Through my entire time at public school (K-12) I found school typically easy. I enjoyed learning, paid attention in class, and could remember things easily on tests. I did start struggling a bit in high school with remembering everything, but a quick revision before exams was usually plenty.
In college, I struggled because half of the learning was not done in class (readings and projects, mostly), and I'd never had to do so much independent studying before. I'd complete the projects, but my eyes glazed over when reading and I retained nothing, so I soon stopped even trying that. By some miracle, I still scored well enough to pass all of my classes, but not by much.
I was a bookworm growing up. Reading wasn't something I'd struggled with. Even dry, technical writing. I'd been known to read programming manuals for the humour.
It wasn't the fact that I was reading that was the problem, but I didn't like doing homework so I didn't question it. Well, I was confused and mildly concerned, but not enough to do anything about it.
Now, I sometimes forget things that most people consider habit. Like listening to a conversation I'm in. Or what I'm supposed to do when the timer goes off. Or putting on shoes before leaving the house. (Sometimes, though, I can even remember socks!)
This morning I was doing a questionnaire. I enjoy doing them. Often just because they get me to think about things I otherwise wouldn't. This one was about prunes. Do I eat them? In what scenarios? (Occasionally, and as a tasty snack. I haven't had them in a while. If I buy some now, is that responding to advertisement?) I got to the end of the thing and it asked if I had any feedback to improve the quiz at all. I had the fleeting recollection that I'd had a thought about the final question (one page previous), but could remember absolutely nothing beyond that.
Today I'm in a fog. I have been for a couple of days now, but it really settled in yesterday.
It's not a dark place, not scary or sad.
It's empty.
There are dishes everywhere that need to be washed, laundry that needs to be done, and probably other stuff. Last night I made a list. I broke it down into tiny increments (gather dishes to kitchen sink, sort laundry) like I've been taught. I promised to reward myself for every tiny increment, likely with chocolate.
Actions and consequences have become arbitrary, and all the brainpower I have is going into sitting at the computer. I try to gather dishes, and I don't have enough hands to pick them all up at once. Or I go to do laundry and there's more in the basket than fits in the machine. I can't figure out what to do from there. I'm like a terribly programmed AI. More Artificial than Intelligence.
For those of you wondering how I can still write like this, it's simple. I put my hands on the keyboard and the words type themselves, like usual. I can't reread what I've written ever. If I need something proofread, I hand it to someone else. Otherwise I'll hate it. That's just how that works. I occasionally try to write a novel (same one every time) but I have to restart it every time I want to change one little thing. I've stalled out at 20k words at least five times now.
This is the side of depression that took me the longest to see. Everyone talks about the darkness. Very few talk about the grey fluff.
No motivation, because nothing matters.
No rewards, because they aren't that appealing anyways.
I can feel myself trying to get frustrated at it. I don't want to be here. But I don't feel anything.
Darkness spurs me into action. I get help, and I get better.
Grey fluff encourages indifference. Indifference is exactly what it sounds like: making no difference. Trying things is futile because I always end up back here. The darkness and light balance each other out, so what's the difference in staying the grey?
What I've been told to do in these circumstances is to get up and do the things I used to enjoy, my hobbies, or feel fulfillment from, my chores. Just do them. Yeah, it'll suck at first, but moving means changing, and changing means making a difference, and that's the opposite of indifference.
I miss being able to remember things. My memory has been terribly spotty for years now. I don't know if that'll ever come back. But it's not about coming back. You can't truly get back to who you were before mental illness, because you've been through hell. You are a different person. You are stronger, and have a rougher, survivalist side to you that wasn't there before.
But they never talk about how much of yourself you lose to become strong.
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