I need to talk tonight.
Almost a year ago today, I decided to take control of my life. I started reading and looked for a job abroad. I put in the effort and got the job, all in a rather nauseating family context. In short, I did my part.
I left at the end of August. It's almost December and I'm already mentally exhausted. The problem is that I can't stand my job and the atmosphere here is weighing on me. I lost about 6 kilos between two months, and without going into details I was already extremely thin. I'm at an anorexic weight now (BMI: 15) and the consequences are obvious. To make matters worse, my anxiety is accompanied by eating disorders, so I'm struggling to regain weight.
When I mentioned to one of my parents that I might want to go back, they simply told me that they no longer understood my decisions, and that they no longer approved of them. My parents have always supported me, to be honest. I've been on the depressed side as well as on the side of those who put up with other people's depression, I know how exhausting it is. But it's hit me so hard that I can't even think about going back now.
I can't find stability for more than three or four months because my head is rotten. No matter what I try. No matter how much I change studies, no matter how many countries I go to, it seems like I'm trying to run away from my shadow. I can let myself sink at times, but I always try to do something to get back up. Now I wonder if it's really worth it. I'm lucky that I'm a pretty well-connected person in general, and my friends do what they can to support me, but it's too much work, even for such dedicated and intelligent people. If I had been a bit more solitary, I would probably be dead by now.
My management has seen that I am sinking and suggests that I resign. They can't fire me unless there is serious misconduct. But I can't do my job properly any more: I have to manage people, but how can you do that when you're thinking of throwing yourself under the local metro train every five minutes? And even if I resign to go back to my country, nothing awaits me there but shame and sadness.
I've lived most of my life being miserable. Yet even if my family is not perfect, they have tried to do their best. I have not been beaten, I have been financially secure. I have been able to surround myself well with friends. I know I can attract girls, and I probably have a girl who likes me at the moment. I was a good student even though I didn't like school, and I had hobbies where I could stand out. In short, I wasn't that unlucky. And yet, it doesn't work.
I had the unshakeable faith that it would eventually change. That I had been too lucky at the start to fall too far. But I think I've lost that faith now, and I'm starting to feel the raw desperation. The more I try, the more it fails, the harder the next attempt is. Shame is a burn whose pain pierces me to the bone. And as much as I'd like to get all the venom out, there are things I'd rather not say because I know the people on this topic are depressed, so some of that poison will stay with me.
I have no idea what will happen to me. All my options are bad. Going home is shame and lack of perspective, staying is a huge risk. And even without talking about the mental side, going back has a lot of purely practical problems that seem like a mountain to me.
I don't even see what I'm going to do at this point. Anything can happen.
One last thing:
An hour ago I went to the supermarket to get some cigarettes in the freezing Caucasian night. After some Russian music, they played this music while I was at the checkout:
Music about depression, in French. God wanted me to cry. Instead I gritted my teeth and walked away, before writting this message.
Depression is the cancer of the mind.