Sometimes, Things are Okay the Way They Are

The past bit has been rough. Fighting through intense pulses of depression, a sharp up turn and then another drop. I've come to terms with myself; I've learned a lot about myself. Through criticism of my acting, to the realization that I am saturated by many hobbies, interests, and skills. To focus on only one, feels like I'm selling myself short. To focus on them all, there isn't enough time in the day.

But that is alright. I've stabilized the last few hours. Nothing lasts forever; life will happen, regardless of if you are along for the ride or not. Change happens.

Feelings might change. Nothing is really the way you think it is. You might now how things are in a moment, but why they are that way, is another level of understanding that can not truly be grasped. And that is okay.

My hope is, things get better, rather than worse. My hope for myself, is for me to see, and remember, that things can be okay, and I don't have to be the driving force at every step. If I want to be, I can be, but it is not a requirement of life or living.

A Little Something You Should Know

In our modern society of complete interconnectedness, we all have places where we hide the darker, the "unacceptable" feelings inherit in all of us. Some people openly complain on Facebook, bitch about things on twitter, write a blog and link it around.

But I, have this blog. I sometimes link it around, but very rarely. Most people don't know it exists. I write here to get things out of my system.

I don't want to share anything Facebook because, most people, don't care. We have become increasingly anti-feeling on the internet, as well as real life. You feel depressed? Dissatisfied with life? People don't want to hear about it on their news feed. Life is only happy, and if you aren't happy, you should probably be on medication.
Fuck that.

I hide things here. But it is not hidden. It exists. It is out there. Just lost in the shuffle. I vent here, my darker feelings, my unacceptable face in a world that only wishes to see a meaningless smile, if you can't pull a real one.

You are alone if you try to share feelings with strangers with the facade. And if you don't share anything because you assume that no one really gives a fuck, your friends will turn into strangers too.

Here I lie, victim of my own perception of the world.

I'm to the point I feel nothing really matters. And so, I'll probably mess with everyone's head. Honesty will flow forth, and people shall not know what to make of it. And maybe, just maybe, I'll feel better.

Broadcast to Isolation

Amongst my friends, I feel like a stranger. Combinations and misalignment, and I'm out of place again. Emotional torment. Confidence, gone, but a smiling face hides the tears, the anger, the confusion, and everything else.

Perhaps I am just re-broadcasting the signals I pick up. My own fears embodied in others, my own paranoia, projected. I catch myself doing what I hate happening to me. Predictions, expectations, manipulations. Pulling my own strings pulling others strings, suspicious and paranoid.

I really need to avoid certain combinations of people I think...
Or, the age old solution, I need more sleep.

More sleep, when I have to deal with people.

Have a doctor on call, I talk to who asks me and does a spot analysis, to determine my suitability for social situations.

I find myself playing games I really should not play with people I shouldn't be playing them with. I should have abandoned them... But I did not. Not because I'm a good person. Because I'm a fool and believe in second chances.
But really, it is not really about that. Perhaps I need to move on. The scars need to heal. Hell, they need to form, and that can't happen if I'm constantly itching the wound, ripping it open once again for a fleeting, pointless, and probably more harmful than anything.

Maybe I just don't want to admit to myself, for certain, that I will be single forever. It isn't about social norms or expectations. It's about the increasing occurrence of the feeling no one really gets me. Combined with sexual frustration. Trying to suppress it doesn't go so well, I just get angry. Or depressed.

Damn these emotional scars. I'm so scared of getting hurt, the isolation doesn't scare me.
Stop me when this sounds familiar.
And I know people are interested in me. But I just don't feel the same way. Pursing such things would be unfair to them, and myself.

Blah, blah, blah.

Like the last domino, it is only a matter of time before you fall.

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.