8.12.2020: On Depression and Thrift Shopping
I need to return to my passions, even though they seem miles away from where I am now. If I were more pessimistic, I would say that mental illness and trauma have made me a shell of a man, but I long ago chose to accept that calling myself such a thing would be reductionist at best and dehumanizing at worst. Even now, as I sit in my half-organized office space, I find myself at a loss for what the correct term for myself would be. I'm so goddamn disillusioned that my own brain is starting to look like a scam, and my love of science as little more than something encouraged in my growing brain for economic benefit.
But at the end of the tunnel I see all these things that inspire me: the return to college, the end of my nightmarish dental procedure, and the knowledge that I donated so many childish things yesterday. Someone, somewhere, will be made happy by the things I no longer want, and for today, that is enough.
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