Friendship is a rare thing. Even when you think you have it, more often then not it's simply an illusion. Maybe I'm too trusting, too naive. I fall into friendship too quickly, ready and willing to sacrifice for my new comrade. I feel like I only love people who don't love me, and the bitterness is compounding with every passing friend. I know I have some anti social tendencies that might be a culprit in all this, but I learned them somewhere, some form of self defense. A preemptive strike of sorts. Never act interested, never call when you want to call, never text when you want to text, never ask to go out. All these should be initiated by the friend, their needs, their comfort is above your own. Seems like a plan for failure now that I see it typed out. I'm a hypocrite. I've had a friend drive hours to come visit me. A childhood friend. We used to walk home every day after school together, a good 40 minute walk. He's changed a lot since then, he got sick, spent a lot of time suffering, now I don't feel like we can genuinely connect. He's gone through something so substantial, and I'm still peddling with training wheels. Still afraid to make the drive to go visit him. What would we even talk about? What would we even do? 2 hours drive for a cup of coffee? Would a true friend do it? He did, although I spent the whole day with him even though I didn't really want to. We ended up driving down to the city, walking around half the day, chatting about how unprepared we were for the suffering life was throwing at us. You don't get those types of conversations in your every day life. People play the game, and they keep their cards close to the breast. It gives this perception that you're the only one with a shitty hand, meanwhile we're all walking around wishing we could pick up some new cards. If only we all let each other in, it wouldn't be so lonely. But instead we avoid eye, and remain still, or put on our masks and hope we don't have a tell. Nuzzle the offsuit 2 and 7 close to yourself, everyone else a potential poker star, waiting to bait you into the river and take all you got.
Depression forums are depressing. Self help forums are too enthusiastic. One makes you sad, the other makes you feel like you should be happy all the time despite feeling like shit (Which leads to me feeling even more unhappy about not being able to be happy when I should be happy). The expectation of happiness causes some pretty nasty suffering. I think I finally understand that nobody knows a God damn thing. I mean, I've known it for awhile, but some optimism in me was just hoping it was my pessimism talking. Life's not a linear game. Life is ever evolving, and the guidebooks are outdated, and written for different operating systems. It's all trial and error. I think my generation (90's kids) grew up in a world where too much was perceived to be known. One Google search and your curiosity was sated. Then we(I) stopped being curious, because everything was already discovered. Why memorize? Why learn most things at all when we can just look it up when needed? That's why it has been such a shock for me, discovering that happiness couldn't be found by typing it into a search bar. But I'm still searching, typing away, on a treasure hunt for some happiness. GOOGLE "How to be Happy" Search
I feel like I'm making some progress at work, but I still feel like I'm a burden. I find myself afraid to ask questions, and it usually comes back to bite me in the ass. I'm busting my butt off trying to keep up, not cutting corners, doing the job as best I can. Speed or quality, I can't do both and I don't know what my crew leader wants from me at any given job site. At one place it's speed, at another it's quality, and I always seem to guess wrong. 50/50 give me some fucking luck already. Money is coming in, but it's just some numbers on a screen. I don't know what I'm working for and it's making it difficult to stay motivated. When I'm at work I'm thinking of home. When I'm home I'm thinking about work. The dreads mostly gone outside of the morning hours. I feel sick to my stomach every morning, but once I push myself out the door it usually goes away by the time I get to work. I don't even know why I'm writing. Delete, or post? Both are the same. I'm really hooked on this song.
I feel so competent when I drink. There's just an unending supply of positive energy and empathy that pours out of me when I drink. This job that I "hate" right now seems like a blessing. Lifes hardships appear to be nothing but things to endure and learn from. This is how I want to live my life. I keep asking myself "how do I feel like this, even for an hour a day, without drinking". If there was a way, a guaranteed way of attaining this level of consciousness (no matter how hard, just as long as it was a sure thing at the end) I would be on board 100 percent. I have so many plans, so much ambition running through me right now. Even the thought of sobering up doesn't get me down. I want to live, make others happy, enjoy a sunny day, a starry night, a difficult endeavor. These thoughts of positivity are bringing me to tears! Tears of overwhelming joy. I love everyone, even those that were born in the unfortunate position of being sociopaths or psychopaths. I just want everyone to find their sliver of happiness, and marvel at this mystery that we all live in. I guess I'm lucky enough to experience this level of happiness, even if it's unnatural, and fleeting. It's got me thinking, maybe humans have gotten a tad bit to smart for their own good. Also, whoever discovered alcohol, bless you.
