So, I’m in a new place. Just bought my first house. No more noisy neighbors. I now have crazy neighbors, but, hey, at least they are quiet.
When they aren’t screaming at me because I parked kind of in front of their house.
….It’s off street parking….
On the flip side, I won a Super Nintendo Classic exactly when my neighbors were being crazy.
This kind of describes my fucking week.
I really want just one week. Just one. Where I lay in bed, and do nothing. Just absolutely nothing. That is my dream. Something so simple, and I will never be able to do that.
I have mentioned before I have mini existential crises peppered throughout my days. This is brought on by the fact that I don’t want to waste time. To waste time is to welcome death just a little bit closer. I know it sounds dramatic, but I feel pressured to being productive all the time. I feel like no matter what I do, I never do enough. I will never be enough.
I have had multiple people tell me, including my therapist and doctor, that I need to chill. This stress of needing to do something all the time is effecting me physically. It’s hard for me to grasp that. To relax, to me, is to be lazy. If I sleep until 11 or noon on my days off, I feel horrible.
This is just another facet of my depression. It’s just a different kind of dark, gross, pressure that just crawls in and sticks to mind like a parasite.
I do try to cope with video games and other hobbies that I have, but I’m conditioned to constantly do something. To constantly move. I need to get a grip, I know.
I’m slowly pulling out the roots that have dug deep into my head.
On the other hand, I have a lot more space now. I have my own safe haven. I have a quiet place to write, and hopefully, get some new projects underway.