Giving Up - August 2003
The days grow longer as I sit in my chair watching time
slip slowly by. I have given up!
has become almost non existent. I wait for illness to come and visit
me. I can feel my body slowly deteriorating, my chest becoming congested,
my limbs becoming useless, my muscles wasting away. The truth is
I can find no reason to get up and do anything. Even writing these
words takes a massive effort.
don't know how this situation has come about and I don't know how
the hell to get my motivation back. In fact I don't see the point
of anything any more. Just sit around and wait for the grim reaper
to come and take me I suppose. As a smoker I can expect any one
of several diseases to hit me. Emphysema, cancer, you name it. Or
perhaps my arteries will clog up and I have to have a limb removed
before gangrene takes my life.
funny though how my conscience still keeps nagging me. I read the
words that I have just written and I feel guilty. Guilty because
people are still doing things around me. I should get off my bottom
and help, contribute, earn my keep. But I can't do it because, to
me, there is no point. Humdrum days.
My counsellor has suggested that I think of the end result and not
what I have to go through to achieve that result. For example I
have the opportunity to join a fitness club and I have had an offer
from a friend to go with me and show me the ropes. But I am afraid
of going to a new place filled with new people. It frightens the
living daylight out of me! And then there is the feeling that everyone
will be looking at me, pointing me out, saying things about me.
don't like me very much. I am not proud of my physical or mental
self - they have both deteriorated into deep decay. I even disgust
myself by whining on in this journal. DO SOMETHING PETE! I can't.
Why not? I don't know. Isn't that the easy way out? I guess so.
Well why don't you take the hard way out? Because I follow the path
of least resistance. Is that not cowardly? No, it saves me from
And so the arguments go on in my mind.
have recently attended group therapy sessions where other members
of the group seemed to have their own conditions sussed. This has
caused me to feel uncomfortable for a couple of reasons. Primarily,
if these people can work out what is wrong with themselves and why,
why do they still attend group therapy sessions? The other point
is that I envy them their insight. I would love to be able to work
out what is wrong with me and do something about it.
I think about the treatments I have had for my illness I despair
because, despite all the pills, potions and therapy sessions, I
have slipped slowly further down into the depths. What hope is there
for the future if the treatments don't work today? I wish I could
tell the medical experts that help look after me that my quality
of life is so poor that thoughts of ending it all are never very
far from the front of my mind. But I won't succumb to them will
ok me being able to sit here and write all this crap but what does
it do for me? Actually, on reflection, this diary of depression
has helped put me in touch with some lovely people who either suffer
the same illness or who knows a fellow sufferer. Even one small
ray of sunshine on a grey day helps me to tolerate my existence.