October Rain

Yo. I’m back. What’s up depression gang? How are we feeling at 2:31 in the morning? Yup that sounds about fucking right. This shit hurted and continues to hurt. Well I’d like to apologize because I was too busy to be depressed last quarter so here’s all the pent up shit from that time.

😦

That about sums it up. Who knew that an emoticon could portray such a simple yet complex emotion? In just a colon and front parenthesis (is that what you call it?) the sum of my emotional identity has been shown to the world. I’ve slit my wrists and bled on my keyboard for this. Please give the validation I so desperately need for this “performance” art. Tbh I like this guy better: :,)

Well with that aside, I’ve gotten to the almond part of my depression. This is no bueno. Is it weird that I can measure my depression by what nuts are left in the trail mix? Obviously the first to go is the m&m’s. Then the peanuts and cashews. I usually like to mix in the raisins with them and pretend like they’re still some kind of candy. Nature’s candy? Then all this leaves me with are the almonds. Don’t get me wrong I’m a big fan of almonds, but they’re just the saddest fucking nut of the lot. m&m’s are obviously the best because they’re chocolate and I’m obese. Then it goes to peanuts because they’re like the quintessential nut even though they’re fucking legumes. I think it’s a tie between the raisins and cashews because I can’t decide between the two. Raisins are dope because they’re like grapes but dehydrated. I like cashews because they just look neat. Put a gun against my head and I’d probably ask you to end it all 🙂 , BUT if you happened to be inquiring about the raisin v. cashew debacle I’d probably have to go with uhhhhhhhhhhh………. raisins. RAISINS. raisins probably would take the third spot on this ranking of trail mix. Then all that leaves us with is Almonds.

Almonds. Fuckin almonds. They really thought they would get me didn’t they. Once I start eating the almonds then I know I need to get out of bed. My parents bought me five, FIVE, fucking bags of trail mix and they’re almost hitting a homogeneous almond population. How did my life get to this point? Is laying in bed all day watching affirmation videos where they tell me that I’m okay to make up for my non-existent support network and picking at the contents of trail mix really how I should be spending my college years? Probably not but I yam what I yam! They should put yams in trail mix.

But anyways back to almonds. Why are they the saddest nut? Almond Joy? HMMM? Coincidence, or not? Well I guess it’s the opposite of coincidence. but that doesn’t matter! Almonds are my sad nut because they don’t taste good with all the other parts of the trail mix. They’re dry and boring and too crunchy. They’re like me. Slowly isolating themselves in a bag, giving power to their self-created almond hegemony with each passing day. I hate almonds because it reminds me of my worst traits. I consume the other nuts to feel something. Anything. but when that doesn’t work, I’m just left in bed, unable to sleep, and munching on some motha-fuckin almonds.

Also how do I disclose mental health issues to potential romantic partners? I want some semblance of a romantic relationship but my poo-poo brain always panics and… idk. I’m bad at relationships in general but I want to feel like a normal human being. I just want to be normal. I’m just tired of being sad. I guess being in a relationship wouldn’t change much of that but it’d be nice to know that someone cares. I guess. well… I’m not sure but I guess I want something more. Something more than lying in bed all day. Something more than asmr. Something more than ranking the overall sadness of the contents in trail mix and then writing about it when I can’t fall asleep.

How do you communicate with other people? Well I know how to communicate with other people, but how do you do it meaningfully? I don’t know but I kind of know if that makes sense. I guess I just want to be able to tell people the things that are bothering me or things that I go through without getting overtly emotional. What I’m trying to say is: I want to be able to talk about something without shutting down or completely avoiding the subject all together. This has been something that has plagued my existence for as long as I remember. It’s hard though. It is very hard. I never learned how to do it. I learned to just shut up and take it. It didn’t matter what I said because it wouldn’t be enough. I didn’t have a reason. It didn’t make sense. And it didn’t at the time. How the fuck do I tell you that the reason I’m not preforming well in class is because I am and have always been clinically depressed? Yelling has always worked on Mario so maybe if I just keep on yelling at you for long enough you’ll finally fucking break.

