Crash

And burn.

Following on immediately from my previous post, I made an unbeaten 51 the day after. I had told myself that another failure would result in my break from the game. We won by 10 wickets and I was due to buy my first jug of the season. All was well.

Since then... I don't know. I don't update this blog very often any more, for no actual reason, but as this blog used to be a place to turn to in times of hardship, the idea doesn't cross my mind anymore. I turn to more tangible resources such as my Mother for some sort of support, as difficult as that is for someone like me. And anti-depressants. Citalopram. And beta-blockers. Propranalol. The last couple of weeks have become the worst of my life, and now I shall tell you why.

Throughout the past six years, I've had what my mother has described as "episodes". I'd be coasting along quite happily, just doing this thing we call life, when suddenly, crash. I stop. Literally overnight, I go from a bubbly personality to a lifeless corpse. It's depression, and its completely debilitating. These pages are filled to its depths with tales and memories of these times, but the last couple of weeks its been ... Different. Its been prolonged and more real. I feel like a cat that has lost the 8th of its 9 lives. I feel like, with more responsibility in my life now, that my illness is making other's lives worse. I feel like a burden. Unable to go to work, I won't get enough money to pay the bills and that makes me more anxious. Problems make more problems that lead to more problems. The longer I leave going back to work, the more difficult it'll be, and the idea of doing so even now fills me with dread. And here we go again... Yet again...

I've spent my days literally asleep. For being asleep means I am not awake. I went back to the doctors and they gave me a form:

- Do you feel helpless? Yes.
- Do you feel like you have lost enjoyment in everything? Yes.
- Have you lost your appetite? Yes.

I answered yes to all the questions. The only one I didn't answer 'Yes' to was the one about suicide. I don't want to die, but I don't exactly want to live either. I have most certainly lost enjoyment in everything. Work feels more like a sentence than anything else. Its Friday evening, the most magical part of the week, and I have a full weekend of cricket ahead of me, but I'd rather stay in bed. I'm not entirely bothered if we win or lose, or if I score 0 or 100 tomorrow and Sunday. I'm not really all that bothered if I have any food in because I won't be hungry anyway. I haven't really eaten a lot in the past week.

 One sentence that can sum my mood up entirely? Nothing really matters anymore.