One of the ways my mind works (or doesn’t work, to be more accurate) is that it constantly tries to find meaning in as much as possible. Decisions have consequences, and I can’t help but think of them – even when they’re tenuous at best. Everything gets evaluated exhaustively whether I like it or not. It might have something to do with anxiety, or it could be an underlying cause of everything.
Therapy isn’t always helpful.
My therapist and nurse practitioner have both tried pushing me to get out of the house more with some sort of paid work. I’ve told them that while I’ve occasionally job hunted, the process is agonizing for me. Additionally, I know from personal experience that just getting out and working isn’t going to help. In fact, at my last job, it actually did more harm than good.
At the time, law school was an escape to get somewhere better in addition to advancing my career. I proved to be good enough to do so, despite the job market not being great for new graduates. It contributed to my last mental break in 2013. Even after that, I felt like I had just delayed my suicidal tendencies by a few years.
They were always there.
For as long as I can remember, I have always had depressive moments where I have contemplated my own end. Finding something to ignore these tendencies has been the hallmark of my life. I have never dealt with them as they exist, and therapy and medication feel like they’re trying to encourage me to ignore the problem again. Right now, I’m having a hard time convincing people that anything outside of dealing with my depression is an exercise in futility.
There are many things I have denied myself because of my penchant for permanent self-harm. Personal relationships, self-growth, and economic safety are all things I do not maintain because I feel like I am not going to need them for much longer. Functioning one day at a time proves to tax my willingness to go through the motions of life. Things that last longer than my immediate needs all take low priorities.
Thus, I am aware of how my secret self-hatred impacts me. I’m able to hide behind the small details in interactions with people, to the point where they don’t know what lies deeper in my mind. People impose themselves upon the illusion I present, and so they don’t realize that there is some part of me that always at any time wants to die.
Right now I don’t have an answer.
Going back to the start of this post, I think that the point of this mess is to stop looking for answers or meaning or some greater picture. When I make the decision to exercise, I am making a decision to exercise. It’s not something good or bad, great or small, helpful or harmful. I’m just burning calories. Turning it into some greater meaning encourages me to think poorly of myself.