and it did. I broke. I learned to just shut the fuck up and take it. It didn’t matter what I said. Nothing mattered. I fucked up and needed to be punished. I needed to be reminded to just be something that I’m not. I’d get shit for Mario all day at school just to come home to you. Maybe if I had just explained myself things could have been different. But I had come to know your policy. Punish first, ask questions never. I can’t talk to women because of this. I don’t know if you remember this but when I was eight I went over to the neighbors house. This stupid inconsequential 20 minutes that has stayed with me until now. She was talking to me about how she was a women now and needed to wear a bra or something and I just went along with it. What the fuck was a bra? Underwear for girls? As we were about to leave she showed me about her family photo. With this newfound knowledge of the apparel for women, I asked if she was wearing a bra in that photo. She said no and that was the end of it. The next day comes around and I wake up to you telling me that I needed to apologize immediately. about what, I don’t fucking know but just shut up and take it. I was a pervert and needed to apologize for what I was. I can’t let go of that paranoia. Being alone with women scares me on a fundamental level. I’m afraid of doing something again that I didn’t even do in the first place. but more importantly, what I said did not matter. My condemnation began the moment you got it in your head that something remotely involved with me went wrong. I could never talk to you about anything because I feared you. But sometimes I would argue back because fuck you. I would still be in the same shit and it would spice up life. but most of the time I would just take it.

and I was not a saint in this. I did do all those things and probably more. So maybe it was all justified? Maybe I did deserve it. I didn’t do the things that I was told. I constantly questioned your authority. I was and still am a shitty person. I was the common denominator. I was and still am the disappointment of the family. I will never forget that. I can’t. I don’t blame you either. Things were hard. Parenting is hard. You’re human too. I used to be so fucking scared of you. I have anxiety because every time I’d hear your computer boot up. I knew it was coming. You were a force of nature, and you needed to be. I know you hate what part you played in raising us. You were the structure, the forceful hand that kept us on that straight and narrow. You needed to be that for us no matter how hard it was. I think it hurts you even now. I know it does. You’re just a person. I need to keep reminding myself of that. You’re just a person. We’re all just human.

But I don’t want to be this way anymore. I owe it to myself to at least try. I want to be better. And I’m doing everything I can to try and do that. I want to be better. On my last trip I realized things just happen. You can’t explain them away. They happened and sometimes they’re good, Sometime’s they’re not. But most importantly, they happened. No matter how far I try to push it down, it still happened. No matter how far I try to run away, it still happened. It happened. It hurt and still does. It’s okay to not be okay. It’s still okay. I can feel the way that I’m feeling. And I’m not the things that I think that I am. but even if I was, maybe that’d be okay. The only place that I could go is up from there. Well maybe I could go down but I wouldn’t want to. Up. Just go up and be okay. Just be okay. okay with myself. okay with things. Learn and grow. The things that happened will always be a part of you. But wounds heal and turn to scars. And scars fade, becoming a reminder. A reminder to be okay.

Uhhhhh I was about to take this down but I decided not to. I think a small part of me is really worried about how transparent I’m being when I write this. I feel like, although I should express these things, maybe putting it online attached to my name isn’t a very wise thing to do. I’m not sure. Again I think I started this for myself but I’m not sure. I think maybe I wanted people to see it. a very public form of therapy. Whatever. Hello if you are reading this and you are not me. but if you are me and are reading this: uhhh fuck you. Idk uhhh hello as well. Anyways I don’t want to write anymore.

Does life have any meaning? What does it all add up to? Why the fuck is anything anything? In the end, does someone’s existence culminate into a crushed and decomposing body at the bottom of the Davenport Cliffs?

