Between Franz Ferdinand and Oasis' appearance in my dream earlier this week, another band appeared. And as they sang, blood spurted from my wrists. Blood flowed out of my eyes. And before me, I saw all my friends and family dying. And they blamed me...
To all whom I love...
This entry is the last I will write for a period of time which I cannot determine for you. I cannot determine it for myself. This could be the last entry I write on suffian.blogspot.com for weeks, or months. It could even be the last entry ever.
This entry serves two purposes: as an announcement, which you have read earlier. It is also an explanation. I am facing depression for an extensive period of time now. I've had a 5-year struggle with it, always standing up against it with an innate confidence and positivity. An innate confidence and positivity that was slowly worn away as issue after issue, problem after problem, attacked my mind.
Every now and then, I let my guard down, thinking depression was not bugging me anymore. But there was no stopping it. For years now, my life has been a cycle of forced happiness, and moderate depression.
For 5 years, I've experienced a marked decrease in self-esteem. I am not as comfortable as I used to be, in front of a crowd. Every day when I look in the mirror, I no longer see the smooth, jovial, handsome face of the 14-year-old who loved himself and all around him. Now I see the blackened, dirty face of a 19-year-old weighed down by fear, loneliness, isolation and melancholy.
Things I used to find intensely enjoyable, have become monotonous to me. I no longer have fun while playing soccer. Soccer has become an arena for me to prove myself. I never did prove myself. I was never satisfied. Soccer was no longer fun; it was a dirty race. And everybody, from my team to the other, seemed to make me angry. Most of all, however, I made myself angriest. I was angriest at myself. Sometimes, as I made mistakes on the pitch I would not normally do 5 years before, or as I played with uncertainty and hesitation, I wondered, what happened to the soccer player who was the star of 2E2? The star of 6J? An entire team rested their hopes on me, and I could shoulder it with style and an explosive self-belief. What happened to that guy? And I start wondering, what in fuck am I doing here? I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't play anymore. You're dead, Suff. The fires of your passion are dead.
I seem to have lost the ability to feel certain emotions. I do not feel the way I used to, with my heart and soul. I have not experienced the great joy I felt while talking to my friends in the past. Whatever I feel would be shortlived, killed a few moments after it came alive. So slowly I forgot what it was like to be trememndously happy. Slowly, I forgot what it was like to truly believe in something and hold on to it. Slowly I forgot how to be a leader of men. Slowly, I forgot...myself.
I am very tired. Both physically and mentally.
The emotions that weigh in my heart are those of constant guilt at something I do not know. I feel anxious all the time, wanting to achieve something, or get something done, but not knowing what. I carry with me a dread to talk to people, to look them in the eye. What is it that I fear when I look into their eyes? That they can read me? That I can read them? That I am just insecure about the way I look, physically? I do not know.
I am depressed, and this hiatus in blogging will end when I overcome this. I have denied any form of depression my entire life. It was against my beliefs, to be depressed. It was against who I am. But 5 years of fighting it has left me weak, and I am now at a point where I need help.
So I am going to find it. Either I help myself, or I seek professional treatment. Either way, this blog will cease to be until my heart weighs light again.
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