I read something, somewhere, about the correlation between Boredom and Depression. I can’t be bothered to go find the article. Too much effort. I bet the article doesn’t read the way I remember it. I bet it will contradict what I know is true.
Boredom IS Depression. The words are synonymous. There is nothing to do because I don’t feel like doing anything. I don’t feel like doing anything because there is nothing to do. This is true.
Boredom sinks into my skin, my hair, my nails. I am wilted, flat, dry and cracked. Someone offers to water me and I refuse, afraid of drowning, of floating away, or worse: growing and blooming into someone who is not me.
Everything becomes boring, eventually. A favorite book, a beautiful walk, a charming man. Familiarity breeds boredom.
I got bored with my own name once. Told everyone to call me by a different one. But I never responded to the new name; I forgot it was me.
I got bored with the sound of my laugh. Sounded overused. I changed it to match the laugh of someone I admired. Now when I laugh I feel as if that person is laughing with me.
I got bored by your stories. Started finishing them for you.
You stopped talking.
The cure for Boredom is Challenge. Challenge me to a mental duel. Challenge me to read or write or watch something that will boggle/strain/change my mind. Challenge me to learn something faster than you. (But please stay and watch, without a witness it doesn’t count. Without an audience or a competitor, the challenge becomes meaningless. If it is only for me, then it is not worth doing. )
The cure for Boredom is Need. It is having other people around who need me to do things for them. Important, meaningful, relevant things. (If I think it is stupid or illogical I wont do it. I will roll my pedantic eyes at you and sneer at your request.)
The cure for Boredom is …. huh? What was I talking about… I stopped paying attention three paragraphs ago. Bored by my own words… again.