I hate that and I hate this. I don’t know this guy and despite my extensive google searching for the last hour, I will never get to know this guy. He’s dead. I don’t know why this affects me so much but it does. I have so many mixed feelings about this subject that I don’t even know if I want to get into it. Fuck it.

Suicide. I guess it’s just a six letter word and not something you should joke about 😉 but honestly, that’s all you can really do at the end of the day. It’s too hard, too exhausting. Wanting to not exist. It’s such a romantic thought. Seductive. Like all of your problems go away and you can finally be at peace. And they would. All of your problems would technically go away. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. You’ve thought about it extensively. Obsessively. You can’t do it in the house because it’ll decrease the property value. You can’t overdose or suffocate from carbon monoxide poisoning because you’d like to donate your organs. You can’t shoot yourself in the head because again organs and you’d want your mom to be able to recognize you after you’re dead. Hanging would probably be the best but you tested different methods but you can’t tie a fucking knot to save your life. Or I guess end it? Who cares you’re dead. You already tried it out. Not for real but just to see if you could. It was actually kind of funny in the most depressing way possible. You got all the supplies for a trial run and the fucking towel hook on your bathroom door broke off and bonked you on the head. And you can’t do it during February or May because that’d be to cliche. Everybody does it then. Or maybe that would be better. You’re not that good at planning ahead obviously. You’d probably do it around the end or beginning of a quarter. That’s when tuition is due and a quarter’s tuition is roughly the same amount as the funeral cost and you don’t want to be a financial burden to your family. You could use that money for school to pay for your funeral. Or I guess your family would have to. Logistics has never been a strength for you. You think about the extensive therapy that you’re family would have to go through. Your parents, your grandparents, your siblings. You’d put so much stress on all of them. No parent should have to bury their child. No grandparent should have to bury their grandchild. Your brother and sister would bear the full weight of knowing that all hope now lies in them. You don’t know if you believe in fate but you have a strong feeling that it is possible that you may or may not eventually do it at some point in your life. You think of life as a story and you don’t exactly know what that entails but you already know how it’s gonna end.

But you can’t do it. You can’t do it to them. You know too much. You force yourself to do the research. You go back to the reddit thread. You read all the self help articles that don’t help the people who have lost a loved one. You know how selfish it is. It’s all you think about. The guilt and shame keep you alive. You can’t die for yourself because you have to live for them. You cling onto hope. Whatever hope you can find. when you can’t find it, you just make it up. You do this and you don’t let it go. You need it. It’s embarrassing but it helps you sleep at night. It helps you get through the day. You cling to ideas. You’re so stuck in your head that the escape let’s you exist in that space and escape it at the same time. You don’t do it because you cling to the hope that you’ll get better. If you work hard enough, write more, learn how to be at peace, you’ll make it. Or at least make it up. You’re not a perfectionist. Guestimation is key when you do this sort of thing. Just be better. In whatever way you can.

Uhhhh but you’re alright. and you don’t really want to talk about it with other people. You’re really hesitant to post this and have been sitting on it for a while. This is the thing you don’t talk about. Too real. Too much. Scares people away. You deal with it everyday so you know how fucking crazy it is. You know that people go through the same shit but this feels too personal. This is your thing. Your pain is yours and only yours. You feel it and you don’t want anyone else to feel it. Sometimes it’s selfish. Sometimes it’s not.

Uhh I don’t know. I want to keep on writing because this one is too heavy. I needed to write this in second person because I needed some degree of separation. I’m fine and don’t want to talk about it with anyone other than my therapist. But I want to post this. If not for someone else who’s going through the same thing, I want to do it for myself. I can’t ignore it or run away from it anymore. I figure if I express it in a healthy way it’ll help me be more at peace with it. But that guy. He makes it easier to fall into the trap again. If he did it, then maybe I can to. He did it and he can never undo it. I don’t know if I can moralize what happened but I hope he was at peace in the end. I think that’s all anyone really ever wants. He did it and he can never undo it. He had a life and chose to do what he had to do. And I know I don’t want to end up like him.

