So this anonymous thing. I’m all for that but there is a problem: how to respond. Obnoxious and trolling anonymous people I have no problem with,  I could in theory have fun with those for hours — in theory as I never seem to get any of those. Am I not good enough to be annoyed by idiots that can’t spell properly?

No, it’s the other kind. The nice anonymous I have a moral dilemma with. To me, they’ve chosen to be anonymous for a reason and as such, it seems to me a bit rude to just expose them to the public. Except there are few other ways to respond so it’s tricky and problematic.

Anyway. To the anonymous yesterday. Gosh, I’m flattered. Wish that would happen with people outside of Internet too.

1929

When I look back, I’ve probably had bouts with depression since I was nine-ten or  so. There was signs of panic attacks and I skipped school quite a bit. Of course, I’ve been the silent type and just got on somehow. “Accepting” is probably a good word for it, but maybe not. Perhaps “bottling up” fits better, at least on the later parts. I’ve been on medication for only two years, and while the anxieties have loosened up quite a bit they’re still there wreaking havoc.

The mind doesn’t go as dark anymore (there are no scars on the body, but that’s because I’ve got a slight phobia against seeing my own blood) but the self-doubt, the worthlessness, the days when everything conspire against me as a laughing megalomaniac — they’re still there. At first it might look like a small rock on the road, easily avoided or why not, just run over it. Only when it’s right up in the face, the rock turns out to be the Thing and he’s in a clobbin’ time mood. So instead of running over or evade, one ends up on the side of the road, fifteen feet back and with the head bleeding in a ditch. 

There are days when the bed holds me hostage, and there are days when a scream doesn’t have more force and loudness than a whimper. All this is worse when friends are few and far between. Some where far between — it’s not like I can walk for five minutes and knock on a door.

I might be talking out of my ass, but I assume it would have been easier if it would have been far more brief than it was or is. It’s hard to find a path back when there’s hardly any path to begin with. This is very apparent socially.

There is an easy way of telling how the day is qualitywise. Three hours after I awoke, I took a two hour nap. Because let’s be honest here: naps are my first line of defence against the bad thing in the head. Sure, there might be several things really but I feel more relaxed by thinking of it as a demon with split personality — easier to duct tape to a chair.

Now though, after the nap, I feel a bit better. I’ve smiled even at times and not had that abandonment crap that was there when I woke up the first time. The weekends are the worst really. Sadly. I can’t explain it.

Things that bothers me too much: there are moments, far too many, where I don’t push the like/reply/reblog-link on the tumblr dashboard as I’d like — mostly because I don’t want to come off as too pushy/obsessive/needy/tragic/all of the above. It’s a lose/lose kind of thing really. Either way, the brain is there to punish and laugh and mock and point.

Lots of stuff from inside the head, only deleted. Which is jsut as well, crappy head, crappy words. Not sure which is/was worst. Anyways. Mumbling. I don’t need this…