happening. I just. Don't. Care.
This is why it is dangerous to be alone right now. I didn't realize that even being in my parents house and just having them downstairs is enough motivation not to completely give up. When I was staying with my best friend in LA I wasn't like this either. Just knowing she was there was enough to stop me from slipping too far away. It's not even like it's so different there because my parents and best friend and I discuss or ignore Blake's death, I think it might be the simple fact that they are with me.
Now I'm here. Alone. With nobody to stop me from wearing pajamas all day and not leaving my bed.
Am I depressed?
Who could blame me?
I know that the next phase in managing my grief is to focus on myself. I spent the first month and a half completely consumed by figuring out exactly what was going on with Blake and his addiction. At this point I know everything I "needed" to know, processed all of that, and am at peace with it. Now all that's left is me, broken, alone, and in desperate need of figuring out who I am and what my life is going to be like without Blake.
It's crazy because I have so many amazing things about to start in my life. I am moving to San Diego on Saturday, I get to start the grad program of my dreams, I have a whole month to get settled and meet people before I start classes, and to top it all off I am living three blocks from the beach. How can I logically know all of this, but still be so sad? Am I ungrateful?
As I teeter on the cusp of depression, I almost feel like I'm playing a game. It's weird how fully aware I am of this line I'm about to cross. I feel like at any moment I have the complete volition to say to myself, "What the fuck are you doing? Get out of bed! Live your life!" I know I can make myself if I wanted to. I just don't want to. Why not?
I've always thought that depression consumes you before you have a chance to realize what's happening. Maybe one day you wake up and realize the hole you've already been in for a while. Maybe you don't even realize until you finally listen when someone calls it to your attention. I didn't think it would be like this. I am so aware of what's happening and the path I'm about to go down. I know I have the chance to go either way. It's really up to me. Why do I insist on playing chicken with depression?
If I don't take control soon, it might not be my choice anymore. I am so grateful that I still have a choice. I need to remember that and act accordingly.