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perhaps it is time to be silent

In the past 6 weeks, I’ve put out two blog posts. I haven’t been working on any of my books or research essays. I’ve been barely present on social media (most active on twitter but this is mainly a function of how I use twitter more than anything else). To an extent, I know I said I was kind of in a suicidal spiral and it gave me my first writer’s block I’ve had in a long, long while (maybe ever) but. Idk. I feel like I’ve reached a point where, at the moment, I don’t really have anything new to say. Not really. A long, long time ago I wrote about the value of silence and I’m almost starting to think that perhaps it is time for me to be silent for a while. So that I can listen.

Then again. I have no idea how much my current inability to write is really the above or being utterly and completely burned out. And it looks like, in this respect, that my downward spiral of functionality and ability to Do Things is reaching a critical point. It honestly takes all I have just keep going to my job and doing my chores. And I’m not even doing all that great a job with my chores. Or my self-care. I keep forgetting things like doing my bloodwork and all that. I’m spending as much time in bed listening to books as I did last summer, when I was unmedicated. I’ve been… a little frivolous and free with money (not enough to get into trouble but definitely more than I should be).

And. When I say I haven’t put out many blog posts… this disguises the fact that I occassionally write one and then just stick it into my drafts. I’ve been doing this a lot. Or I think of something and I just don’t write it. Maybe tweet a little but that’s about it. Tweeting is easy because I don’t have to organize my thoughts. Its literally pure stream of consciousness writing.

Then there are the Projects. Like Biyuti Publishing. Been working on trying to get a book out for the past year. Its an important book. And since I can’t do the work myself, I’ve been paying others to do it. Which okay fine. But it also means I have to stay on top of stuff and Communicate with people. Something that has been hard for me for over a year and is only getting worse. Now I not only get anxiety when I have to answer emails and letters and whatever, but its also making me suicidal.

This is true, in general, of a lot of this work. Or work in general. More often than not, these days, I need to take an ativan to get me to go to the office. Whenever I even think about doing stuff, I think about just killing myself as a way to get out. Apparently, I’m feeling trapped by life again. When this bout of major depression started a few years ago, I quit a bunch of stuff. I quit some personal projects that were super meaningful. I quit doing any and all professional development types of activities. I decided to take a break from Biyuti Publishing in the hopes that it blow over… And.

Yet. Here it is. Two years later (okay, we are shy by a few months of my Quitting but not of the beginning of the Depression). Things were kind of okay-ish for a while. I thought stuff was levelling out and I was getting Better. But. But. Here I am again. Feeling trapped by my life and just wanting to die and escape from it all.

I’m thinking about really Quitting everything this time. Idk if this would actually help. Thinking about closing up biyuti publishing. Thinking about putting this blog out to pasture. Thinking about… just disappearing. A kind of virtual suicide or something. Huh. This is literally the first time I’ve thought about this urge from this particular perspective. For me… disappearing from online is a kind of death. This is the primary way I interact with the world these days.

Now that I think about it… I don’t socialize online the way I used to as it is. I like posting to twitter because I can post from the commandline without having to see my feed or any replies. I don’t see anything of twitter at all. I just write my message, hit enter, and into the Void it goes. I don’t really interact with anyone on tumblr anymore.

I’ve become so disengaged.

And it still feels like too much.

Personal emails go unread and unanswered for days, weeks, and sometimes just never. A lot of my regular video calls have kind of… faded away. And while I miss those people. I’m also not reaching out because I want to (I’m really not sure how to finish this sentence with anything other than ‘die’…). When I do book video calls I’m always secretly glad if the other person cancels or forgets. Or then I cancel and forget.

For me… its really the forgetting that is starting to trouble me. Forgetting things like doctor’s appointments and other self-care types of things. Forgetting stuff like any kinds of appointments is really atypical behaviour for me. For the longest time I didn’t need a calendar because I would remember all the things I had to do. Now… not so much.

I’m tired. That’s nothing new. But fuck I’m tired.

But I think this is the first time that I’ve started to get tired of blogging and stuff. I feel like I have nothing new to say these days. Or rather, the new things I could say I just end up not saying because I don’t have the energy to deal with the fallout. I’m tired of repeating myself. Tired of all but begging ppl to give a fuck about twoc.

Fuck. At this point, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore (I mean this in the immediate sense of this post, not a larger existential sense). This post is a mess. I know its a mess. I’m publishing it anyway.

A month ago or so, I concocted a plan that involved moving to a different city. To Montreal. I don’t speak french (not really but I do pretend really well). I had good reasons for this. They are still good reasons. Except… I can see this also for the attempt to just escape from my current life that is also is. In this city, I continue to enjoy the best access to medical care I’ve had in my entire life. Moving to Montreal would basically mean the opposite. But I can also see the allure of moving to a place where I don’t speak the dominant language. I’ve done this before. It basically meant that I don’t have to talk with anyone. No one will expect me to try and engage. I could just hole up in my apartment and basically never leave.

I’m probably not going to move. But I do wonder if something needs to change. Something needs to change. I can’t keep going on like this.

It sucks too bc with stuff like biyuti publishing, I’m well aware of how important it is. This is something that needs to live. The book I’m working on right now is proof of that. Is it more important than my health? My life? Idk. Not even sure the answer to that questions matters.

I made my decision a long time ago. That I would choose me. That I wouldn’t be a martyr. That I was unwilling to sacrifice myself for ‘the greater good’ or whatever the fuck. The only thing keeping me alive these days is the sheer habit of surviving. Take that away? Not sure how long I’d still be around.

But. Yes. I made my choice. I destroyed my fucking career bc of this choice. I didn’t have to settle. I didn’t have to utterly ruin my professional reputation. I (we) could’ve kept going. We could’ve.

After seeing, however, that we stood alone after we took the Leap of Faith, I picked me. I picked life. I picked becoming ideologically filthy and toxic. I chose survival.

A long time ago my mom told me that you could only ever count on yourself. Which is hilarious bc even by that point I knew, at the very least, that I couldn’t rely on her.

Where do I go from here? Don’t know. I had a life plan, you know. And I was following it. Right up until I destroyed my career. Now? Now I can’t even think about tomorrow. Now, near as I can tell, there is no future for me. I’m the drowning person getting pulled down the river. I swam. I swam. So hard and for so long. But the current is too strong and now I’m just letting it carry me away.

I’m tired.

Maybe where I go from here is out to sea, to drift in the ocean.

Maybe that’s ok.

(I’m afraid of the ocean)