Truths

Conversing With My Brain Is Rarely Pleasent

I didn’t use to believe it, but depression is eerily comforting.

I can feel it poking its head over the horizon like a groundhog popping its head out of a hole on the prairie.

I wish I had a furry animal to cuddle and love and who would want to cuddle and love me back, mostly because I’m it’s source of food and shelter but what the hell, I can handle being used. That’s what sucks about living in a small apartment; they don’t let you do shit.

No one wants to be depressed, I know I don’t, but really I’ve spent more of my life depressed and anxious than I have “happy” (whatever that means) and content. It’s more comfortable floating in that state of uneasiness, confused on whether I want to live but sure on the fact that I don’t want to die, and certain only on the fact that this pain exists, than it has ever been for me to be productive or a student or a part of the community.

School is becoming a chore rather than something I enjoy and I know that’s dangerous. This morning I woke up thinking it was Saturday (I’m dead serious over here), so I went back to sleep and woke up like shit today isn’t Saturday. So I missed my morning class yet again. I don’t have the energy to deal with it, I don’t have the motivation to study for my Wednesday test, and I feel like I should care about it all but I don’t. I think that’s what’s bugging me the most. I just don’t give a fuck.

Of course I’ll scramble at the last minute today, I’ll study as much as I can, I’ll get my homework done, but it’ll be like someone’s chained me to the wall, whipped me with one of those freaky kinky leather strap whip things, then attached electrodes all over my skin to shock some energy into me so I can scribble a few bullshit lines on a piece of paper and call it a day. I love learning. I hate college. These are two facts I wish meshed together better than they do.

I only hate college when I’m depressed–which isn’t all that weird considering what depression is. I felt good last week, I got some shit done, I was studying, I was understanding, and now it’s all gone. The energy is gone, the determination is gone, the hope that I can actually finish out this semester is gone. It’s all been hallowed out with an ice cream scoop. So now I’m just an empty sack of nothing spending her days watching cats on YouTube and wondering what tasty food stuff I can shove down my face hole.

I told my brain:

“Brain, whatever you do, don’t be a bitch for once. We almost have everything caught up. Don’t dick me over. I don’t need depression right now.” 

My brain replied:

“I’d never be a dick to you, don’t worry, I got you.” 

So we went on our merry ways getting through the anxiety attack from Thursday and sleeping away Friday to catch up on all the hours I missed that week. Then I woke up and I felt it. I told my brain:

“Brain . . . you’re starting to feel a little squishy. What’s . . . what’s going on up there? I thought we had this?”

My brain replied:

“I got this. Don’t even trip. Don’t even trip.” 

I started tripping. The next morning I said,

“Brain something’s going on. Don’t lie to me. Your thoughts aren’t right, they’re all pitiful and sad. What’s the matter with you?”

My brain replied:

“We’re worthless. Just quicken my end already.” 

I facepalmed, and grumbled,

“Damnit brain, I don’t have time for this!” 

My Brain wailed,

“Exactly! So do it! Shoot me! Put me out of my misery!” (Cue brain sobs) “We’ll never get through this, it’s all pointless, you’re pointless, I’m pointless, life is pointless, if . . . if you won’t shoot me, at least punch something. Bang your head on the wall. Burn yourself. Something!” 

I said very blatantly,

“Fuck off, brain.” 

Brain proceeded to whine and complain and cry and feel sorry for itself. So I’ve been dragging this body around from day to day this weekend without any help from my brain. It’s completely checked out. And we were so close. You don’t even want to hear the conversation I’ve had with my body: oh it’s pissed. It’s sick of sitting around all day, it’s sick of feeling tired all day, and it knows I can do something about it and it knows how hard I’ve been fighting and it’s starting to lose hope too. It’s done trying to keep up with life and so am I.

Funny cat videos solve everything, right?

About AlishiaDee (372 Articles)
Alishia D. is a blogger, a beginning novelist, and a counselor at 2nd Story Peer Respite house where diagnostic labels and the culture of mental health is long forgotten. She's a mental health peer who has bounced through as many labels as she has doctors, and enjoys being sarcastic when she can. She also hates writing in 3rd person.

14 Comments on Conversing With My Brain Is Rarely Pleasent

  1. This is exactly how I feel all of the time. It’s the reason I dropped out of uni. I’m here if you ever want to talk.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. :hugs: Hang in there. You can do this!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Sounds like you and I share the same brain…LoL….I tell mine to fuck off constantly….speaking of funny cat pics -hope the graphic below shows up ! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Hmmm, I don’t know how to respond to this. I’ve grown up with a different culture and education, one that teaches it’s quite normal to talk to yourself, brain, carnal self etc. In fact not only is it normal, it’s encouraged. So I somewhat feel out of place and uncomfortable now, am I, according to these stigmas abnormal? Am I to believe the DSM that I have a condition?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Well I don’t mind the talking to myself thing so much, It’s just the fact that my brain is often depressed and it’s hard to deal with. I was just simulating a conversation I often have. I think everyone talks to themselves to some extent (I think it should be more encouraged here, honestly) so even here I don’t think you’d be considered abnormal. The DSM doesn’t have anything in it (that I know of) that states if you talk to yourself there’s something “wrong” with you (I wouldn’t believe it even if it did lol) So to answer your question, no, you wouldn’t have a condition 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      • This topic really perplexes me. It almost makes me wish I could be in someone’s position to comprehend it more…… It’s not. Something to work by approximations

        Liked by 1 person

      • You know, it’s what’s really a problem with classifying disorders and such because it’s different across cultures. It’s why I advocate treating people’s symptoms that bother than rather than their “disorder”. I know things are different in the DSM-V vs the ICD-10 and it’s all just ridiculous. I talk to myself all the time and it’s perfectly normal. It doesn’t bother me, in fact it helps me sort things out sometimes.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Exactly. To think there was literally a handful of so called conditions in the 60s and now there’s thousands in the DSM is frightening. There’s a plethora of other cultural /religious teachings to help with ailments of the mind and soul and the holistic approach would be far more beneficial…. Imo

        Liked by 1 person

      • Oh I agree 100% And we’re growing with more “disordered” behavior every day. It’s terrifying. One day people will see what they’ve been doing isn’t working like they thought it would. Hopefully, at least.

        Liked by 1 person

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