Rut

Well, 2014 hasn’t got off to a flying start.

The current state of my depression reminds me of that period in the WWE when the Hardcore Title was in constant contention, anywhere, anytime. The holder would walk around with a constant lingering awareness of their impending downfall until the Holly family would jump out of a skip and beat them half to death with a plank of wood.

You monsters.

In real terms, this has recently manifested itself as sudden bouts of crying on train journeys. A trapdoor opens and my mood drops so rapidly I can hardly breathe. There is no discernible reason for it. There is no depression championship to take from me. If there were, I would willingly surrender it.

I am entrenched in the deepest rut of my life. I start this year jobless, single, living at home, and carrying about a stone of Christmas weight which is inexplicably not being shifted by sitting around and eating cake.

You could say the only way is up. If S Club 7 taught me anything it’s that I should reach for the stars. But it feels impossible to improve my life without getting a job. In the last year and a bit I’ve applied for over 300 jobs. That has netted me 3 interviews, all of which have resulted in failure.

Last week I interviewed for an exciting job. It was something I would love to do, and for once I was very qualified to do it. I bought a new set of interview clothes (based entirely on Jim Halpert from The US Office), spent a couple of days researching and preparing, and put every drop of energy I had during the interview into pretending that I don’t hate myself. I didn’t get the job.

Fuck you, S Club 7!

It feels like if I could get a job I would be able to move out again, afford to go and do the occasional fun thing, meet new people and make friends to do this with, maybe meet a girl. Unbelievably, girls aren’t terribly keen on unemployed 26 year olds who live with their mother. Most importantly, I wouldn’t feel so utterly worthless. I know that this is mostly wishful thinking. A job is not going to cure my depression. Nothing will. But it might be the gateway to improving my life. It has to be better than spending every day in my bedroom singing Van Der Graaf Generator songs to the cat.

The cat really hates Van Der Graaf Generator

It’s difficult to live in the total absence of hope. I feel like I’m falling apart, and I don’t know how to stop it.

I’d like to try and end this depressive ramble on a more positive note. I often feel very lonely. When I write things like this the majority of people choose to ignore it. I understand it’s not nice to read, and many will think I’m a moaner who should simply cheer up. But despite the silence that greets things like this, I have noticed a few people making indirect efforts to be supportive. I appreciate it greatly.

And to the handful of people who have been willing to talk to me directly about these things, particularly to those who just take the time to check that I’m okay, I thank you from the bottom of my shrivelled heart. It means the world.