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Nothing New

There is a verse in the Lucy Dacus song Please Stay that's been in my head a lot lately. It goes: I think you mean what you say When you say you want to die I think you mean what you say When you say you want to stay alive The song was written from the perspective of someone whose friend is struggling with depression. It is not an easy song to listen to, but this verse in particular is... unbearably disarming. This is how I feel most days. I don't want to be here, but I don't want to not be here either. Often, people think being depressed is just being sad most of the time, but that is not the case. At least not in my experience. Mostly, I'm angry at myself, and I'm also tired of trying. It's like... years go by, and I feel I keep running out of time to do something . Every day is the same, food tastes the same, days just pass by me. At the same time, there is this pervasive feeling of... suspense. As if something were about to change, as if something will fina...
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Solace

I had therapy last Friday. I told my therapist I was worried because Grandma's health was getting worse. And I was wondering if there was a point to any of this. Me being here instead of being home, helping Mom with Grandma. My therapist says I help more here and while I know, in my mind, that is true, I can't help this fear of never seeing my Grandma again, of never seeing my family again. So, this, being away, turns into this monster of guilt, sadness, insecurity, homesickness, and anger. Especially anger. I wish there was a way to deal with the anger. But all I can think about is hurting those responsible for this. In my head, I destroy them and it scares me just how good it feels. The thought of them finally suffering. I know it is unhealthy, but, in hopelessness, you find solace wherever you can find it.
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I Hate You

I hate what you did to me. I had ideas before you came into my life. Now I just have god knows how many years. I feel so old. But that's all I have. Years. And so much hate. Because I do hate you. It's my comfort zone. It's a safe place, hate. I don't have to question it or rationalise it. I just hate you. You stole my place in the world. I have no place now. I'm displaced.
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Hello, world

I call my mom every night. Well, mostly every night. I like to listen to her voice before I go to bed, it makes me feel less far away. It also helps me cope with the fear. The worst fear. The first thing I noticed when I first arrived in Buenos Aires was the cats. There are cats everywhere! It is very soothing. Cats look at you like they know everything about you or maybe I like to believe they do. I know. I am fooling myself. But I need to believe someone knows me in this city. I need to believe someone knows I am too far. So, it might as well be a cat, right? Because who wants to listen to you talk about how much this place isn't your place? Or how much this house isn't your house? Or that home is a fucked up hellhole you call Tropical Dystopia? No one wants to listen to that. It's like when an acquaintance asks you, "Hey, how are you?" But they don't really care to know how you are. And, frankly, you don't want to let them know either. So, you just sm...
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