the one and only truly amazing katster (katster) wrote,
the one and only truly amazing katster
katster

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rooted in fear, swallowed in depression

So I'm sitting here staring at a text editor. I'm begging my head to produce something, anything. Write the melancholy Katze that has been plaguing my brain as of late -- you know, anything? Even if it's trash, even if I don't hit save on the text editor, it's still trying to produce something. And the words just do not want to come out. It's frustrating more than anything, because this time there's ideas there, scenes to write, random gibberish...anything. And it's still not wanting to come out, not even forced.

It's...well, the depression's picked a new way to interact with me, and it's nifty in this manifestation because I honestly can't tell if the character's affecting my mood cycle, or if it's the depression manifesting itself in the guise of one of my characters. zibblsnrt says, based on what I've told him of the random plot lines coming to mind, that it's probably the latter, and he's probably right. That said, it's an interesting new manifestation that I've never seen before...using one of the characters in my head to tweak how I feel about things. I'd be proud, except it's fucking with both my ability to write and the way I'm seeing things, which is always a danger sign.

Isolation doesn't help either, and I'm definitely feeling more isolated. Getting out and doing things is probably a good thing, but I don't want to. Besides, where would I go? Nowhere seems especially habitable for me. Even the colours of my beloved Bay Area are muted, another sign of what I'm dealing with. Depression is in some ways my closest companion, and I know the signs that he's returned better than I know most things. I even know why. I'm caught in between two fears, and staring at them both has my feet rooted to the ground while I try to figure out which is the one to be less scared of.

Yeah. I'm terrified of finding a job. It sounds so *silly*, doesn't it? But the fear is there, and tempered with the depression, which happily feeds me the line that I'm less than worthless, makes me wonder who'd want to hire me. And it's at points like this that no matter what I'm truly capable of, I grossly underestimate my own abilities and capabilities. Jammed. Stuck. This makes me angrier than I might let on, but it's a burning anger at myself, which just seems to perpetuate the cycle.

And the alternative, which looks more and more inevitable the more and more I stand here stuck, is returning to Boringtown. As if there wasn't enough proof that I'm a failure, that would be a huge blow. I mean, not that I'm not a failure now, but returning home in disgrace...Yeah. I suck. As much as I try to tell myself that Boringtown wouldn't be the end of the world, that I could get out in a year when I know where zibblsnrt is going to school, and that a master's degree in my subject is a rare thing in my neck of the woods...well, it isn't helped that I look at Boringtown as one of those roach motels -- where the roaches check in, but they don't check out. I escaped that place *twice*, only to be pulled back again.

And no, it doesn't help that mom oh so helpfully gives comments like, "Oh, but you don't want to be a burden to Patrick while he's trying to go to college, now do you?" Grrr...

So yeah, let's add in that I'm not parsing communication correctly, and haven't been since at least Saturday...yeah, so even my normal bits of conversation are getting all messed up in my head, and the echo chamber just seems to accentuate that I'm some kind of miserable failure. This seems to be manifesting in a certain character's sudden desire to gain the respect of another character and failing miserably -- which is why she's been so frickin' damned melancholy as of late. (Although, knowing the character, the desire isn't all that sudden -- she's always wanted his respect -- the melancholy over failing seems to be the latest manifestation of depression, and it's bad enough the author has to remind her brain that character is not author for anybody, and that applies to any of my friends and not just myself...)

And yeah, author is amused at the irony of that character saying, "I'm going to be subtle! Like the b in subtle!" when the author can't manage subtlety to save her own life. Like right now. ;)

So yeah. Pardon me if I come off more melancholy than usual over the next few days -- this journal seems to be about the only place I can get out anything resembling a coherent thought, and while there's people I need to talk to, I need them to realize that I'm not parsing cleanly either, which probably makes talking to me a difficult task. Doesn't help that I feel like quite the miserable failure, and a waste. A waste of my friends' best efforts, which to me is more upsetting than anything else.

So yeah, that's the state of my head at the moment. Thanks for putting up with my rambles.

o/~ It's not going to change a thing... o/~
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