November 25th, 2013

bored kiri

The Ebb and the Flow

Patience eventually wears thin; it's merely a question of one's threshold. Sometimes I think I unwittingly test the limits of his patience when I get into one of my depressive moods and can't snap out of it, and my first reply to his 'what's wrong?' is a confused, warbled, often tearful 'I don't know', which causes him to react in a frustrated and/or impatient manner.

I don't blame him for being impatient. We have gone through this more times than I care to remember; he has had to deal with this probably more often than we've been on actual dates. He is also a guy, and men tend not to indulge in emotional outbursts or spend hours sitting in a corner, burying themselves under the weight of their despair; on the contrary, they try to find a solution. This generic pattern that is observable in the male species is heightened when it comes to him. He is a self-professed problem-solver and he wants me to tell him what's wrong but sometimes I just can't. Sometimes it feels like there is nothing worth living for, that I would be better off if I had never been born, even if I know rationally how irrational I am being, despite knowing rationally that it is only one part of my life that has not gone according to plan just as yet. In such moments when I can't see past the excruciating sadness that I feel, I don't want a solution or a plan; I just want a sympathetic ear, or a shoulder, or a hug, some nice words.

Perhaps he says things that he doesn't really mean out of frustration and I tell myself to not hold it against him, to not feel hurt, to not think about it - just forget that he ever said those things. Easier said than done. Doesn't help that the vast distance between us multiplies everytime there is a network problem with our Internet-reliant call, and I don't feel the warmth of the embrace of a boy who has said that he loved me that I really want to feel. Instead, I'm left alone feeling the coldness of the beckoning winter, looking out of my window at 5 in the afternoon and seeing darkness that feels more like 9 at night, and hearing his words, slightly distorted by the invisible waves that carry his voice from Southeast Asia to Europe, magnified by the speaker on my phone, that hurt me the second they register in my head.

I can't be with someone who is depressed; you're like a 15-year-old; you're like a child.

He had no way of knowing what he was getting himself into when he decided that he liked the look of the girl in the library. I showed no signs of my depressive side during those two months that he spent getting to know me, not even in the few weeks after he kissed me for the first time. There was never a caveat emptor, and I meant it everytime I was like this and told him, I think I'm just like that.

It means exactly that. I have always been like this. I will always be like this. It's only a matter of what I get depressed about. He asked me a couple of days ago why I was so negative and the answer was the same: it's just who I am. I'm just like that. How do you tell someone so negative to try to be positive when that state of mind simply isn't in her nature? It's like telling a gay man to try to be attracted to a woman or asking someone with no talent for drawing to try to draw a life-like portrait of another person.

I hid it well, but he's gotten so close to me that I have been absolutely uninhibited on putting this side of me on full display. When will he tire of this? I am already tired of myself. I can't help but wonder if it's simply a matter of time.


I did, however, give him the option to leave once. The first time I got into one of these depressive moods and we had an argument because he tried to solve the problem but I wasn't in the mood and I felt like he didn't understand and he felt like I didn't give a shit about his efforts, and I ended up hanging up on him. The next day, I waited for him to text me but he didn't, and so I texted him at 7pm that 'we need to talk'. The intention was to tell him that I got like that - moody, morose, teary, non-stop crying for about an hour - a lot, and that if he couldn't handle it, then there was no point in continuing to see each other.

He's handled it well so far. He stays on the phone with me until I tell him that I feel better (and I do) and apologises for his hurtful words. True to my negative self, though, I wonder if one day, when it's simply one too many times, he'd start to regret this.


Sometimes, I wish that I could just stop feeling. I wish I could go about my business like a robot and just do the things that I have to do without feeling the sting of rejection, explicit or otherwise (in the form of the deafening silence in response to emails that I send).

I know that life is a series of ebbs and flows. I know the philosophy of yin and yang, of balance and equilibrium - that happiness is meaningless without sadness, that a soma-induced state of existence is not a true state of existence. Sadness magnifies happiness; you feel the happiness that much more and it means something because you have experienced its exact opposite and so you cherish the happiness for what it really is - happiness of the authentic sort, not of the soma-induced type.

Still. The reverse is true, is it not? It is true for me, at least. I feel the lowest of lows. I feel these moments of debilitating sadness that seems to be magnified by its opposite, and more specifically, by what I perceive to be my lack of happiness. Happiness is like a spark; it's not even a flame. It disappears as quickly as it comes and the rest of the time, there is just greyness. Usually I go about my life feeling normal but when the darkness hits, it practically engulfs me, such that I experience moments of clarity - of the mind and the heart - in which I genuinely wish that I had never been born.

I feel sadness a lot more acutely than happiness. I looked up depressive disorders online but I don't fit into any of the profiles save for maybe one, the mildest form of depression. My depressive episodes don't last long enough to qualify as clinical depression and most of the time I'm fine; it's just the speed in which I sink into these moods and how strongly I feel these negative emotions. I literally can't do anything for hours and I think if it weren't for the fact that Arnaud eventually talked me out of it, I would have stayed in the same position on my bed for hours.

I would love for there to be a medical explanation for this, that I was born with a mild hormonal imbalance or something. It would make me feel better about myself. It would be better than thinking that I'm an ungrateful spoilt brat or that I'm weird or not normal or inherently negative, whatever that really means. I would feel less inadequate and I would have an actual medical basis for saying I can't help it.

I don't know. I'm exhausted. I wish things were easier.