Dobody's capsule
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I have been suffering from sleeplessness again. I haven't woken up before 8 or gone to sleep before midnight for a couple of years now, so my sleep schedule is a car wreck on the back of a shipwreck because of a tsunami. No matter what I try, the space between going to sleep and actually being asleep feels like a canyon that I can't cross without breking a few bones. This is the small death, the place where all your anxieties live, and boy are they having a party.
This breaks many of the spacial and time arrangements of the active day. You can't do anything requiring physical activity, because you're too exhausted, even when that's the only thing that can tire you enough for an actual night's sleep. I'm not motivated or energized enough to do the things I'm supposed to do.
And yet I do things. Many things. I browse this space, I read up on art, on politics, on technology, and I write and experiment almost daily. But none of those thins have a *direction*, none are part of a bigger project, of digging deep more and more. And they usually get done in under a week.
My master's thesis and main project is in shambles. I see no personal meaning in it, it doesn't help me or interest me even anough to start working on something. What I worked on for a year is done, I can't do two. Even design has lost its soul and its meaning for me. What used to be a mesh of colors, an arrangement of shapes to tell a story, loses all its meaning now, the colors start fading and don't mean a thing, but are unpleasant, the shapes corrode and their edges weaken, an impermanence dawning upon the picture like the burning sun can fry the ants. Among this destruction, no place for me.
one thing another and a third
\ | /
\ | /
\ | /
\|_____/
|
|
\
\
\___converge into a product of consequence
.supposedly.
I have been depresed for a while too. Hard to affirm it without an official diagnosis, and scared of doing so, for fear of breaking your own slice of positivity. But finding true joy is difficult these days, other than a quick laugh or two, something has to really send waves through me, ones front of which I am incapable of moving. When was the last time I was happy, my mother asks? Really, freely, happy and light?
- I Don't remember.
I haven't gone out much, even barely, and I can't find motivation to do something that I conceptually even like. In theory it's nice, the application is shabby, scary, hard and stressful.
Do those things together make any sense, even a little? Can they converge into one? Maybe. It's hard to find out so I never do.
I'm probably a defeatist.
Things are not good and I should call a therapist.
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Things are not good was published on 2024-01-04