Fear factor

Depression seems like an addiction. I don’t even think if an event would affect me. The moment it happens, my stability breaks and I allow myself to get sad over it. “It’s healthy to feel this way every now and then” I tell myself, hoping to focus on something else by the end of the week. But time passes, I spiral downwards and as I come to my senses, it’s been months since I last went out of the house for something other than my job.

I didn’t even know I had been sabotaging my happiness by constantly running into dead ends. They are the only state I know and trust, which easily makes sadness comforting. For the past five years, my worst fear has been losing track of my superficially built state of grace. The way it used to function was by eliminating any stored bad memories, replacing them only with recent ones from up to three years back. That mechanism completely reorganized my mind, messed up with my attitude and I even had to detach from my family. I turned into a different person than the one I should’ve become, had I managed to maintain my character.

Fear of falling back into the emotional hole I had just crawled out of nearly six years ago at the start of this blog had began turning into an obsession by the time I finished my Bachelor’s. Before I knew it, every single action and decision was pedantically centred around the fact that the outcome had to be, at any cost, the most beneficial one for me and any deviation risked loss of my belief in happiness and emotional contentedness. The cracks in that façade started showing when I first said “I’ve built myself a perfect world.”

My realization turned into complaints. I started seeing that the wall I’ve built myself, which protected me from adversities, had in fact become a fragile simulation that I could no longer support, simply because nobody else I know lives like this. Mishaps and failures are not just meant, but they are required to happen, because a perfect world is predisposed to imploding. I’m just not supposed to keep and maintain a wall that high from the rest of the world, because it doesn’t just protect me – it also hides me away.

In order to fix my life, I need to ruin it first. I need to not only start making mistakes, but believe in them as well. My character and it’s issues feel like a hoarder’s house – crammed with everything that has ever left any trace. I need to start throwing trash away and come to terms with the fact that, indeed, there is a possibility that consequences are not necessarily beneficial for me and me only.