The comfort of strangers

Been a while since I logged into WordPress. This used to be my go-to place for venting, for pouring out the crap which had built up over the previous day, but recently it has fallen into disuse. Originally it was because I was too busy (or at least that’s what I told myself), but now I think there’s more to it than that.

On the whole, life has been pretty poor recently. I’m under pressure at work due to managerial changes which I am strongly opposed to. My grandmother is seriously ill in hospital. I have become increasingly distant from my friends. Things are always worse in the school holidays, as the absence of human contact becomes acute. Yesterday was particularly bad. Motivation was on the floor. The few things I’d planned to do never happened, and I found my mind straying to places I never thought it would again. Needless to say, I didn’t like it.

Depression’s a strange beast. Everyone’s depression manifests in a different way. To those who have never suffered from depression, it’s largely incomprehensible. But even to those with a long history of depression, the things which help them control it may not work for other people. On the whole I do a reasonably good job of keeping it in check, but the recent combination of factors has made me realise that sometimes it just isn’t enough.

I’m fairly pragmatic, and as such I’m mostly planned for these situations. The problem I face right now is finding someone to talk to about things. Someone who isn’t going to try to offer advice. Someone who isn’t going to try to “make me happy”, and someone who isn’t going to get pissed off by my constant stream of misery. And that’s not easy to find. I have plenty of friends who are understanding, but most of them don’t really know how to deal with my blackest moods. The few that do have been unreachable or tied up with other things.

And so, bizarrely, I found myself reaching out to people I barely knew, or complete strangers. Things had reached the point where I didn’t even care to whom I poured out my confessions, I just knew I needed to get some things said. It was a bizarre feeling, having spoken so frankly and honestly with people who didn’t know me. The instant regret I felt was tempered by the feeling of relief at unloading my burden. I have no idea if the people I spoke to cared, or even understood what I was saying, but just the act of talking (or typing) allowed me to free up room in my mind to process what was going on and try to effect a move towards some sort of solution.

I kept coming back to the same thought in my mind. I need to get out of this town. I hate it here. I’ve always hated it here. The problem is, I’m not even sure it’s the town which is the problem. It’s the country. Don’t get me wrong, I think this is a beautiful country – but the way it’s being run is abhorrent to me, and thanks to the “democracy” we have, I will forever be a victim of the tyranny of the uneducated majority who vote to maintain that abhorrent status quo. The main parties change, but the power remains the same.

So where do I go from here? Well, I don’t know. I’m currently in the process of renewing my passport. I have a reasonable amount of money in my bank, and thanks to my job I have periods throughout the year when I have a lot of free time. So my plan is to travel when I can. If I find somewhere I like, maybe I’ll start looking into more permanent plans there. I just know that right now, I don’t feel at home. I never have, and I need to fix that. Maybe it can’t be fixed, but I need to try.

Maybe once that’s sorted I can start trying to figure out how to stop being so utterly alone.


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