Today I am not depressed. It’s a really weird feeling. Something’s off. Something is not right. It’s Friday and I didn’t go to work today. I am not working for the next five days. I am spending time with my family. We are in mourning. The greatest shock of my grandfather’s life was to find his wife of 60 years dead one morning in their bed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were to go soon too, now that this has happened. We all thought she was going to outlive him. She was almost five years younger than him and women live longer than men in general.
I feel normal being here. I don’t feel out of place. I feel like I belong here, even if it’s only for a very brief time. My work place is very supportive. The people have been kind, empathetic, expressive of their sympathy. They told me not to think about work while I’m gone, and for the most part I’m not. I have certain daily responsibilities there that I have to complete. I spend 40 hours a week at work. It’s my life. I go to school two nights a week. I don’t have many friends. I’m alone most of the time. All I have is my distant family and my work. It’s not much but it’s a semblance of a life put together.
I am not suicidal. Two nights ago I was deadly suicidal and all I could think about was how I was going to kill myself. Apparently it’s not possible to overdose on Klonopin. I researched it. That was going to be my go-to. Now I have to think of an alternate plan. I still think that killing myself is a good idea and I’d like to reserve that option for a later date. I can imagine killing myself and ending my life. All my things would go to Goodwill and I would simply stop existing. I wouldn’t have to deal with life any more.
My emotions shift so rapidly. It’s unsettling. One day I will be completely suicidal, and the next, I’ll be thinking about the idea of living as a novel concept. I almost said, I think about what I’m going to do the next day, or focusing on what I’ll be eating at my next meal, or planning something for the weekend, but I actually don’t get that far. My thoughts are focused on the present moment and if I start to think too far ahead I become more depressed. Most nights when I go to bed and think about getting up for work the next day, I feel depressed. I don’t think eight hours is enough sleep but I don’t want to sleep more than that during the week. Waking up for work is just so difficult. Maybe it’s because I don’t love my job. I wonder what life would be like if I really liked my job. I probably wouldn’t mind waking up every day.
I want to see my therapist. I wish I could see my therapist several times a week. Sometimes I love him because he makes me feel good, and sometimes I hate him and get angry at him because he makes me think about difficult things and because I have to deal with my emotions. I write to him every day, usually just before going to bed. I sum my day up and reflect on my emotional state. It’s another form of journaling, and knowing that someone on the other end is reading about my experience. Knowing that he cares makes all the difference. He regularly references important content of my emails without me mentioning anything in the session, so I know he reads them. I got in trouble at work and he knew about it even though it was just one sentence in the middle of a myriad of sentences.
Being “home” with my family always feels strange. It’s a fragmented family dynamic. There is power play and negotiating that takes place. My grandfather is very particular about the way things get done and he needs to have it done his way. For example, I was helping him cook today, and I touched the packaging of the fish, and he made me wash my hands. He didn’t want anything fish-related to contaminate the rest of the kitchen. I suppose that’s an Indian thing too. The concept of “juta” or germs. Meat cannot touch the vegetables if someone is vegetarian. For me, I’ll just take the meat out of a sandwich and still eat the sandwich. I don’t care if it touches, as long as I don’t ingest it. Pescatarian, is rather what I am because I eat fish.
Life in my grandfather’s home is like stepping back in time. There’s an old-school radio with antenna in the kitchen, and all the furniture is really old and antique. There are photos hanging on the walls which have been hanging there for half a century. They never change. It’s always the same in that house. He has gardeners who help with the roses, and the fruit trees and the garden. The outside of the house is pristine, clean-cut and modern. The inside is worn and antiquated.
I really don’t mind being alive right now. Maybe it’s because I’m seeing family members. It’s a place where I belong. My life in the isolated city where I live feels fake. It feels like I’m trying so hard and I’m just pretending. It’s hard. It’s loads of effort. I’m surrounded by all of my things now, since I moved, but it doesn’t make me happy. It does make my life easier now that I have a better living situation, but I’m definitely not happy. I don’t have the energy to go out on dates and meet new people. My life consists of going to work, school, and then sleeping on weekends. I never cook. I don’t eat fresh foods. I barely exercise. I don’t have much of a life right now. Maybe somehow that will change and I’ll stop giving so much focus to the bridge where I want to jump off. I want things to be like today, but all the time. I don’t want to be depressed and I don’t want to be lonely. I am so desperately lonely at my home right now.