The Abyss Looks Back Into Me

There is this metaphorical canyon that I stand on the edge of when I’m depressed. It’s that feeling, you know the feeling, where you’re way up high and for some reason you just want to jump. But you don’t really want to jump. And, goodness, you’re terrified of falling. Yet something in you wants to take a step, bend at the knees, and push off and fly.

You just want to fly.

I refer to that feeling as escape. Escape, freedom… it’s all the same. It feels like weightlessness. It feels like driving somewhere without a plan. Just driving in your car with your phone turned off. No one can get to you and you’re free of all responsibilities. You can’t pay bills in a car. You can’t fight with your spouse because they aren’t in the car. You’re flying in your little capsule of freedom down the highway toward the rocky floor of the canyon. You’ll hit eventually… but for that time between jumping/pulling out of the driveway and hitting the ground…

You’re free.

You’re free and you’re not sad and you just are. You can be an entirely different person.

Photo Courtesy of Silver Hammer Lightgraph feat My Brain Hates Me (c)2010

Photo Courtesy of Silver Hammer Lightgraph feat My Brain Hates Me (c)2010

However, I’m not talking about flying or freedom. I’m talking about escapism and we all know it. Any shrink will tell you that this is all classic escapism. My suicidal thoughts are escapist. My constant fleeing to my girl cave is escapist. My immersions into shows on Netflix are escapist.

The bottom line is that I don’t want to be here, or anywhere. I don’t feel like I have family who knows me or cares about me. But then it’s not as if I reach out to them. I’ve successfully honed my mother’s skill for alienating everyone around me. It’s not as if my son, in his throws of teenaged-hormonal chaos can express genuine affection for me for more than a few fleeting moments. And my spouse, well. He likes me when things are going well. The problem is that clinical depression isn’t conducive to things going well. And the less I feel like he likes me, the more depressed I get. Then the worse we get along.

Therefore the desire to jump is strong. If I just left and became someone else for a few days and sat on a beach in dark glasses and a sarong and 8 layers of other clothing to protect my sun-sensitive everything…

I’m sorry I’m not uplifting today. Sometimes I feel like it’s more important to be honest than uplifting. I think it’s normal to want to be elsewhere. I think that’s truly what my suicidal thoughts are about… I just don’t want to exist as things are. I want to have another existence where people like me and where I feel happy and I don’t hurt.

Although, I’ll still back away from the edge and sit.

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