It feels as though I understand

I’ve never written this down before. Actually I have, but only hours after Dad died. This is different.

For the past few nights, I’ve been mournful and sad. I don’t know why. And the music I’ve been listening to during these dark evenings (so to speak) has had an affect on my mood too (although the choice of music and one’s mood is very much a chicken and egg situation; do you choose the music because of your mood, or does your mood dictate which type of music you want to hear?)

Despite the sadness, I’ve felt at one with the world. I know why I’m here, why we’re all here and what we’re supposed to be doing. I feel I know all my friends better than I usually do, intrinsically connected. I’m acutely aware of living on a planet, of living on land surrounded by sea, hurtling around a sun. I know I will die. I know everyone who ever reads this will also be dead one day soon, and feel elated at the possibilities of taking advantage of this short life.

I almost feel as though I’m hallucinating, kidding myself that I’m not really thinking these things. And although I’m aware of feeling down, flat and lethargic, I’m also mildly euphoric because it feels as though I get it. I understand, nearly. How can anything matter when we’re only here for such a short space of time?
I don’t, of course. And I’ll wake up with the same pangs of nerves and excitement tomorrow as I always do. It’s moments like tonight where everything seems within reach, nothing is impossible, all the while painfully aware that it’s just my confused head making no sense at all.

We’re not supposed to know or understand our being. Aged six, so my Mother tells me, I made a comment about life. I had done something like dropped a mug of juice on the floor, staining the carpet, and she was understandably fuming. After we had both kissed and made up our differences, sat on the sofa, cuddling, I apparently asked her why any of it matters. She can’t remember the exact words, but that feeling of “Nothing Fucking Matters” has remained with me all my life.

I don’t know why I’m here. And though this can spur me on to live life to the full, it won’t. Temporary enlightenment is better than none at all, I suppose.

Enlightenment through migraines

I’ve written about my anxiety and depression in spades. Not just here, and not just the written word, but thought about and pondered for nearly eight years. The upside to depression, or whatever you choose to call it, is a feeling of enlightenment.

If you’ve ever had a migraine, you might know what I mean. I used to get them as a teenager quite regularly (rubbish; I used to get two per year, which is not at all regular). One of my legs, sometimes both, would be rendered useless; I would lose my sight, start to feel sick before the most horrendous headache would take over for hours and hours, so bad that even aged 20 it would reduce me to tears. That said, they were nothing more than migraines and I now only get them infrequently and have all but grown out of them.

However, once the headache subsided I would reach a high. It’s a feeling no drug could induce, or anything you can do justice to simply writing about it. The best way to describe it would be feeling as though you’ve been flushed out; the migraine felt like the devil playing havoc, and it would be exorcised out of your body. Afterwards, you feel 100 times better than you did before you had the migraine; elated, fresh, energetic, happy, alive…amazing.

Reason I’m writing this is depression can also act like a migraine. Recovering from a low stint, too, can raise my spirits incredibly. Music does this too. So although I feel elated this evening, that’s only because I’m consumed by thoughts of WHY THE FUCK AM I HERE, a notion familiar to most people but one which is usually ignored. Tonight, I can’t ignore it.

The other aspect is a thought I’ve often been troubled by, that perhaps I feel I’m more deserving of happiness than others. I haven’t had the toughest of lives, but I haven’t had it easy either. Even now, I struggle a lot. I have no money. Neither does any of my family. I’m nearly bankrupt, in fact. And I think to myself “is it wrong that I feel I deserve to be happy?” I feel I have so much to offer, but can’t imagine anyone appreciating how much I DO have to offer and that’s my own fault; insecurities, inability to open up to people and my own dogmatic refusal to “just be myself”.

Really confused now. I wish I could have a migraine.