On Saturday night as I walked to the beach I started to consider the OCD tendencies which my various psychologists claim I have. When it comes to work I never assumed wanting have quality output was a problem. I don’t go too overboard though if a particular problem interests me then I might spend a bit more time than normal on it. Otherwise my workmates would classify me as one of the most relaxed people up on site.
*blast goes off*
Shot firer: Shot’s away. We’ll go in and check it out once the dust has cleared
Blast controller: Copy that. Take care
Shot firer: It’s ok I’ve got Matt with me
Blast guard: First name ‘don’t’
*laughter over the two-way*
I don’t mind being the guy who doesn’t care at work. You can catch the bosses off guard when you argue with them and it makes the crew listen when you get concerned about something. I guess my low care factor stems from the fact that I don’t consider my job to be worthwhile. It’s just a job. It’s not supposed to be my life (although somehow that is what is has become).
As I walked toward the beach I was trying to find out why I got so worked up when I had nothing to do at home. It is mainly the total absence of a social network that gets me down, and that makes sense. If work isn’t important to me then my time off work must be. Except my time away from work is a joke – I have absolutely no life. So it makes sense that I get upset that I can’t change that. I have no control over other people and no capacity to generate a social network by myself.
As I continued walking though, something didn’t seem right. If I’m so gutted that I don’t have any friends, and I have nothing to do in my spare time, then why do I keep pushing my family away and not feel a thing about it. Surely if I value friendship then family must be important as well.
From this logic the only reason I wouldn’t care about my family is because they aren’t important to me. After spending such a long time trying to hold myself together have I developed neutrality toward my family? This feels bigger than neutrality even, it’s almost hostility.
So as it started to rain I began to wonder why I don’t care about my family. It feels cold to think that, and somehow is doesn’t fit the situation. If that’s not right then my logic is flawed. There is something I’m missing. It’s something I’ve probably forgotten, another secret kept from me by my depression.
When I got to the beach I turned around and went home. Nothing came to me. When I couldn’t find out what was being hidden from me I stopped in a nearby park and sat there for an hour. Still nothing.
In the end I still don’t know why I feel the way I feel. It’s very frustrating when you can’t find out what’s going on in your head. I understand why I would lie to myself for so long – to keep myself safe. However it’s reached the point where it’s dangerous to keep it hidden, and now I can’t remember what set me off. Either that or I just can’t admit it to myself.
I wish I didn’t care, but I think I do. At least I hope I do, otherwise these OCD tendencies must be stronger than everybody thinks.
This was so much easier before I knew how bad my depression has become. Psychologists are praising me for being able to talk about things with others in my group therapy, and that just makes me feel bad. I shouldn’t be an amazing thing that I’m able to function, and yet the psychologists think it is.