After the a&e allergy saga where I almost lost my life I spent most of the next day in bed and only started registering and recalling details on Sunday. Wrote an ultra long post an marked it as a life event on Facebook because I didn't want to ever forget the little details. Categorized it under 'achievements and travel' instead of 'health and well being' because the post was really more about the experience than about my health per se. I guess I haven't learnt much about the importance of life and health through the near death experience.
So I have been on steroids to prevent a possible relapse in case there are still substances in me in allergic to, but it's been causing me insomnia since Sunday. Been sleeping barely 3 hours a day. And yesterday I was just lying in bed thinking, about how I've been writing and talking and there is no reply. And the thoughts expanded from the particular to the general. What is all this I'm writing about for? I felt like I was throwing mere words into an abyss. And therebis no language in the abyss. you can speak and noone listens or maybe the abyss listens but it gives you nothing. everything falls to naught. and the worst part is when you know the abyss knows your tongue but just wouldnt speak.
I shouldn't write expecting someone else other than myself to read but where do I go other than the abyss? And the thing is I mean what I say and things I say may not seem intended but I do. I am very invested in what I write and committed to what I say. Maybe a little too much even but I guess people don't always take me seriously or I sound too nonchalant I don't know what other reasons there are. But for four hours I was staring at the abyss, at an emptiness inside that was eating every part of me. Taking significance from everything I do. I felt like my thesis, something I was so passionate and excited about, was nothing but a sham. It's boring. I couldn't distract myself from this emptiness cause it ate up whatever attention I had for it and reduced it to something boring. I was utterly bored of life I wished so much to die.
A friend told me to think of love but it was difficult. Especially when this whole 'crisis' began with my questioning of investment and commitment to people, about reciprocity. And all that came to mind were instances of everyone close to me and their lopsided loves, their unattainable fantasies, of circumstantial problems. All these came as a ball of issues held together by a very strong locus and I couldn't untangle them or separate them. It was the abyss spitting at me, a stubborn phlegm accumulated through a long time from just breathing this air I'm breathing now. I felt diseased but the disease means nothing because the abyss also took any significance out of diseases. It's amoral and I'm drawn to amorality but it is also horrible. And I questioned my amorality - I always saw it as liberating and unjudgemental - but does it even mean anything? My mind went in circles and I was staring right at the abyss. The attraction to the abyss was strong but it made my optimism stronger as well. And I realised that to be in the abyss would be to be extremely selfindulgent and to be out of it would be a sheer disregard for one's own life because you just go ahead with doing things without weighing the severity of the situation, like how I was so optimistic about not dying a the a&e it almost cost my life. I could have sunk completely into the abyss but I held on to the question that is unanswered that triggered all this. The answer, I believed would have been able to determine if I'd be in the abyss or not, but the unanswered-ness was a promise, or rather a possibility of being out of the abyss and I held on to it. I understand the struggles of an optimist so much now. The struggle of being at an inbetween is the worst because it makes the opposing forces so much stronger. I never felt so much like an optimist, until now that I have to battle against an infinite force that has its allures.
I am writing this because I am a collector and archivist. Maybe also because I invest too much in insignificant things I see value in everything. This also made me toy with the idea of stopping the meds (side effects: depression, mania, psychosis) and saving it for later when I have the luxury of time to be dysfunctional. But I thought again that this is only so intense because I have work to complete.
I put myself to sleep by looping a song that offered me some comfort and control and told me this whole bullshit was meds-induced. It did help to numb out the pull of the abyss a little but I woke up to it anyway.
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