I don’t know. I don’t know. I really just don’t know. This is scary and I know very few people read this but I just don’t know. I’m just gonna publish it. I will honestly forget about it until the next time I want to write.

I am going to be more positive this year so I think that writing in a more positive manner will help me accomplish that task. This is the first thing that I would like to accomplish at this point in my life. I have a bunch so I’m just gonna write them all down to get myself organized. Getting organized is my second goal for this year! I think I’m gonna try to do a notecard system where I write something down on a notecard and pin it up on my wall. Push Pins have been ordered! I also want to do better academically. I’ve been so close to getting really good grades these last couple of quarters and I know that if I just put in a little more effort I can get the grades that I’ve been hoping for. My last goal is to learn how to manage my emotions in a non self destructive way. I really am my own worst enemy so I think that learning to work through my emotions in a healthy way would be the best thing that I can do at this point. I know I can do all of these things if I am just really disciplined with myself.

Back to Positivity. It still says it’s spelled wrong and that bothers me. I’m just not going to write it anymore. Compromise!

I want to be more positive. That’s right! Positive. I think that I’ve been really critical of myself and the world around me so I think that being positive will really help with the way that I’m feeling. I know that I’ve been really negative with these last couple of posts but I think that it’s been good for me to express myself in that way. I want to be able to capture that same emotional vulnerability and truly encapsulate the scope of my thoughts about whatever I happen to be writing about. I think that being in those places helps me produce some of my best writing. I think that it’s okay for me to be in those negative places if I am working though them. I think that is my way of being positive!

I also went on a little trip recently 😉 In all seriousness, I do think it really helped me because some things finally crystallized in my brain during that emotional journey. I realized that being at peace with things that have happened in the past is a process. Things that have happened to you and things that you’ve done have already been done. I guess you can try to ignore it or run away from it but I’ve been doing that my entire life and it doesn’t really help. You just have to look at things for what they are. Ignoring it or running away from it won’t change it no matter how much I want it to. You just have to look at it and be okay with it. It’s hard. It’s so fucking hard but it’s just something that you have to do. Ignoring that hurt numbs the pain but it also numbs you. You can’t be numb anymore. You get lost in it and pull others into it. You can’t run away from it either. You run away from it but no matter how hard or fast you run you always end up in the same place. You are bound to those things. You’re just running in circles. Things are as they’ve always been but you’re not choosing to move anywhere in particular. Choose to move forward.

I think I got my metaphors mixed up a little there but I think we get the gist. Positive Thinking. Feeling again. Circles. Moving on.

Uhh I don’t know. I feel like I was on the cusp of something. But…………………… I’ve got nothing. And that’s okay!

I’m also working on a new piece called “A love letter to love letters”. I’m not sure what I want it to be but I know how I want it to feel. I guess just keep an eye out for it!

2018 in Review

Honestly not that good of a year. Descended further into madness, did a lot of people dirty and fully realized the scope of my mental fragility. All in all not my worst year!

I’m tired of being a sad asshole. and I know this is going to sound cliche but I want the next year to be better. I want to break the cycle. I want to actually do something about these wants.

Also what is this? Is this a journal? Or some sort of cry for help? It started off as something that I was doing for myself but it’s kind of become a confessional. I pour my heart out on the keyboard and I don’t know who it’s reaching. And I don’t even know if I want it to reach anyone. I think the thing that I want most from it is that the people I’ve wronged will see this and understand. I don’t want it to explain things away or try to change someones mind about me. I don’t want it to excuse or make people forgive me for the things that I’ve done. I guess I want a separation between the person I want to be and the things that haunt me. I know that doesn’t really make a separation because I don’t think that the person you are and things you do are separate but it helps me sleep at night.

