Sharp contrasting thoughts muddle my mind with sheer self-castigation as I look at the year dwindling to an end and find myself counting the things that I had mentally set out to achieve for myself but find that I fall far short of my own expectations. I started out the year on such a highly motivated note but I guess that I am suffering from battered emotions syndrome. Some are self-induced, while life brought it’s own baggage along. I am seized with the desire to do absolutely nothing almost to the point of it getting scary.
Sharing my thoughts might help to crank up my gears and pull me out of wallowing in shallow thoughts and sheer laziness. I have an attitude that believes in pulling myself out of depressive moods, but for reasons that I can’t put my fingers on, I simply wish to burrow down, dig the hole deeper and just roll in the muddy waters of woe-is-me.
Self-pity has never been my thing otherwise, I would never have survived some of the hard balls life had tossed my way. I find that despair and depression are twins and that most times it’s far easier to give in to the whiny pair than to get up and fight. I find that as a highly motivated, driven person that the bar I set for myself is usually high and that whenever I fall short of these expectations, I feel the burn.
I’m trying to step back and take all the necessary thoughts into account without clouding my mind with any unnecessary feel good feelings or numbing myself with so much work that I’m too tired to think. That is why I deliberately chose not to blog for some days.
Sometimes we have to go through the motions and not bury our emotions otherwise, they will simply fester and actually grow bigger. I’m not making excuses for falling off the wagon and failing to achieve the short goals that I set for myself, I am not making excuses for depression that hits me at times with visceral pain and trying to wave it away with a wand.
I will not try to shake off these Debbie Downer feelings and cut short my low moments because they will simply hibernate and possibly drag their sorry ass selves into my next year. No! I can’t have that.
I am sitting here in my raggedy PJ’s and floppy rabbit slippers, with a carving knife in the shape of a pen. I’m going to cut myself to pieces, bleed, cry into a box of tissues, eat chocolate, drink stale wine, eat chocolates again, watch a soppy MGM movie, cry some more again, cut myself some more until my nose gets bulbous and my eyes are swollen shut from crying tears that cause my shoulders to shake.
I’m not going to look pretty, but I can bet your bottom dollar that I am going to feel marvellous after all the shakeup. Then I’ll patch up the pieces that I shredded.
P.S. Please excuse me for not visiting for a while. My door is shut while I’m going through some drama. I’ll be back shortly.