Diary of a depressive, a room emptier
When you walk into a crowded room and within half an hour the room is empty
Hello! I’m from the UK.
I’ve lived with physical pain and mental illness for many years.
At different times, I was told to write things down and throw them away. I didn’t. I kept the words.
This is where they ended up.
This is not performance.
When you see everyone on their phones — playing games, chasing attention, arguing, consuming noise — none of that has ever interested me.
I don’t care for it.
I’m not here to perform a life. I’m documenting what is left when performance stops.
I’m not ready to tell you exactly where I live, but I am under the care of the NHS — that is enough of a clue.
I started at the end.
From my later years onward, I began recording everything — not because I thought it would be useful, but because I was afraid I might not hold together.
This site is not a project. It is a record of continuation.
A life unfolding in real time.
What you will find here
Journal entries. Fragments. Longer pieces of thought.
Some are structured. Some are not. Some are clear. Some are broken.
I do not smooth this out. I do not rewrite it into something easier to digest.
i do not wish to be judged, nor cast assumptions
What you read is as close as I could get to how it felt.
CBPS. The Beast.
You will see references to CBPS (chronic benign pain syndrome) and the Beast.
These are not fixed diagnoses or tidy explanations.
They are working language — ways of describing something that shifts, returns, and refuses simplicity.
The slow question of medication
Alongside everything else, I am gradually reviewing medication and recording the effects.
Not in rebellion. Not in denial.
But in responsibility.
I am not rejecting medicine. I am taking responsibility for it.
Some medication I need, and I take it without resistance. Some I question — not out of defiance, but because honesty demands it.
This is not a break. It is observation.
Every dose, every symptom, every reaction is recorded.
Not just for me — but for anyone who might one day need to see it clearly.
The aim is not escape
I am not chasing a medication-free life.
I am working toward a correctly balanced one.
If something helps, I keep it. If something harms, I question it. If I don’t know yet, I wait.
This is why it exists
This is not about proving anything.
It is about understanding what is truly necessary when life is reduced to pain, medication, fatigue, and persistence.
If any of this feels familiar, it may carry meaning.
If it does not, it still stands as one account of a life being lived — honestly, and as it is.
This is what it looks like to keep going.
Not loudly. Not neatly. Not always well.
But still going.
