January 3rd, 1998
Depression rerun
Here's something I wrote more than a year ago, during my greatest depression ever. I thought it was pretty good, if somewhat somber, and I put it up here to show how deep my depression was at the time, and also because it's worth thinking about. And no, I'm not depressed at the moment, and don't think I'll sink that low again anytime soon. If you want to read the original text in swedish, I have it here as well.
August 27th, 1996
I'm sitting here making up excuses for not trying to get back to the U.S.A.
What's my fucking problem, anyway?
Why am I happy with rotting away here, when I can do so many better things? Why don't I care?
Why do I love without caring?
IS THIS ALL I HAVE TO LOOK FORWARD TO?
Is it finally over? I go from harboring a deathwish to some kind of spastic joy over being alive.
By why am I alive? I don't have a goal, nothing driving me, nothing AFFECTS me.
Not even love can make me care about anything, or anyone.
Can depression be genetical? If it is I guess I'll have to live (for however long) with this one. Nancy can always take a pill and go on, at least she's got someone to live for, someone to take care of.
But who needs me?
I'm rings on the water surface, and no one will mourn for very long when I'm dead. Sure, you'll be sad. Sad because I'm gone, because you couldn't keep me here with your gifts. You wanted someone who needed you, and I did. But what did I give you, except demands, screams for help?
Who of you got something from me you'll remember forever?
No one.
I've became so dependent on you that I can't die until I've paid my debts to you. And they are great. Youve' given me money, food, sympathy and love, and I rewarded you by withdrawing, denied even to myself that I love you, need you, and that you are there for me.
I'm just not there for you when you need me. That's when I'm sitting on a rock by the ocean, wondering what I've done with my life. The truth is that I have no life.
You gave me your lives, and I use them for as long as they'll last.
But I'm nobody. No one remembers me, no one needs me.
You accept me because you think you have to, and in a way you're right.
The day you stop feeding me life I'll simply cease to exist.
I long for that day. Sometimes I really long for it.
But don't worry, I'll still be here tomorrow.
Maybe I'll even find someone who need sme, someone I can give some life to.
You have no power to give until you meet someone who needs it. So I'm still small and weak.
Don't save me.
Let me save you.