I want to write again. I like writing and I think that it’s one of the things that I do best. I don’t know if I’m any good at it but I try to be as honest as possible. That’s all I have in the end. I can’t lie to myself and putting anything other than the truth on paper feels like a lie. Which I guess is intuitive so I don’t know why I just wrote that but it felt right so I did. Yeah really great writer I am 🙂

So new year. It is the new year. New year, old year: it’s all the same. I feel so tired. This feels tired right? Maybe not but this entire piece just feels so tired. Tiring to write. Like I’ve written this all before. Just be better. Just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better just be better just be better. just be better.Just be better. Just be better. Just be better. Just be better. Just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better.just be better. just be better. just be better. Just be better. Just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better Just be better just be better. just be better just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better just be better just be better. just be better.Just be better. Just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better.just be better. just be better. just be better. Just be better. Just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. Just be better just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be better. just be

I hoped writing it out would make it easier. I guess that’s the hard part. Doing it everyday. I stole that from Bojack Horseman.

I don’t know. Fuck it. Fuck this. NEW FUCKING YEAR BABY! Catch you on the other side!

Drinking is fun. Sometimes it’s too much fun. I think that my family is very well antiquated with how much fun drinking is.

I got drunk in front of my family for the first time this Christmas. It was fun because the usual anxieties faded away and I remembered who I was again. Charismatic. Easy going. And I don’t want this to come off as arrogant but just a pretty fucking cool guy. Alcohol does these things for me. I drink this magic liquid and for some time I can finally be myself again. I can let loose and have as much fun as I want to. I can dance and not be embarrassed by my lack of rhythm and coordination. My mom’s side of the family is the perfect reminder of these effects. We get drunk and have a good time to say the very least. But there’s always this dark cloud looming over this good day.

Brief aside here. This is kinda my thing. I don’t know why but I kinda have this template where I write: good thing, but wait good thing is actually bad, I want to find a happy medium, finding said happy medium is hard but I need to do it anyways. I guess the duality of man has been something that has always and always will dominate my life. Good and bad. Yin and yang. That type of bullshit. Maybe I’ll write about it later on.

Anyways. Where was I? Dark clouds on a sunny day 😦 I guess the gist of what I want to write is that my family is a bunch of alcoholics and that I feel that fact a little more than I would like to. It’s like an itch that just won’t go away. Even now I just want to go and grab a beer just to cool the nerves. It’s seductive but I know what it does to people. Or at least the residual effects it has had on shaping my family. My dad hates alcohol. His parents too. My grandparent’s immediate family were all drunks. Abusive drunks. The trauma is so severe that it’s the only thing my grandmother can’t find a way to cast a positive light on what happened. I can’t get them to talk to me directly about this fact but I can see it in my dads family. My dad’s cousin, my “uncle”, he drinks a lot. Now I try not to judge my family without knowing the full story but from what I can gather things have not been easy. I think this is as much backstory as I want to give but it’s weird how these “not so secret” secrets impact my life. I’ve always known my dad was kind of a narc and maybe went a little extreme with the over-protection but I had always thought it was to ward off some external threat to my well-being. Now I think or at least I hope it was some measure to protect me from what I can become. Now I know parenting is hard and I have my own issues with how he chose to address this history of addiction and abuse, but I’d like to think that I know what he was trying to prevent me from becoming. I guess this plays into fate or something like that. What’s stopping me from becoming that asshole that increases the tension of the room tenfold?

I like to drink. and I’d like to think that I’m actually a really fun drunk. I have a good time while drinking but I’ve had scary moments where I get into that toxic headspace. I understand it. It’s so visceral and infuriating. I hurt and I want others to hurt with me to understand that pain. I communicate in the only ways that I know to express my emotions: anger or sadness. Which I guess are the same hurt expressed in different ways. I lash out and try to get people to help me from becoming me but they can’t help me or they’ll drown themselves. I find myself slipping down that road and drowning at the bottom of that bottle. I feel it. I’m drowning in myself and the only way to make any sense of it is to cling tight to that bottle and weather the storm.

And I do.

