Depression,  OCD,  Suicidal Thoughts

Musing on Impossible Choices & Isolation

So… I’ve spent the last week on a vacation with some of my family.

Now, under the best of circumstances? My OCD makes interacting with others, socializing, and just existing challenging. This has been doubly true in the midst of a pandemic.

That said… I’m at a particularly low point that’s been lasting for months now. Granted, clinical depression is marked by such lows. But…this has felt different. Worse, even.

So… I came on this trip hoping it would be something of a saving grace for me.

That I’d reconnect with family, find inspiration in the scenic beauty of these captivating shores, and recommit myself to personal projects such as writing & the development of this site.

I did achieve some degree of success in terms of those goals. While this domain hasn’t been developed fully and the theme/design in place leaves much to be desired, the site itself is live and functional – and I’ve begun writing content for it.

Additionally, I managed to write some fictional content (and edit some older content) as well.


While my family strives to be loving and supportive? They understand little about OCD and my limitations. And…so much my interactions with them serve to validate my ‘otherness’ and ‘foreignness’ within this family unit.

And… While I can’t help but admire the entrancing beauty of these shores, I don’t feel the connection that I used to.

I think… The nostalgia and connection I once felt for this place faded when I lost the ability to share it with someone else.

A part of me just feels like if I can’t find inspiration here… How the hell am I deluded enough to imagine I’ll find it back in my isolated prison of home?

It makes me increasingly feel that I should just give up.

Just…that I should stop metaphorically treading water, and let the water/currents end what has been an unremarkable and pained life.

I know my death would burden and hurt those I love. But… I’m to the point of feeling like there’s no ‘good’ ending to this story, so perhaps it’s time to settle for a tragic one.

And, honestly, as much as my death may sadden those I love? In the grander scheme of things, they’d unquestionably be better for it.

They’d be less annoyed by my consistent depression, anxiety, and neurosis. Less obligated to listen/help. Less put out by my brokenness and neediness.

…it would be but a momentary pain for them, and an ending of pain for me.

Maybe that’s really what is best for everyone.

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