Wading Through the Sea of Beer Cans (Figuratively Speaking)

Instead of wallowing in self-despair, a sad skin sack full of sorrow on the couch hitting play on the next episode, I read an article that was inspiring and compelled me to a more productive route instead. So here I am, throwing some jumble of words into the deep, dark abyss that is the internet in the hope that it will make me feel just a slight tad better.

Let's backtrack a moment. Several weeks ago, I came to the realization while walking to work on the verge of tears for no apparent reason that I am depressed. This is not something that has ever befallen me before, but with my background in psychology I was able to identify some of the symptoms that accompany this affliction once I put my mind to it. Although I don't usually feel expressly sad, I am constantly tired, unproductive, unenthusiastic, turning to external stimuli for distraction or numbness, turning away from social interaction, eating like a garbage disposal, not exercising, and generally sluggish in my movements and decisions. All classic symptoms of depression.

I think there is a time that it's okay to wallow in it. Perhaps I'm only justifying my own previous actions, but as I struggle through the path toward recovery, I think a part of that path is wallowing. When you're ready, perhaps as you lay in a soft bed of Cheeto crumbs that was once a couch next to a sink full of now-sentient dishes surrounded by the abandoned delivery-box homes of long-forgotten monoliths of starch, carbs, and butter, flies and odors permeating the air, you begin to put the pieces together of your behavior, mentally logging them, sorting through what needs to be changed, and identifying where you can most easily cut out self-destructive patterns. You may get off the couch, wade through the sea of beer cans on the floor, and finally take a long, hard look in the mirror.

Hopefully you still recognize yourself. For me, this moment has come. I want out, even if the chemicals fluttering around my brain may not. So, serendipity sent an article to my Facebook news feed entitled "A therapist's guide to staying productive when you're depressed or heartbroken," which can be found here. One of the several things I took from the article is that a part of that long path forward is processing emotions, which comes to fruition in this instance through writing, through putting down on a backwoods web-page what's happening. 

I am still grieving from a lost relationship, with a very limited social outlet to help mitigate the damage. I feel stuck, partially imprisoned, incapable, and ineffectual. I have four months left in this country and I feel like that is an obstacle to recovery, to self-improvement, and that fact carries its own heavy baggage. I'm not just ending a relationship with a person I loved, I'm also ending a relationship with a country I loved (and sometimes hated), lived in, and got to know intimately for the past seven years. It's a lot to process, and perhaps it is only inevitable that my current feelings are so weighty without always being consciously so.

The future is highly uncertain after these next four months and there is no way to plan perfectly for that. I'll be relinquishing many of my worldly possessions, living out of a backpack for months, with nothing but myself being the constant from day to day. After that, I'll be "settling down" as the grown-ups call it. Trying to plant some firmer roots in a country that is so visibly and obviously toxic for itself and the world. What will that bring? With my unique experience, will I ever be able to relate to the people I surround myself with again? I feel like the average American is so far out of touch with the world and even the people around them. Am I doomed to be a loner for the rest of my days? All these worries swirl around me in addition to overcoming the grief of loss and loneliness. But it's good to get it out so that I can move forward and overcome these feelings one step at a time.

During the five years that this blog was inactive, I did some (entirely inadequate) writing about some of my travels. Something else productive that I'd like to do is digitize and sort of enshrine some of that writing that I did. It'll be a way to reminisce between more current topics. I'll include pictures as well, and maybe I'll get a wild hair up my ass and devote some time to documenting some of the undocumented memories before they are forgotten forever. In some instances (I'm thinking of Taiwan specifically, but there are others), my only souvenirs were pictures and memories, and memories fade. I'd like to document some of the stories that accompany the pictures before it's too late. So look out for that, campers, like a hungry bear lurking near your tent.

Don't be too worried about me. I know that I'll get through this. I am not suicidal *at all* and it will get better for me. I'm positive that feeling 100% after this will be a higher 100% than before this. It's called growth, mufuckas.