One of the biggest things that exacerbates my depression is lacking any and all direction in life. I can’t stand being bereft and rudderless. It doesn’t matter if it’s just a six month plan, I need to be doing something. Boredom is the enemy. It’s destructive, sometimes cruel.

As a borderline, destructive boredom is one of the biggest challenges I face. Without occupation my mind races away. Recently I’ve been re-living my last, hopeless few weeks at my last job. Re-enacting pivotal moments in my head, torturing myself with what could have been, what should have been and what simply is.

When I’ve finished with that scenario I panic that my boyfriend doesn’t love me anymore, that he may even start to hate me. My tiresome inability to snap out of my depression weighing both of us down. How many more times can I cry on him for little to no reason? Give him a withering glare after a perceived (though incredibly disputable) rejection?

And when that’s not enough self driven torture I imagine myself with no future. No reason to live. No discernible life. I sit on the couch every day doing nothing. No one cares. I am nothing, no one. Invisible. Things I know to be categorically untrue, but with a mind warped from illness, suddenly seem very plausible.

My rudderless state is hurting me, every single day. And people are talking to me and suggesting directions and I’m internally eye rolling. Apparently I’m not done being bitter and resentful. I’m not entirely ready for help.

But I am mindful that I can’t be like this forever. Damn my self awareness.

So I applied for a couple of jobs. I decided to have another go at university next year. I received an invitation to “express interest” (how fucking pretentious) in another. I spent 45 minutes drafting an application letter for another still, only to find that the listing had mysteriously disappeared. Disappointing. But also probably a sign. I felt uncommitted to each potential direction. If I didn’t apply convinced I wouldn’t get a call back anyway, I entered applications ripped apart by anxiety. Not knowing what was right. Second guessing myself. Convinced of my own stupidity and ineptitude.

In other words, I was still crushed by the weight of my disorders. Disbelieving and hopeless. Frustratingly bored and desperately sad. No idea what I ultimately want, or need.

My boyfriend came off night shift at 7am this morning. He crawled into bed next to me sometime after 8am and more or less promptly passed out. I was able to fall asleep peacefully shortly after. Today was different. It was soothing somehow, it felt new. Maybe it was just being cuddled up to someone who was happy to see me.

We were sitting in front of Netflix this afternoon, watching the FBI Files when my phone rang. It was a landline, a number I didn’t recognise. I nearly always let these calls go. Who has time for cold calls and telemarketers? Let alone the patience.

It was a callback, for a phone interview. For the job I was 100% certain I wouldn’t hear from. It went well and I have a proper interview next week.

There’s that little spark of hope. Enough to rouse me to fight another day.

 

 

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