My day was going OK. No real problems at work (one or two small mistakes… it’s possible I over-emphasise ‘mistakes’ here) and I wrote 500 words or so of my Doctor Who book during lunch (on Black Orchid… come back Nick Pegg, all is forgiven), but I had growing anxiety once the day was over and I was leaving, which seemed bizarre, then a torrent of unfocused agitation, anxiety and despair on the way home. At least, I think that’s what it was. It was hard to tell. It was just feelings without words and I’m not good and describing and understanding those. I felt like I was imploding. I couldn’t concentrate on the book I was reading, although to be fair it was pretty heavy-going.
The doctor phoned while I was on the way home, a follow-up from last week’s appointment. I agreed with him that changing medication probably wouldn’t do anything, but I silently disagreed that I would naturally feel better over time. I probably didn’t stress enough that this episode has lasted for about six months now, long before my sister’s wedding and even before the work stress really started. However, as I’m not convinced there is much he (or even a psychiatrist) can do for me, I don’t really feel inclined to make another appointment at this time.
I hope to speak to my rabbi mentor on Sunday. The whole situation is silly. I want to be a frum (religious) Jew. According to objective analysis, I’m probably doing at least some of the things a frum Jew should be doing, insofar as I can with my mental health issues. But I’m convinced that I’m a terrible Jew with no share in Olam HaBa (the Next World/Heaven) and that there is no reason for me to carry on living because I’m just accumulating sins. It’s hard to disprove a belief that’s so nebulous, but so persuasive.
I feel like I need to do something to fight the inertia and misery that have taken over my life in the last six or seven months. I’m not sure what. I don’t have a career as such. I don’t really have the energy for career-furthering things. I can barely cope with having a job, let alone a career, and I have no expectation of rising particularly high up the promotion ladder. Looking at books on childcare at work to decide whether to withdraw them makes me feel broody. The thought occurs to me that I should chase the shadchan (matchmaker) to whom I sent my dating profile over a fortnight ago without even getting an acknowledgement back, but I’m too ashamed (of what? Why? I don’t know) and pessimistic, not to mention convinced that I’m unlovable and half convinced that I’m about to go off the derekh (stop being frum) and shouldn’t go near either frum women for fear that I will end up non-frum. It’s also painful to feel attracted to women in a normal way when I know that no one could find me attractive, physically or as a person. That said, I was better when I was dating in spring and early summer of 2017 and breaking up with the person I thought I was building a relationship with (even though we only went on four dates) was the trigger for this episode of depression or at least for an existing episode to worsen. So that inclines me to try again, but also makes me worry what will happen if (when) I get dumped again.
Actually, it’s very hard to go on in any way when I think I’m going to be stuck forever. It’s hard to succeed at work or carry on religiously or contact friends or be involved with community or contact family when life seems so bleak and intransigent. I suppose I carry on somehow, or, at any rate, I have done for fifteen years or more, but I’m not sure how.