There is No Equivalent of Hercules

I am no god, but I can relate to part of the story of Prometheus, and that part is his punishment. Bound to a rock, an eagle would eat his liver, only for it to grow back overnight. The eagle would again eat his liver the next day, and again, it would grow back overnight, and so on and so on.

An endless cycle of torment, he would face each new dawn aware of the agony to come.

As a mere mortal, I know my agony isn't forever, but for now I am trapped in a cycle of each new day being met with

what almost feels a terror at existing. It may not be an eagle pecking at my insides, more perhaps an anxious worm in my belly, and a flock of angry crows in my head.

In some versions of the myth, Prometheus is freed by Hercules. 

My life isn't a myth, there is no one to free me from my cycle of torment.

I do not and cannot believe that things will get better. My life has never really worked out and I've never really amounted to much. Imagine if Prometheus had been born (or whatever means gods come about) already bound to the rock with the eagle eating his liver from day one. That's me.

I'm most likely quite repetitive in my blog posts, so may have already said how anxious I was as a child. That I know now the child me was also autistic means from the start my life was set to go awry. Growing up with no idea what to do or what I wanted to do, retreating into moments to escape looking at the future. Add on being gay, then cover in depression, like a flawed cake-pop dipped in woebegone chocolate. An irredeemable snowballing mass.

If I'm the poor soul bound to the rock, then the eagle would be... the world? Life? My Autism? It's the thing that takes away my hopes and dreams (which I suppose would be the equivalent of the 'liver' in the story - something the ancient Greeks saw as the seat of life/emotion/intelligence).

Each day I wake up and deal with the fact that my life isn't much worth living, nor can it be. I'm so unfulfilled in all areas of life - from love and sex to careers and purpose, achievement. I'm not an independent adult, nor can I be. I cannot build my own life and do what I want. Few would understand why.

Every day I wake up and the horrors come rushing in. If I'm not frustrated and sad, then I'm terrified. 

I was thinking about depression yesterday and the things that people advise to do to fight it. So, for example we have exercise, eating healthy, cutting alcohol, spending time in nature, gardening, talking therapies, or just talking about it, socialising, getting sunshine, having a routine. All things I do, and yet my feelings do not change. The feeling of not having anything much to live for remains steadfast. It maybe I have treatment resistant depression. I don't know. If I'm sad, anxious, depressed, with suicidal ideation, it's only the symptom of this combination of things that is me, being in this world that is not made for me. 

I don't see a way through, because through means an other side. I was born into this, and I'll die in it. And every day it's dragging me down, making each step heavier and heavier. It's not one thing, it's everything. Everything, every day, for as long as I live. If I die tomorrow, I won't be missing out on anything that could have been. Like a terminal cancer, my mental health disability and the anxiety and depression it leads to only dies when I do. There is no one without the other.

Prometheus, as you may know (because I stated above for a start), was freed by Hercules. And of course, the whole tale is an ancient myth anyway.

But for me, this is reality, and there is no equivalent of Hercules here.