Recent Depression 8-24-12

Lately, I've just felt depressed. I don't feel I can really trust anyone. I know I should be able to trust more, but, recent behaviors, have caused me to become very reserved. I've withdrawn. Though, it isn't entirely my fault. A new job has basically killed what little of a social life I had.

But then this film I want so desperately to be a part of, but I don't think I'll be able to do it. I've got enough going on currently. Between school and work, I basically have no time to relax.

I've flipped out quite a few times today. Just random bursts of rage. Waking up late, no time for much of anything; food didn't happen. Late to class anyway, hitting most lights red on the way there. Getting there, and realizing I don't know where the class is. Walking in late. Not having missed much but enough to feel foreign. Nervous the entire class, getting sucked into stupid things because I was shy and didn't want to say anything...

Then hitting just about every light on the way back home red. At least until I got to the highway.
 And then of course having 2 and a half hours to kill. Needing to get things done, but knowing, 2 hours isn't enough.

Work was ok. Probably the smoothest part of the day. Getting home, and, nothing going on.
Sometimes I feel like a waste of space. I'm wasting time, and for what? Nothing... Nothing at all.
Suicide has been a thought I keep pushing away, but it keeps creeping back up on me. I can't talk about it with my family. They wouldn't understand, and would likely suggest medication.

I can't vent on facebook. Because, I feel no one cares. And anyone who "cares" is going to leave a stupid fucking comment rather than, actually talking with me. And even then, why should I have to post on facebook for people to notice something? Oh, I'm sorry, I normally vanish for an entire fucking week without saying much, replying to the odd text message hours after I get it because I'm determined to convince people nothing is wrong.

So much is wrong. I can't stand some of my friends lately. I find their behavior unacceptable, and I say nothing. Because I know why they do it. Insecurity. And they are so tightly wrapped in their insecurity, by saying anything it will wrap tighter. Why would I pay someone a pity compliment? That solves nothing; it just wraps it tighter. I'm afraid to be honest. I've found most people can't take honesty.

I'm tired of feeling alone. Sexually frustrated, with zero prospects. Or perhaps a few, but no confidence to pursue them. I'm a wreck. The fact I keep going amazes me. I so want to quit though. I'm tired. I can't keep this shit up forever. And the more I think about it, the more "forever" it all seems... I try to distract myself from this fact, but my mind wanders back. The longest I've gone today without feeling like a total failure, is when I was playing Saints Row 3. Money, cars, guns, women, wacky reality. Everything I want in real life.

I stop playing, and I fall back into this. More distractions. If I face off with this, I'm likely to break, and the people who want to catch my pieces, are people I'd rather not let piece me back together.

I feel like a stranger. I feel like I'm fading into memory. Falling away, and out of sight. I feel people would be happier if I'd stop bothering them.

Pathetic

I suppose jealousy is normal. But I don't get it. I don't I ever have. I don't get, why it drives people to do the stupid, fucked up, annoying things they do. But god, does it bug me.

I hate it when people fish for compliments. I hate it when people bait compliments. "I've got all the charm of a starfish. I don't have any friends." - that isn't going to get me to say what you want me to say. In fact, i'll say nothing. Who am I to fuck with your self image?
I refuse to give pity compliments. Like pity sex, it won't fix anything. I really want to be harsh and mean when it gets down to it.

I also hate it when people tell me about how awesome they are. Generally, this is done by one-upping. Any story, any cool thing you did, it isn't as cool as whatever cool thing they did or can do. It derails conversaton and directs the conversation back at the person who is, generally, insecure.

And thus, our title: Pathetic.

I'm so tired of it. I can't, take it. I'm done. I won't feed your starving self esteem. I can't feed your starving self-esteem. 

Depressed?

Lately I've felt something strange. I'm tired constantly it seems. After the great highs of being told you are disease free, and quitting a job you had never really liked, perhaps the grinding realization that, I'm still not free from the things that bound me.

Money. Always about money. I've been wanting to write more. I bought a little tablet in hopes having something small and portable will encourage me to write without having to break my back. But i find myself missing my laptop. So I look into a new battery, since the current battery won't hold a charge for longer than 15 minutes. Trusted manufacture: $70 - Discounted battery: $50 - Cheap battery that may or may not work and you won't know until you waste money on it - $30.

So I'm thinking of going to a battery place locally, to see what they would recommend, and also another place to see how much replacing the bad-cells would cost....

Money money fucking money... The thing to free ourselves from our dependance, but also the very tool to enslave.

