Another Friday video has been posted: The Unromantic Reality transcript is below!
Cue dramatic music
Human looking off into the distance.
Be the main character they said. Live your life, like you are the main character, they keep chanting.
But I’ve been the main character since the day I was born, depression or not.
My house still looks like s*%t.
I had these grand plans of creating a dream-like video.
I would create a beautiful floral bouquet and sit by candlelight with a cup of tea. I would do my hair and put on a pretty dress.
I wanted to show another side of me. One that is not waxing poetic over my depression, my anxiety, the gloom that follows me everywhere.
But the truth is, I feel lost. It feels as though I am teetering on the edge of a new chapter but somewhat stuck on the last page of the one before. And I simply don’t have it in me to create what is not there.
I am not myself.
And this bouquet will wreak of death because inevitably I will forget to change the water and want nothing to do with the wilting leaves scattered across the table. A reminder of the fact that I can’t keep up with anything.
I rarely have the energy to get out of bed most days so this video, my 3rd, a miracle… is an uphill climb, of wanting to create something of beauty, but having nothing in me more than filming what I look like every day. Well, actually most times I am wearing something that is quite stained, but whatever.
Everything I once was, has disintegrated.
And though I have hope of what I feel coming, most days I wander around my apartment telling myself to get to work and then stare mindlessly at my empty white walls.
I had visions for this space. My umpteenth apartment that finally was bigger than a box, that is absolutely drenched in light all day long, but my finances crumbled and the one lone piece of art hangs haphazardly above my sofa mocks me, every. single. day.
I have told people they can tell how well I am doing, the state of my mental health by looking at my bed. The worse I am, the more stuff lay atop it while I cram myself into a spot careful to not disturb all the nonsense piled on. Last night I slept with a book, 2 laptops, a USB chord, far too many pillows, and a hot water bottle that went cold days ago.
Clothes that could so easily be put away, but instead the stack grows higher as I plop them down on top of the laundry basket. My floor, a maze of things that have no home and so I weave around them instead. Why put the vacuum away when I have to use it every other day. Why move the mop when it’s a good reminder that I still haven’t cleaned the floors like I said I would.
It’s a system. A broken one, but a system nonetheless.
I clean to not feel like I am completely drowning but like clockwork, slowly but surely one thing doesn’t get put away. One thing ends up in the wrong place and it all builds up again until everything is a mess. A chaotic mess reflecting the melancholy I can’t seem to shake.
And yet here I am 34 and with the body of a geriatric who is so uncoordinated, these are the best moves I got.
It felt good to move though.
It feels good to be here, most days, even on a gloomy day… realizing how trivial so much is. And like a brick hitting me in the head I remember how grateful I am despite everything else around me and wayward thoughts.
I remember how loved I am. I remember that I continue to push through and show up for myself every f*%$ing day.
I remember all is not lost as silly and cliche as that is
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