I don’t know what to call it – anxiety, depression, chronic sadness – regardless, there’s a psych term for it, I’m just not quite sure which. 

I’ve had self diagnosed anxiety ever since I can remember – my family tends to wear our anxiety as a badge of honour – and recently, in the last few years it’s been properly diagnosed, I think. 

But hey, with the suicidal thoughts, self harm and complete crazy over the years I’m pretty sure it’s real.

I’m feeling this incredible sense of loss of control – this is usually when I need something concrete – generally the completely identifiable pain of a blade slicing shallowly through the surface of my skin. That’s sensation – it may hurt like a mother, but it’s anything but insipid. 

And right now, I’m drowning in a sea of insipidness. It’s so insipid I’m actually listening to the lyrics of songs I’m playlist, I don’t have the energy, to work, to cry, to feel but it should pass – I guess.

Only right now I’m in a never ending tunnel, of murky unsurety – I don’t know what the future holds, but I don’t like the present and I hope the future doesn’t mirror it. 


3 thoughts on “Insipidness 

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