The storm has passed by the morning and besides the throbbing headache I am fine for the moment. I’ll try to slowly piece together what I said and who I talked to. I play it off as a joke. HAha so funny. Wild night drinking by myself playing mario kart trying to distract myself from my thoughts. So fucking rowdy bro. So I apologize. I keep on doing this until I realize that I can’t keep on putting these people through this again and again. I’m clinging to someone to save me and I realize that they’ll just go down with me. So I let go. I let go and I try to forget about them. I never do but at least in my own twisted rational I am the only one who suffers the prolonged hurt. I cut them off so that initial pain is replaced for apathy about that asshole who had emotional problems. It happens again and again because I don’t know how to communicate like a fucking human being so I repeat this cycle of shit slowly circling the toilet bowl that is my brain.

Wow that’s some white knight bullshit. I’m such a hero for constantly sabotaging my relationships so that I can keep on being unhappy. I protect them from myself. Fuck you and fuck that. I’m just a coward because I don’t know who or what I’d be with out that hurt. That open wound is so tied up in my identity, that to do anything about it would fundamentally change who I am as a person. Drinking is easy. It gives me an excuse to not be happy. It gives me an excuse to lash out. It gives me an excuse to be afraid of myself. It gives me an excuse to finally let go and truly feel what I feel all the fucking time. I don’t have to ignore it and I can finally try poorly to do something about it. That drunk me is such an asshole but if I stop drinking I’ll magically become a wonderful person. Whatever man.

I guess that’s just the difference between a 5 beer night and a 5+ beer night.

Get it? Do you get it? Simon and Garfunkel? The meme song? Get it?

I had a really good heart to heart with one of my oldest friends today. We caught up and talked about things that had been going on in our lives. I realized that depression is a motherfucker. He had always been and still is someone that I look up to and admire but he’s in the thick of it. It was kind of sad and ironic but I almost felt this sort of camaraderie with him in a way. It felt like he had joined an exclusive club that nobody wants to be in and that I’ve been stuck in for years.

But I guess that’s just how depression is.

Nobody really tells you what it’s gonna be like. They don’t tell you it’s gonna fuck with the way you see things. They don’t tell you that it’s going to be this dark corner in the back of your head that slowly seeps into every aspect of your life until it consumes you. They don’t tell you that you get so used to it and it’s effects that it becomes a part of who you are. These are just the things you have to feel out and figure out about yourself until you learn how to manage it. And you can manage it; if you figure it out. You learn good time management because when you finally come out of it and the sun starts to shine and warm your soul, you know not to waste it. The countdown had began because you know that the next moment you could become catatonic again and fall back into that cold yet familiar place. Those moments in the sun are precious. You have to do as much as you can with them because you don’t know when you’ll go back into hibernation but you know it’s coming. You start making plans you know you can’t commit to. You start responding to the texts that you’ve been meaning to get to for the last week or however the fuck long it’s been. You start doing you’re laundry and cleaning the house because god knows your ass stinks. You do it and enjoy it because that time in the sun is the best you’ve felt in your entire life and you gain this clarity and perspective on your life about things and you hope that maybe things won’t go the way that they’ve always gone before.

But you know that it’s a lie. You hear the ticking of your mental clock. You’re going to fall back into it again. It embraces you in it’s shroud and things start to get hazy again. Tick. You get paranoid and things get to be jarring. Tick. At first you don’t know what’s happening and desperately try to tell people and find some sort of solace that maybe it’s just a bad day or maybe you can cheer yourself up again before it happens or that talking your way through it might change things and that something or someone will save you from this whirlpool you’ve been circling for a good while now. Tick. At first you got mad at the people who loved you because they couldn’t save you from yourself. Tick. You get mad and lash out because anger is the only way you’ve learned to express your emotions. tick. Then you get sad and start a self pity party feeling bad for yourself and everyone who has been unlucky enough to care about you. tick You wish you weren’t the way that you are and hope that they can get as far away so they don’t drown with you. tickYou learn to stop telling people about your feelings because it’s so goddamn exhausting.tick They sit there and try to help but there’s nothing they can do to fix you. tick.You get tired because you know what’s about to come so you let it was over you and wait to come out on the other side.