Started a new job last week. It's not the most demanding work I've ever done, but it still takes a toll on the body. You end up feeling muscles you never knew you had ache. Not a fan of my co workers. They're either young gangster types, or old, angry lifers. I'm nothing special, I should remember not to judge. The depression keeps hitting hard. I start dreading tomorrow before I even finish my drive home. I feel like I don't have a place in this world. I want to get stronger, I want to be able to handle the hardships life is about to throw my way. The ability is somewhere inside me, but letting go of this mindset I've had for years is more difficult then I would have ever guessed. It's going to take a regimented approach, a ruthless schedule of positive reinforcement. I think the one thing I've learned from these last few years is that happiness is only achieved through suffering, and I don't want to suffer. I don't want to spend my life doing this kind of work. How can I convince myself that I'm capable of something more? Even this job has me doubting my competence. I always seems to make the silliest mistakes, or ask the stupidest questions. I'm already slipping back into the pessimistic guy. I aimed to make this entry optimistic and productive, but all I want to do is cry and go to sleep. Have I ever enjoyed life, or was I always just thinking it would get better? The difference now is I don't think it will.
I've been waking up early these last few days, and bringing my dog out to the park with a long leash. I'm trying to train her to be more obedient, and it's nice to run around on the field without worry that she'll spot a rabbit and bolt on me. There was this lone dog that came onto the field this morning, and despite scanning for a good minute I couldn't see its owner. I've seen the dog before with the owner, but this time he wasn't in view. I know he was there somewhere, but nowhere close enough to command his dog to get away from mine. I have a long line for a reason, I don't trust my dog. She's been violent with other dogs in the past, and it's too late in her life to socialize her. It really bummed me out, and cut short a really productive training session. I'm left wondering what I have to do to not be bothered by other dog owners. Do I need to wake up at 4 AM instead of 5? I don't think I could make it through a day if I had to do that, it's rough enough as is. I still took her on a good hour walk, but it gets boring when all we do is walk. I wanna play fetch at the park without some other dog running and trying to take the ball. As far as I know it's not even an off leash park. I was even thinking...that guy must of been so far off, and it was still so dark, that if his dog took a shit he wouldn't of been able to find it (If he had any intention of picking it up at all). I love dogs, but man I fucking hate dog owners. I would never get a dog myself, every one I've had has been dumped on me by family members. So maybe I'm just not the type of social personality that should actually have dogs. She's a pit bull anyways, I would never take the chance. No matter what happens my dog is the one getting put down. Pit bulls are illegal in the city I'm in. She's not a bad dog, she played with the family sheltie growing up, and never actually hurt him. But she has nipped and pinned him several times. I don't know, it's just not worth the risk.
Another summer gone, another year coming to an end. I can feel the cold already, and it feels like I took that morning walk through the snow only a day ago. One less year I'll have with my parents. One less year I'll have with my dog. One less year I'll have to make things right. Whatever right even is. I won't grow old willingly, I promise you that friend. I'll fight you to end it until the day I die. I won't willingly decay in some nursing home. God willing I would even be lucky enough to get to one. I'll make you die alone, I'm stubborn enough to see that through. Even if 'happiness' was placed in front of me, I'm quite certain I would walk the other way. That type of happiness isn't for me. I won't have it. It's primal,it's fake. Something ingrained in the species before consciousness even arose. We're operating a machine designed to eat, fuck, kill, and sleep. Then we sleep eat, sleep fuck, sleep kill, and even sleep sleep. I certainly didn't design this. Somehow we think that's what WE want. What is we? Is my hunger for food, me? Is my lust, me? What about my fetishes, things that I cannot change even if I wanted. Obviously not me if I don't want it to be. Are you an ass man? Do you like feet? Hell, do you like other guys? Animals? Big Ivory dildos? Does it turn you on to rub shit on yourself? Do golden showers make you lose all control? When discovering these fetishes do we allow the little black boy from neverland to wipe doubt from our face and say "Oh, there you are Peter" Are we found, have we discovered our true self? That ain't you, that's written code, written before you were born, or written while your eyes were closed.
A simple glance at myself in a mirror and the world crumbles around me. Such reverse vanity can bring the dread of living back to the forefront of my mind. What utility is there in being able to hate yourself? Why is it a possibility to have such drastically different factions in my head? Who am I in all of it, just an observer or an active participant? The angel, the devil, and the person in between. Do I have the ability to sing my own verse over the melody, or am I just choosing between two other voices. It keeps getting worse, my reality is so dark. My mind gets more and more capable of evil I never imagined possible. I just want out before everything good about me is gone. I struggle to even identify what remains. The cynic won't budge, not an inch, there is nothing good left to him. I wish I didn't look in that mirror.
You cut yourself badly, an assortment of glass objects have smashed down on the floor and you're bare foot. Somebody who's supposed to love you doesn't come right away, but instead arrive a minute later. Instead of being concerned with your well being, they begin to huff and puff, trying their best to guilt you about the mess. You hobble your way out, avoiding the glass as best you can and hear them say "You're getting blood everywhere" before returning to muttering under their breath. I hope this wound rots and kills me, I hope my stupidity now is too much for my sanity later. I've got days before anyone needs to see me, and longer before anyone cares. I hope I bleed out in my sleep.
