Excess baggage

Been so incredibly depressed on and off over the last couple of years. Try to downplay it to people who don’t know me well, but perhaps it’s obvious.

Came on this blog last night and looked through some of the things I’ve written on here, some of which I don’t barely recall writing. Just ramblings, a lot of them having to do with family, probably created while inebriated, several of which I deleted or made private. Not sure why I felt the need to jabber on those topics. Doesn’t illuminate anything to anyone I doubt and probably makes me look like an asshole for speaking ill of people and crazy for sharing so much information. Ah well. I don’t really have any excuse other than a sense of not caring much anymore. Just very tired inside and trying to look back over everything (not all of which wound up written about, this blog being but one little outlet for some of my thoughts) to see if I felt differently or if there were new answers I’d overlooked. But there aren’t. Just makes me feel like a little kid trapped in an adult’s body, still lamenting family members I used to love or despise. People say you’re supposed to put away such trivial concerns once you reach a certain age, but I have the problem of possessing a mind that ruminates on everything. Everything. From meaningless one-time interactions with people to family fights to sexual exploits to feelings I felt over 20 years ago. Have a much harder time remembering more recent events as a result, oddly enough.

Sometimes I do wonder if I am truly going mad. Or are these just a bunch of phases that eventually I’ll work through and come out the other side of? Or are my out-of-wack hormones part of the problem? I don’t know. Why do I still care about the judgments of people I haven’t seen in over a decade? Why does something rude a preacher said to my 14-year-old self still stick around in my mind? Why can’t I let go of the feelings I had as a child toward my mother and that strong desire to be loved by her in kind? Why do I still blush over thoughts of things I’ve done and said or how some people have treated me, reliving humiliation over and over? It’s like I don’t know how to stop it. Somewhere along the way I got trapped inside my head. I recall feeling once upon a time that my little bag of memories was all I really had that no one could take away from me. But why do bad memories so often push to the forefront in my recollection? Wish I could let them go now.

When things go bad, they all rush back, no matter how trivial or irrelevant in the present. It feels so childish, but I’m not sure what to do about it. Recognize it, but then what? Tried blocking them and that doesn’t work for any real length of time. Just trifling memories, pressing in to remind me they’re still here, as if they possess some sort of value. And I guess they did once upon a time. They were my life, immaterial as they may appear to onlookers.

I embarrass myself sharing stuff like this. Don’t know what I’m trying to do here. ha

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2 Responses to Excess baggage

  1. Zach Brown says:

    Dear Byenia: I wish you well in the adventure of life. I will be headed back to Omaha, NE after wandering and pondering for thirty-seven years outside of Nebraska. My IT course of study is going well and I wish for you happiness and a renewed sense of vision for life. And you may wish to access community resources to better deal with your depression. There is courage within your communications.

    • Byenia says:

      Hi Zach,

      I’m glad your course is going well and hope you enjoy returning to Nebraska. Thanks for the well wishes — I do appreciate it. Did some serious soul-searching today while out working and think I’ve come up with a way to use this issue of mine in a more constructive fashion, if I can keep on even keel long enough to carry it out. I’m gonna keep faith and reach out to my people as needed. Thanks for being understanding.

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