tick

You’re finally underwater and things are they way they’ve always been but just a little bit slower. You can move and function but you’ll sometimes forget who and what you are. You disassociate. An hour will pass by and you’ll try to forget that you have stopped existing for that amount of time. Some days you won’t get out of bed. And you don’t care that you didn’t get out of bed. You don’t care about anything and you know that you should care about it but you just can’t get yourself to do it. You stay in bed and lie there until… something. Something happens and you don’t know what but you’ll just get out of bed and have to exist for that time again. You don’t want to but it has to happen. You do what you have to but you’re not there. Not really. You’re doing all the things that you do but you’re not there. It’s not even an out of body experience because you would need a body to have an out of body experience. You’re less than that. You’re mind becomes a shadow of your body only existing to keep it alive. You float in that dark and empty space. You become that dark and empty space.

But then you snap out of it! Something has finally changed! You remember everything great about life and the wisdom that comes with those things. The sun has risen and the birds are singing.Thing feel and look better. You forget how much you loved the smell of fresh air. You take it all in as fast as you can because you’re breathing for the first time again and it feels so fucking good. You love life and you love yourself. You go easy on yourself because your feelings (or lack thereof) are valid. It’s just a part of you that you learn to manage. It’s kind of funny too. You always wished for the ability to time travel and you just did it. The journey was rough but you got to your destination in one piece. You laugh and cry and are productive with the time you’ve been blessed with. Things are looking up and you can take on the fucking world. You’re smart and funny and insightful but a flawed person. but that’s okay! Nobody’s perfect so you shouldn’t put that unrealistic expectation on yourself. You just wish that you could ignore that faint ticking, Always there, keeping time.

Hey I had a lot of fun writing this and took some artistic liberties on how I chose to write it. I’m not really sure if this is exactly how this sort of thing goes but it felt right. So I stand by it!

I’ve done a lot of people dirty and now I’m sad 😦

I guess the description says it all. I’ve done a lot of people dirty. I’ve never been the type to communicate well with other people so it makes it hard to convey my regrets to other people. Or maybe they know and don’t forgive me? That was my anxiety talking but he does have a point. OHHHHHH. Okay so my therapist pointed out this like internal monologue that I have with myself and said that sometimes my anxieties manifest themselves as another part of my brain. Idk if that makes sense and I don’t even think she said that BUT what if I like did this thing where my manifestations of anxiety are in italics :). 

After careful consideration, I have decided against it because I am too lazy and it now seems dumb. What was I writing about? Regrets? Forgiveness? Red Dead Redemption? (Good game by the way, Rockstar please sponsor me). Something along those lines.

Julia told me about her beef with the the word “should”. She says that “should” is a word that people use to impose shame and guilt on themselves and others. Like I should text people back and not run away from relationships at the first sign of trouble. She likes the phrase “would have liked to” better. I guess it’s some sort of cognitive shift that helps people get over their insecurities about their mental illnesses to get them to stop blaming themselves for the way they are. But at what point should the blame stop. Do I get to say that I would have liked to not done that thing and now I’m absolved of guilt? I would have liked to not abuse and manipulate the people that loved me so that excuses me from all of my actions. I would have liked to have been better to her whoever she is because god fucking knows there’s plenty of them. 

No. I should have been better. 

But listen to me. Wah wah wah. Blogging to process my shame and guilt as if that will change anything. (I hate that I called myself a blogger in my last rant) Talk is cheap. I don’t do anything to make things better and maybe I can’t. and that terrifies me. I know who and what I am. I know that I should be better but I’m terrified that I can’t. More than that, I’m terrified of what I do to people. I wish I wasn’t the way that I am but I can’t help it. I try so fucking hard to minimize contact with people when I can and when I can’t, keep the relationships as shallow as possible. I can’t hurt anyone anymore. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and I hope that I’m not condemned already. And if I am, is there still a way to redeem myself?