I've become something I thought I wanted to be so many years ago. I'm able to turn my back to someone suffering right in front of me, become unaffected by the tears of a mother, bitter and angry, no longer scared at the rage of a father; unconcerned with the plights of a sibling; unaffected at the loss of a friend. It's all boiling under the surface, I don't know how much longer I can keep it all contained. I want to die so badly in one moment, and in the next I can't help but cling to life. How much worse does it get; how much worse does it have to get before instinct steps aside? Parts of my plan are all falling into place, but it's been harder then I thought it would be, and I knew it would be hard. I'm not a monster, just a sheep in a gillie suit. I find myself wishing I was born with the claws instead of pretending that I have them. In real life I'm drama free, I would be the last person anyone who knows me would suspect of writing all this melodrama in a journal. It's kind of like lifting the lid off the kettle, it feels nice to let out some steam. Suicidal ideation, what a grim fascination, never ideation manifestation, what a cowardly preoccupation. You're a coward if you do, and a coward if you don't. I'm remembering a quote from a total war game I used to play. "Few men are born brave, many become so through training and force of discipline" Maybe it's no great sin to be a coward, but the ultimate sin to die one.
There's a a malicious entity inside my head. I can't say it's wrong, but it doesn't think I should be alive. Get past the melodrama, and the cringe inducing way that I write, and you'll probably agree it resides in you too. Whatever it is, it's stronger then me. That's the difference between me and you. Between me and the success story. I'm weak, unfit to be alive. Artificially kept breathing by modern luxuries. I'm destined to become that person you notice in passing, the one you couldn't comprehend living as. Still, I don't want to die. I don't think it would bring relief. I think we're all stuck in this hellish universe. Existence itself is evil, and being human is one of the better respites from the rest of it. We are foolish to think we can ever opt out. There is no escape. Reality is a warden that never sleeps.
Reading my old blog posts I stumbled upon this one. I don't know why I set this one to private. I have a few that I write just for myself, but this isn't anything too out there or personal, and I'm feeling lazy even though I want to write. This will have to do. Goona set to private again. Feels too bitchy. "About 4 years ago I had gotten a part time job at Walmart as a produce clerk. It was the only job I've ever had where I was expected to do some customer service. I kinda loved it, and of course I was laid off on new years. My co-workers were great, and the job had me busy and moving so the time flew by. The location of the store was beautiful also. During my breaks I would walk a little ways away to a pond nearby and smoke. I remember a late September day, cool but warmed by the sun. I was listening to Metrics "The Shade", looking out on the pond at a congregation of Canadian Geese, and puffing away at my smoke. Life seemed so good in that moment, I was excited for the future, I felt like I could make it out for the first time in forever. Every time I listened to this song, the feeling would come back, but I had to take care not to listen too much, because if I did the feeling would become weaker and weaker with every subsequent visit. But I couldn't resist myself over the years, sometimes it was the only thing that made me feel happy. But I overused it, and the well began to dry up. When I listen to it now I get only a small flicker of the feeling I once had, even in its weakened state its a powerful feeling. Fleeting remnants of my past self animating itself, only to wither and die again and again, until one day it will be gone forever." Listening now now, I remember the hour long walk home. My social anxiety making me terrified of riding the bus so I opted to walk. I remember the land marks, the surge of dopamine when I passed them. The colder it got, the happier I felt on those walks. Maybe it reminded me of my military days, early on when I attended every cold, grueling weekend exercise. Maybe I just liked the solitude, or maybe I just liked being outside with a purpose. That me is long gone, and I can't remember his thought process. I only recall the feeling, and it is but a fleeting imprint.
Suicidal ideation, what a grim fascination. Never ideation manifestation. What a cowardly preoccupation. Jagged stones took the brunt of the seas turbulence. Waves crashed, foamed, and receded from wet, mossy stone. Jenson peered down, marking a place below. Champion of horseshoe at home. He leaped from the dramatic scene, swallowed by the angry sea, ragdolled against stone of slimy green, receding into a foamy dream; never again to be seen.
Dear, Diary I've tried to make changes to my life in the hope of reclaiming some optimism, or hope, or sustained happiness. It's all been for nothing. Dread is the constant, happiness the rarity. I find myself returning to my suicidal ideation to get through the day; days that self discipline seem to prolong to unbearable lengths. Everything I want is wrong. I've long accepted that I'm far from the ideal human being. I don't belong here, not in this time, not in this place. If left to nature I would have been dead long ago. This me should never have existed. There might be a million variations of myself that might have thrived here, but I don't believe I'm one of them. I don't have what it takes to be a human being. I just want to give up. Every negative thing you could say, I'll validate it as truth. I'm a coward, a loser, a pervert, a racist, a bigot. I'm vile, I'm evil. I'm a waste. Nothing gets rid of shame anyways, not really, no matter how much I wish I could rid myself of it. I haven't mastered how to persuade myself into a delusion of choice. I just want to light up a smoke, drink some liquor, and fall into a deep, endless sleep. I get excited from knowing it's a possibility. It's like the stoic philosophies big red fail safe button. If things get to be unbearable, pull the trigger. Big Dick David, Signing off.
