Donde la claridad misma es noche oscura
The title of the post is the title of a book from a latin-american writer, I haven't figured out an english phrase which transmit the same degree of despair as the spanish title. Any sugestion is welcome. Hey people, write some comments, will you?, it's lonely here..
By the way, last time I wrote I was expecting, and somehow feeling, the effects of the prozac. I though it was starting to work on me. But oh my, was I more wrong? Not only it hasn't worked, but I'm feeling more depressed than before. I feel void, never the title of this blog was more accurate, heck. I have stopped any writing of my thesis, and the course I'm taking this summer is going not too good, to say the least.
It seems like if anything I do, I don't get any pleasure from it. That's one of the symptoms of the depression, I know, but hey, why doesn't the medication work? For a concrete experience: say I'm at home and I start thinking what nice would it be to go to the nearest bookstore, drink a capuccino, browse over some books, maybe buy a couple of books I may find interesting, spend some leisure time. Then, I go to the bookstore. And it happens that the reverse thinking occurs to me: I long to go back to home, and rest, and watch some tv and maybe read some book (isn't that ironic). But I know when I get back to home the reality will not be as I imagine. And that closes the circle.
I think it is clear that I want to escape from me. But everywhere I go, I am there, no escape, only the expectation of escaping, that's the only time I feel some relief. But, by definition, it is transitory. Pretty gloomy post, huh? Well, that's the topic of this blog.
By the way, last time I wrote I was expecting, and somehow feeling, the effects of the prozac. I though it was starting to work on me. But oh my, was I more wrong? Not only it hasn't worked, but I'm feeling more depressed than before. I feel void, never the title of this blog was more accurate, heck. I have stopped any writing of my thesis, and the course I'm taking this summer is going not too good, to say the least.
It seems like if anything I do, I don't get any pleasure from it. That's one of the symptoms of the depression, I know, but hey, why doesn't the medication work? For a concrete experience: say I'm at home and I start thinking what nice would it be to go to the nearest bookstore, drink a capuccino, browse over some books, maybe buy a couple of books I may find interesting, spend some leisure time. Then, I go to the bookstore. And it happens that the reverse thinking occurs to me: I long to go back to home, and rest, and watch some tv and maybe read some book (isn't that ironic). But I know when I get back to home the reality will not be as I imagine. And that closes the circle.
I think it is clear that I want to escape from me. But everywhere I go, I am there, no escape, only the expectation of escaping, that's the only time I feel some relief. But, by definition, it is transitory. Pretty gloomy post, huh? Well, that's the topic of this blog.
