Lost Mind, Lost Soul: A Diary Of a Sickness (Pt. 5)

More than 3 months after my last post, I come back to dust off this blog, with the same old hope that I may be more constant with it. Actually, I have to admit the recent increase in likes and comments has helped setting my mind on it again, although I never really forgotten about it.

Things are definitely better. Better, not good. I think this is how I was hoping to feel by July, on my way to recovering for university. That year is gone, and the only thing I can do is make these months count the way they are.

The phobia is mostly gone. The sensation I have is that it’s only temporarily gone, because there are next to no insects with the winter’s cold. I’m doing my best to use this anxiety-free time I have to work on everything. The depression that was hidden beyond the anxiety is showing itself, though, with all its charge of sadness, self-contempt, lack of will, feeling of absolute, universal loneliness.

I’m noticing a few things, as I’m writing. One is that I’m not used to writing anymore. For some reason, I lost all my e-pen friends, so I haven’t written a word (besides some simple IM chatting, and note-taking – more on that later) effectively since my last post. But it’s not just rustiness in word-choice or syntax: I have trouble identifying my intents, thoughts and desires with lexicon and then organizing them in sentences. It’s not simply a linguistic problem, it’s psychological confusion (see the title of this diary), although I’m sure more writing would certainly help with it. It’s a subtle feeling in everyday life, at the same time a sense of many contrasting thoughts and a lack of a clear dominant direction.

I’m also noticing how I repeated twice in two paragraphs that I’m doing my best with what I have; which feels a lot like compensation for feeling guilty that I’m not, and afraid that I will not. With my main psychologist, it always feels like every session is very productive and useful, like I’m always making some kind of progress. (I may try to write short follow-ups to those sessions, as a way to encourage more regular posting) But, I’ve started seeing a psychologist specialized in gender identity in September, and I can’t recall one question she asked me that is somehow related to gender identity. Still, while that may be her fault, I haven’t made any progress in that area by myself either. I tried, at times, but everything scares me so much. For instance, I had started studying voice feminization techniques, but they look so hard, and I get discouraged easily these days. I’m sure I would start seeing some results if I just tried an hour a day for a couple of weeks, but when, at day 2, I start thinking I’m worthless and I’ll never get anywhere with it, or with anything else, I just get depressed. I know I should endure it. I feel so damn guilty.

Other things are better, though. The last couple of weeks I’ve studied almost every day, played the guitar often and read as much. I’ve been exposed to some interesting ideas, from Colin Wilson’s The Outsider to the plot of Metal Gear Solid 2, just to mention the very last ones, and it’s exciting, nothing less. This is definitely the side of my life that is progressing better. It was also the only part of my life that was remotely successful, before all this happened. Feels like ages ago, honestly. One of my major problems, though, was that I had this, and nothing else.

I’m still incredibly lonely. My best friend is also my only friend,  and she does her best by seeing me every week, and it’s not her fault, but for me it’s not enough. I still have no satisfying outlet to discuss ideas, exchange thoughts, comments on random stuff, jokes, or simply to give and receive affection in any way that feels meaningful. Even if I started posting more, I feel it would be just a second rate solution to only a few of these problems. I spend 6 and a half days every week in my room, mostly alone, so much so that when my father is around it feels a bit awkward.

My impression is that I’m recovering from the major crisis, and in doing so I’m going back to how I was before everything happened. Which was, tautologically, the same situation that made me develop the phobia as a defence in the first place. The true process of getting better has yet to start.

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