My perfect little void
- powelltothepeople
- Mar 30, 2019
- 2 min read
I will now do something that would be considered a cardinal sin if I were Catholic, and rant/vent about my immediate family.
Specifically about the cognitive dissonance of "we don't actually care what's going on with you" and the "painkillers are not candy". Just as a go ahead, here are some scientific facts: Depression is not a serious sickness that may lead to totally reevaluate your life. Depressed people are actually just lazy. Okay now you may wonder what the hell I'm talking about, this was a small window into living with my family.
I can easily say that I'm not the only person who works odd hours instead of 9 to 5. That is why I hate the expectations that I'm constantly and readily available. I'm not.
Here's an universal truth in life: the worth of knowledge is tied to social likeableness. It's a human evolutionary strategy, not a personal slight. I don't go around saying that lack of acceptance comes from a shadowy conspiracy where everyone is out to get you. In fact, the very reason Disstopia Chronicles is science fiction is to show in reality how much it would cost to create and maintain such conspiracies.
My family knows I'm a writer and I don't ask them to care what I write. What bugs me is their wanton ignorance toward the fact that the biggest payoff to me, for now and who knows how long is that it gives me purpose and routine.
In case somebody reads this who has battled with depression, they know how important it is to have both, a sure sign of something worth living for. Now, they want me to give up on it. I mean, yeah it's easy, not your life after all. About 2 weeks ago I used the S word to let them know how low I've gotten and went over as well as expected.
I start to second guess a lot of things. One can imagine depression like a glass dome where you can see outside and you think things are as you perceive them only for it to turn out you have been permanently listening to your own thoughts fed by your perceptions. The moments of wishful thinking when you want others just to be a bit like you and you realize you're the only bunny with the badly sewn up leg in the shooting gallery.
Yes, since I like to think I'm not conceited, I'm well aware that people with lives have a limit just how much negativity they're willing to take in. Then again others give up at the point where they recognize depression is a hamster wheel and try as they might at the first whiff of failure the runner blame themselves for everything.
I remember as a kid I literally put myself on trial and rationalized that the bullying I got was always justified. I'm not very fond of the idea of needing to give up the only routine that gives sense.
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