Today I woke up at 8 am to go to my 9am classes which last until 12 o clock noon. I went back to sleep soon after but set consecutive alarms so I could miss one class but go to the next and then the next after that. I didn’t go to any of them. I then slept until 3 pm. Better to be asleep than to punish myself mentally with feelings of guilt and failure. And most of all the feeling that I am incapable. It was around this time that I started to doubt that I even battle with depression. That maybe I’m just not as strong as everyone else and that I need to get my shit together. Simply put, that this is my fault. That I am fully responsible for my emotions.

I know this to be false.

Had lunch with the host parents. After that, I did my homework. Doing the homework helps a little to make me feel as though my time is not completely wasted. I start thinking about how I should finish this damn story I’m working on only to be confronted with the thought that it won’t be any good anyway and that if I add to it now it will be a waste. Most of my writing now looks to me as if it was written by a naive child. I used to be proud of my work. I also used to wear a seatbelt. Making a playlist might help but only if I can get myself to enjoy music first, which today seems hard. I whistle to distract myself as I take my book and the bag of tobacco out for a walk. I get one beer, and drink it while crying on the phone with my mom. She shouldn’t have to hear this, nor should she have to cry about it, but she does. More pain. Pain I know is my fault. I continue my walk over to the park, still crying on the phone. I hang up; the call is over and I feel worse. I think about how I could never cry and now I can’t stop. What’s happening to me?

My problem here is a lack of distractions, except for the general beauty of life in Spain. School frustrates me as I grapple with the loss of a productive semester. I now think of my ability to speak Spanish as worse than ever. I used to be proud of that too. Now it only brings regret and a sort of toxic motivation telling me that I will never be satisfied with it and that I must continue to study. I can speak Spanish enough but it’s not enough for me. I find myself often reaching out for help to my friends now more than ever, a perverse dichotomy to my environment. How long will this bout last I think, hundreds of times a day?

I haven’t done much else today but just sit around so now I think I’ll read a little to take my mind off of everything.

The hardest part is hurting the people you love with your pain. They are all tired of hearing about it, just as tired of hearing about it as I am eager for it to be over. But it continues and I'm thankful that I have not completely exhausted my loved ones' ability to care for me.

It’s hard to feel hopeless but know there is hope. I know how I feel this way, and I know why, but it doesn’t help to know.

Sleep sometimes is the only option. I’m glad people sleep half of the day.

I don’t want to be accommodated. I want to help.

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