Damn this guy needs a fucking therapist not a fucking website amirite???

All in all I think I am actually making progress. I’m still a dick but I’m trying not to be. I know that doesn’t make things that I’ve done better but it helps me sleep at night. The nightmares have stopped and I think my mood is somewhat stabling? (Fingers crossed) Medication sometimes works! You know what’s kind of funny? I have always thought that I was manic depressive or had some sort of bipolar disorder but it might just be the case that I am chronically depressed and that when I’m not depressed it feels like I’m some sort of manic craze. I don’t know why that’s funny but it kind of feels like somebody told me that my name is wdojvbrekjln. Like it’s been so tied up in the way that I see myself and identify, I’m not really sure how to think about it anymore.

Ngl this one was kind of heavy guys. (lol let’s be honest I’m the only one reading this shitshow, what’s up me in the future) I’ve been trying to work through this and I think writing it down helps me process my thoughts. Idk I think I’m done for now. 

MT

P.S. Also sorry to Kim Yenya. I did not mean to call you out in that last post like that. I just used you a random insertion for some lit teacher. 🙂 

How the hell do I get it to stop doing all Capital letters? I don’t understand formatting!!! okay whatever fuck it, i’m just gonna start writing. my therapist told me that there is no logic to your feelings and that trying to rationalize them will just leave you in a VICIOUS cycle of unhappiness. Okay now the capital letters are really bothering me. how the hell do i fix this? 

ohhh okay this is embarrassing. :,) 

Okay so you just have to make a new text block to get it to not do the capital letters. note for new bloggers: this shit is sometimes confusing? Yeah that’s my final answer. ANYWAYS: logic and feelings. They just don’t mix. Maybe I’m just a fucking idiot who is just now realizing this shit but shit’s complicated man. It’s funny because I feel like I come to the same conclusions all the time and immediately forget them. Maybe this will help me with my selective memory… BUT logic and feelers. back to that. I don’t know what I want to write about this. I guess I’ve just been in this headspace where I think that if I can understand things about myself that I can figure out how to fix them. Like if I can just figure out why I lie in bed all day or how I get so much anxiety from talking to people, I can fix myself. I can outwit my demons and find the foolproof logic to escape the reality of who and what I am. But you can’t do it. Or at least I can’t. If someone has the solution PLEASE tell me. but also maybe not? I think that some magic answer would be awesome but it probably doesn’t exist. Right? I don’t know. Like if I could finally be happy or content, would I be the same person? I’ve gotten so used to being this way that I can’t really think of myself in any other way. Like I can imagine it, but it’s not really me, ya know? So what is this about? What am I writing about? Why the hell did I bust out my laptop, go through my history to find this, pray that google remembers my password, and start writing this shit? Because I just wanted to tell myself that it’s okay not to know the answers. Like honestly you’re kind of a dick dude. Like it’s good to want to change for the better but beating yourself up about it just makes you more and more unhappy. (Fuck you Kim Yenya I’m going to use as many “likes” as I want) (LIKELIKELIKELIKELIKE) I don’t know man. Just try to do the right thing. Are you chronically depressed and so anxiety ridden that it’s ruining all relationships that you have at the moment or are you just an ass? Probably both. But you can choose not to be an ass. You can’t escape what you are but maybe you can change who you are. I think that’s all I have to say about that.

MT

I don’t know what I want from this. I think that maybe I want to face my fears and and put myself in an extremely exposed position. I am usually an extremely private person so what better way to put myself out there than by writing something on the internet that no one will ever read! I honestly think that I’ll forget about this but the first step is always the hardest so maybe I’ll stick with it? I’m not sure and I don’t really care? Yeah that’s my final answer.