Speaking of more money, I want to create some art and possibly sell it. Need to buy supplies. Yay more money. I want to do wacky things that would make life beautiful. Money...

I'm tired of money. I really wish I could live without money. I wish I could just hang out with all my friends. Problem being, some of my choices, most of them, live far enough away I almost need to calculate gas mileage.

I guess depression is easy enough.

So lets summarize:

I want to write, but where I am I feel less than inspired. Traveling costs money. Being around friends seems to cost money.

Fuck money.

Fragility

Nerves, on edge. A sudden jolt, and away I go, to break in the dark.
A severe physical jolt could risk it, but the real risk hides in my emotional flux. Do I give a flux or not? Does something hurt or does it bounce? Is all I perceive just a suspicion? The shadow, of doubt?

Between a job I'm not sure I want, a major I'm not sure I'm good enough for, a potential loss of freedom, desiring to pursue things I've only imagined, hints of secret intentions and feelings, vital information withheld, and avoiding a painfully one way love triangle...

Actually, it makes sense. Everything is changing. I would say, is about to change, but I'm behind the times. Is this the time I break and shatter? Will I rise from the ashes?

Perhaps it is a good thing. The flames are daunting. Inviting. Dreams. The power to change everything.

I Am, Regretably, Not a Robot.

Emotions. Too many to handle, and caught in the crossfire. Balance and chaos, in my own, and all around me. Glimpses of tantalizing fantasizes manifested to flesh, so alive and powerful, suppressed under fear and exhaustion.

Just another day I don't have the energy to change myself. Another day I retreat, folded in upon myself, surrounded by my own frustrations and fears, steeped in them; stewing in them.

Planning, dreaming, hoping, for a better tomorrow. Dreaming far beyond myself; for the benefit of humans everywhere. Just a dream, shattered by the words, actions, ideas, and practices of society. The blind eyes, the screams ignored, the justifications for wrong. Just another frightening day in our stained, sparkingly utopia.

The sickness infests my heart. How can I change myself, when I can't even change the world?
I should believe that I can change myself in order to change the world. But how can I change myself when the world can't seem to be changed.

How can I change the world when I can't seem to speak at the right time, or loud enough? How about when no one really hears what I'm trying to say. My simplest statements, misinterpreted. Why bother explaining? Belittled and attacked over the mundane. Assumptions made quickly. Why bother explaining?

Why bother explaining? Why bother pursuing it? Should I ask for forgiveness when I see no wrong in what I've done? Should I ask for forgiveness for misinterpretations? No. No reason. Perhaps I should explain, but what gaurantee do I have my words would have an attentive and interested audience? A life time of being shy, and a life time more, it would seem.

Exhaustion. Depression. Reverting back to trying to be a robot. Why? Because it is all too much to handle.No words convey adequately what I feel. No name for it, and the roots go deep.

Maybe I should not sleep until I go absolutely insane.  Or sleeping for all of an eternity.

Sometimes all I want, all I need, is a fresh start. Or a mostly fresh start. Something new, to not twist and tangle. Something to keep wondrous, passionate, and beautiful.

To lay my head down, is the closest I'll probably get to peace. For now at least. To lay my head down, is the closest I'll get to my dreams, pressed against the edges.

To lay my head down, to sleep.

Observer or Participant?

I watch silently, I try to pick up on all the nuances. I try to immerse myself in the thoughts and emotions of other people on occasion, but I'm not that brave very often.

Am I cause, or effect? Am I a result or am I just the question? Am I a journey, or a destination? The air or the wind? The tide or the water? An idea or just a thought? The source of light or just the lack of darkness?

What is the right thing to do? Truly, it seems it is not up to me. For I am just the observer...

As much as I want to pretend my presence has not impact, I am just lying to myself. But the true magnitude of my piece in the playing puzzle, is unanswerable.

It might just be up to me after all.

Burn Again

Phosphorus, or flint. Lighter Fluid, gasoline, alcohol; I don't care which.

I never knew how easy it would be to set it all on fire. I guess I packed it all with kindling. Grinding the lumber to saw dust, gives it that extra little explosion. Soaked in accelerant. It only took one spark to blow it all to hell.

Left to pick up the pieces again.

Alive again. The smoke; the chemicals. My head pounds with the heady fumes. Sickness; this was too easy. It burns to much to be a dream.

All my feelings burned away. The memory still hurts though. Blinded. Reeling.

I fall dead. I wither and crisp.

I rise; Pheonix. Another level transcendent. Another lesson to learn, until, I burn again.

Ignis Solus.