Tomorrow is Today

The thing that scares me the most about depression is that when you look at people who lived with it their whole long lives you see that yeah, there are highs and lows and there are mountains and fucking pits so deep  you fall right into the inner-most circle of hell. And they do fall. Even if there's therapy and coping and even if they learn how to be useful members of society, even if - on paper - they have a good life, a strong support system, they still do fall. The lucky ones only once or twice. Be it substance abuse or a sudden attempt at taking their own lives, or even just general apathy, it is hell.

It's really hard to keep going, to keep fighting to get better if the only thing I can possibly gain is to resurface, have a few okay years, maybe a couple of really good moments only to fall right back to where I am now, to where I've been before. It would be so much easier to just let go, to drift away to a safe place and never to come out again. To be numb. 

They say (I say so too) that when you experience trauma (say, rape for instance) the best way to get through it is to let your muscles relax because then it will hurt less, to let your mind escape what your body can't because only then will you be able to get up after and get help. You can't do that when you're a sobbing mess having a panic attack going fetal in a corner of a dark room. 

After experiencing something like that, after realizing that this method works not only in such dire situations but with anything unpleasant whatsoever, it's really hard to be present and deal with things in the moment, as they happen. It's so much easier to just let your mind slip back to a safe place and pretend. 

And then you fight because you still have some will to live, or maybe you just can't stand the look on your loved ones' face anymore, and you work hard and it's such a slow build but finally you breathe freely again and are just fine, really, truly fine, only to have life beat the crap out of you the next week. To be able to resist slipping, all your life, that's not humane. It's really similar to an addiction. You never truly heal.

So it's fucking hard to see why the hell I should go through all of it again and again.

Don't worry, I'm not suicidal, my therapist said so. I just have to get these things out sometimes because if I keep them in it gets too hard and you see the pattern. 

You know the saying about hell and the going. Well, I'm not sure if that going is fueled by that much alcohol it still counts as going and not just crawling, but hey, at least it sounds profound and powerful. 

Hello there, depression

can't say I missed you, go the fuck away.

The little things suddenly make me incredibly mad again, and some of those little things are even worth getting mad about.

Does the saying 'treat others as you'd like to be treated' mean nothing anymore? To anyone? Or maybe I should just take a fucking hint and treat you like shit, walk all over you and care only about what I need in that particular moment? I blame my parents obviously, they taught me to be respectful and considerate and all that shit but what do they know, right?


So everyone can just go and suck themselves. Don't have a penis? Why yes, here's my vibrator, I'll lend it to you, you know, just to be fucking accommodating.

Where earth and sky meet

I only met you once. You were all easy smiles and infectious laughter, you were really there, in the moment, up on the stage, you gave everything and you just loved every second of it.

You represented everything I love about music; the hard work and dedication, the joy, the emotion, the appreciation.

And you genuinely cared. Even months after that show you still remembered all that we talked about, you asked about our projects, our little lives that so briefly intertwined with yours.

I hate that I only met you once. I hate that we did not talk more often. I hate that I did not get around teaching you all the Hungarian swearwords, that I did not get to see you perform with your own band. I hate that now I never will.

At twenty-nine you have more of a legacy than most people I know will have at eighty-eight.

I will never forget you Simon. Rest in peace. 

Death happens to all those around you

I was trying to figure out what to say, but there are no words really.

Because when someone dies at the age of twenty-fucking-nine there is really not all that much to say.

It was a privilege to meet you, to talk to you, to laugh with you. I'll never ever forget you. 

I hope you find peace Simon. 

Mind=blown

The human mind is the greatest sex toy ever.

Yeah, my night is ruined.

Wait what

If you, dear reader, speak my lovely mother tongue - Hungarian that is - kindly get yo ass over here. My other blog. That from now on I shall continue. And I'll write here too. I'm that awesome and interesting.

Always

I love that after all this time, after having seen all the movies countless times, after crushing on various actors to various degrees in various periods of my life I still see Harry Potter & Co.in my head the way I did when I read the first book for the first time. Whenever I think of them as adults I see the features of the children they used to be, I see the the fingerprints of the joy and sorrow of their lives, the small wrinkles, the little things, the signature movements.

Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home, and that's the most important thing Rowling thought me, not the whole love conquers all evil and the values of friendship and all that.

She showed me that literature, that fantasy will always be there for you to turn to whenever you need it the most, that the stories live on in your head if you want them to, and if you don't like the ending, you can just close your eyes and pretend, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.