Routines To Cope With Depression – Mad Chaos: October 3, 2001

The Dilemma Of Entrusting My Faith

Having the disorienting, hallucinatory quality of a dream, my day began surreal today, with a shower, a period of unrest and some time to waste, sealed with music in my unfurling day.  

The issue has always been to live life without the degree of mindfulness or recognition my memoirs consume but with disappointment after disappointment.  Then with the almond nowhere today to be seen or to call, it makes me wonder whether it is worth neglecting true purpose for this sense of emphatic neglect that dependence on others yields.  

Time-lapse me in these last seven months until today and you would see that it has been shakier ground entrusting my faith in friends to reach out to, instead of my memoirs here.  

The Disservice Of Neglecting The Diary

These last seven months have been degenerative mostly, coping with issues by introducing lesser issues to append to it, like building a device to involve in experiments, but being backwards in its concept to add components and complexity to its device with extra rubber bands, bolts, levers and pulleys instead of being more practical and simplifying the idea.  

I need to adjust, not append but it done me a great disservice to neglect these memoirs out of pride in these last seven months because of their burdened decree.  I would always reject any seriousness from the writer because it was looked down on to let the traitor back in, but as a hint of requisite revisits the writer, it almost seems a blessing to hear his voice again, and so the focus swings.  

You feel kind of like you are starting again with this allowed mindset however, like a stranger dunked back at the helm of a literary world.  I want to give this another chance because after the foregone era of the murk, those seven months of lusterless pen, it feels like my emotions here have a place again.

Odious Routines That Fill Voids

My days recently have been loosely tied together with some form of relevance, but always with the same sort of odious routine, as today was another classic example of my struggle to fill voids and to keep its constructive momentum alive.  

With a minimal agenda enough to wake me up, have me hop in the shower and suit me up for another confronting day, the hype of the beach over as well, since the almond never called, my boredom spliced with disappointment had me intent not to ruin the buildup of promise the almond plans to my day deceived me with.  

I decided to visit the beach after midday anyway, saving my delicate ego its usual disturbance, and it wasn’t a bad day.  The nature of friends through my unfamiliar ordeal has made me more pessimistic however, which reflects on the behavior of my day and how it is preserved.  So in essence, the trip to the beach was necessary to offset the pessimism in my mind and to prove in a way that his choice to desert me was wrong.  

I don’t know why the almond was so fickle in his planning but if its stigma had not been rectified, then it would have marred the rest of my day in adverse reaction.  

The self-conscious would have escalated and made me bitter in my crisis norm, so the salvage operation was necessary.

Building Up Positive Momentum

Once you begin with a positive, the remainder of your day tends to stay inclined.  It makes me proud in the evenings when plans work to perfection.  But then again, it makes me wonder why my days have to be worked at, at all.  

In recent times, my days begin with a need to be worked at just so that it can be labeled a good day.  But in all its sense it seems more contrived than natural.  

A day always begins uncertainly for me, perhaps because of my insecurities and all the damage my addiction on marijuana so far has done.  But if nothing achieves, then my positive mood is undone.  

I wonder why being happy is such painstaking work and the reason why my days seem laborious, but this somehow became normal for me, sunken abysmally seeking practical reassurances with test upon test to set up my mood for the rest of the day, and which ironically never remains so after sleep.  

I always start my days fresh like an apprentice canvas and only sometimes conquer insecurities along the way.  

The balance is always more bleak than cheerful however.

Visiting North Wollongong Beach To Remain Positive

The day regardless began with my coerced trip towards a scene of salty air.  So with each kilometer of highway cruised, the beach drew near.  

Being alone, I never stayed at the beach long however.  A few dozen people lay basking in the overclouded sun on the North Wollongong sands, but with a green wash-towel and clothes ready to be sweated in with my later intended trip to the gym, it would have been an awkward unwinding.  

It seemed best to keep afoot, to walk the grains of sand to one end, turn and walk towards the other, to stop a moment and breathe in the grandeur of view and then walk back up the steeple of stairs to the car.  

Gym Session To Maintain Optimism

The gym on the other hand was a socially low maintenance spar.  Being partnered would have bettered buffing alone but nevertheless, there were some perks that did balance out my being without company, as in the lap of girls around.  My progress is showing a little too, and so, some tone in time for summer seems an attainable objective to strive for.  

Anyway, without those two freedoms to come home from, my day would have suffered heaps; it would have been a bore, a maze of dark corners and voids, a full spectrum of evening news to highlight my day, with possibly a smoke or drink to level me out, to falsify my day with something.  Thankfully, it never came to that.  

While it had me a little hesitant to consider the writer an outlet tonight, given his infidel ways, these memoirs have saved me from my usual hour of distress, made more salvation than chore tonight.  

Writing Again After Seven Month Recession

Anyway, that was my worthwhile thought for the night, back here to my confidant.  I wonder what my test of nerves will be like tomorrow now, where usually it comes in the form of my skip upstairs for breakfast.  

My parents once grew conscious of my withdrawn ways; an uncomfortable quieting that took strength in character to eventually break the uncanny cycle, and even today is still conditional on it.  I used to struggle perusing for provisional inventory in the fridge upstairs, made uncomfortable because even my parents suffocated my insecurities, which made me so conscious of my issues not to cough.  My mum especially could see the strain on my face trying to contain myself, which made her a little insecure around me as well but the worst is over now.  

I still feel the repercussions of those few seconds upstairs when mum makes my meals, but it is being defeated, or avoided, that irrational fear of diseasing my parents with my own disease.  

I don’t want to be weak around them, but am more conflicted when by chance alone upstairs in the kitchen trying to cook my own meals, to forgo that dependency on service.  

Anyway, my eyes are growing tired, so some more evening news now before sleep, and then sleep if necessary.