Back to the “now what?”

Or as the illustration words it “What now?”

On several fronts, too.

The translation project I was working on ended yesterday, so it should be back to the job hunt and the learning for me. But Depression says “Hold the fuck up, man, not so fast!”

It’s 12:30 PM on a Monday, gloomy, wet weather outside and that alone makes me feel like listening to Szomorú Vasárnap by Hungarian pianist Rezső Seress, a song dubbed “The Hungarian Suicide Song” — English title: Gloomy Sunday.

Literal English translation of the original lyrics:

Gloomy Sunday with a hundred white flowers
I was waiting for you my dearest with a prayer
A Sunday morning, chasing after my dreams
The carriage of my sorrow returned to me without you
It is since then that my Sundays have been forever sad
Tears my only drink, the sorrow my bread…
Gloomy Sunday

This last Sunday, my darling please come to me
There’ll be a priest, a coffin, a catafalque and a winding-sheet
There’ll be flowers for you, flowers and a coffin
Under the blossoming trees it will be my last journey
My eyes will be open, so that I could see you for a last time
Don’t be afraid of my eyes, I’m blessing you even in my death…
The last Sunday

As for the reason behind all this gloom?

There’s nothing really to keep my mind occupied, the weather’s shitty, and I invited this anxiety back into my own life by contacting my ex — Fuck were you even thinking, bud? Yes, now we’re following each other, what for though? I tried to short circuit our communication in emails by just writing a one-line response, making sure I don’t ask questions and don’t write anything that would invite an answer. Sure enough, she then sent me a private message on social media… Like she wants to keep the communication going? What for?
If there’s nothing in the way of a shared future for us to talk about, then I don’t really wanna talk about anything. All I wanted was to reassure my own ego and secretly too kind heart with finding out she doesn’t hate me anymore and she doesn’t think I’m a horrible person. That was it.

But now with her virtual presence back in my life, I’m back to the constant anxiety she was giving me. Wanting her to reply, but when she does, wondering what she meant by this, or that, etc. You did this to yourself, buddy. You have said a couple of times that she’s the type who sabotages themselves, yet here you are acting that very type yourself.

The other girl I’ve been talking to recently, I don’t know. I don’t want anything serious from her, nor should I want anything, she’s not the type to want those things from. She’s beautiful and I really dig the fact that she digs me. But I think that’s it. Man, I want the hot sex, but I’d love affection too.

I had two messages from recruiters on LinkedIn, but even those things just give me anxiety. I don’t want to deal with this whole thing, I really don’t, even though I know I have to.
I need a job, I need something to get a steady stream of income, and then we could see where to go from there, but man, Depression makes me feel this bad love for the bitter warmth of the known, the usual, the routine. Which, in reality, is not good for me. I fucking hate it. Depression makes me love and want what I hate.

Hey Depression, eat a dick, you fuck!



This is my De(com)pression Chamber, a vehicle I use to (com)municate my thoughts to decompress as I, hopefully, emerge from the depths of depression.

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Decompression Chamber

This is my De(com)pression Chamber, a vehicle I use to (com)municate my thoughts to decompress as I, hopefully, emerge from the depths of depression.