whatevs
Mining for copium in the weirdest places.
- Jan 15, 2022
- 2,914
Aprox 2 years ago (because as you know depression isn't kind on your memory, it has to be 'aprox'), I had two strangely enjoyable weeks. Why I'm sharing this will be disclosed by the end.
I was here at home, minding my own aimlessness and alienation, when my aunt phoned my mother. My aunt has several chronic illnesses and at that time still had her whole body covered with painful spots from cancer. She had called my mother because she needed someone to go with her to the country's capital and help her while she received proton showers for the spots.
It was summer and having no friends and no energy I also had no plans. I appreciate my aunt but to me it was just an excuse to go the capital, if we are being honest. So off I went. It was stressful to navigate on my own as I have barely "adulted" due to my miserable health problems keeping me caged at home like a manchild, but I made it to the cancer patients residence. I was in such high spirits that I uploaded a misguiding cheerful pic to OKCupid using the newfound attitude the city was seemingly imbuing me with.
So it was a large building for people receiving treatment for cancer, and there was something in the atmosphere that I really liked. For starters, people were positively predisposed to me. I was that nice guy, probably his son, that was spending part of his holidays cooking for his ill mother and supporting her. People in the residence were always amiable and it also felt like the city, the environment, was making me feel alive, like I had a future. In the evenings I would wander around in the parks, read or chat with the patients and their relatives. Some looked like they were going to die, some of them were recovering.
Then one day this strange period of not feeling bitter and hopeless had to end. My aunt's husband was waiting at the entrance with his car and an impatient look on his face, and then he threw our baggage to the back after hurling a shockingly contemptive and resentful remark to my aunt. That fucker was complaining to her for having to come and get us! Uh oh, the world I knew was coming back. He would divorce her 1 year later.
Later on, when my father was waiting for me in the airport, I felt an awfully strange sense of dread. Had I just missed my opportunity to escape? It was a visceral feeling of repulse. Not just at my dad, which is a very flawed individual but whom I appreciate nonetheless, but at what he represented. A visceral feeling that condensed emotionally the realization that I was coming back to a life that had no future, in a place I hated.
I've lately favoured the idea that I would be unhappy no matter where or with whom, but I have to wonder... It's true that I felt better out of this city and far from my family. If you knew them, you'd see why this might make sense.
Either way, I don't have the energy or means to test this hypothesis now. This all remains as the peculiar time in which whatevs felt content with life thanks to living in a residence for cancer patients and the relatives that took care of them.
I was here at home, minding my own aimlessness and alienation, when my aunt phoned my mother. My aunt has several chronic illnesses and at that time still had her whole body covered with painful spots from cancer. She had called my mother because she needed someone to go with her to the country's capital and help her while she received proton showers for the spots.
It was summer and having no friends and no energy I also had no plans. I appreciate my aunt but to me it was just an excuse to go the capital, if we are being honest. So off I went. It was stressful to navigate on my own as I have barely "adulted" due to my miserable health problems keeping me caged at home like a manchild, but I made it to the cancer patients residence. I was in such high spirits that I uploaded a misguiding cheerful pic to OKCupid using the newfound attitude the city was seemingly imbuing me with.
So it was a large building for people receiving treatment for cancer, and there was something in the atmosphere that I really liked. For starters, people were positively predisposed to me. I was that nice guy, probably his son, that was spending part of his holidays cooking for his ill mother and supporting her. People in the residence were always amiable and it also felt like the city, the environment, was making me feel alive, like I had a future. In the evenings I would wander around in the parks, read or chat with the patients and their relatives. Some looked like they were going to die, some of them were recovering.
Then one day this strange period of not feeling bitter and hopeless had to end. My aunt's husband was waiting at the entrance with his car and an impatient look on his face, and then he threw our baggage to the back after hurling a shockingly contemptive and resentful remark to my aunt. That fucker was complaining to her for having to come and get us! Uh oh, the world I knew was coming back. He would divorce her 1 year later.
Later on, when my father was waiting for me in the airport, I felt an awfully strange sense of dread. Had I just missed my opportunity to escape? It was a visceral feeling of repulse. Not just at my dad, which is a very flawed individual but whom I appreciate nonetheless, but at what he represented. A visceral feeling that condensed emotionally the realization that I was coming back to a life that had no future, in a place I hated.
I've lately favoured the idea that I would be unhappy no matter where or with whom, but I have to wonder... It's true that I felt better out of this city and far from my family. If you knew them, you'd see why this might make sense.
Either way, I don't have the energy or means to test this hypothesis now. This all remains as the peculiar time in which whatevs felt content with life thanks to living in a residence for cancer patients and the relatives that took care of them.
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