I am too young to be feeling like this! I am 27 years old, yet I feel like an old man that has reached the end of the road and said, “fuck, I should have called it quits a long time ago if I knew all would end like this.” Could it be that too many solitary hours in the confines of my cranium have done this to me? Could it be that I haven’t smoke some weed in three weeks? Could it be that I haven’t gotten laid in over a year? Fuck, it could be a number of things. I need a therapist, I am fucked up guys. One thing is for sure though, hiding my feelings, for far too long, not having a good outlet to dump them into has surely fucked me up. Also, solitude, self-absorption, bad circumstances may lead to this. Fuck it, I am in the accepting phase of life.
I am coming to conclude that all this self-absorption is not doing me any good in my current state. I talk about my current state a lot because in reality, that is the only thing I can talk about with some sort of certainty. Yet, I struggle to become the opposite of what I am feeling. I lack initiative, and cigarettes, that’s what it is. I am introverted not going to lie, and have become more so as time passes. I suppose self-absorption is like any habit–shit, is it a habit?–it’s hard to break once established. I wasn’t always like this. I mean, I have been pretty self-absorbed, but not to this degree ( the degree used to be acute, now it’s more obtuse). It’s like I am scared or something. The more I self-analyze myself the more I begin to see that a lot of my issues stem from a constant feeling of rejection. I feel rejected guys. I should probably see a therapist or something, nah, he would probably end up like that therapist in the movie “What about Bob?” My friends tell me that I need to get laid, but that takes too much time and energy for thirty-five seconds. I rather bake a pie.
My current state is one of despair, but not total. A despair which is not so intense that I want to kill myself and call it quits, but a despair which dulls things which would otherwise be joyful, or deemed joyful by others. It’s like I want to enjoy things, yet I seem to be unable to fully experience joy. Maybe I just want someone to tell me, “it’s okay man, I’ve been there too, yah dah yah dah,” genuinely mean it, and pat me on the back or something. Maybe I just need a hug. Maybe I yearn to be understood by someone that can genuinely relate to me life’s circumstances. Someone to laugh with me, at the absurdity of it all, not at me, because feeling this way is fucking weird and it sucks.
I used to be a very joyous person, not too long ago, and I know that that part of me is not completely gone, but somewhere along losing almost everything I had, and part of myself with all that, I ended up here where I am at now: feeling vacant, like everything is meaningless, nothing has a point, and crap. I am fine with the meaningless of existence part, and nothing has a point part, not the crap part. What I am not fine with is feeling like a drifter and lacking the gumption to do something about it, not really knowing what to do next, stuck as fuck. I am refusing to conform–a rebel without a cause I am–yet feeling like I don’t have the resources to not conform. I am feeling myself slowly getting sucked in to the sinkhole of society where dreams go to die, followed by death. But I am a rebel! Like fitty-cent, “get rich or die tryin’,” but all I’ve been doing is dyin’ without tryin’.
I’ve felt like a negative Nancy for a while now, and I am getting a little tired of hanging out with myself, so that must mean that I am in bad company. And if I can’t stand myself when I get like this, how can I expect anyone else to? When I get like this I tend to shut myself off from the exterior world and those close to me–even though it’s advised that we do opposite. My self-esteem gets pretty low I must admit. I am just being blunt. Talking about blunt, I wish I could smoke a blunt, that would make things better, but no kids, “say no to drugs.”
Why do I shut others off? The simple truth is that I don’t want to contaminate them, at least that’s how I feel. I do it for them more than for me: I know I’ll get over what ever I am going through–once my brain reconnects the lost connections it had once established. I fear that my negativity will rub-off on them, and that would make me feel more like shit.
This is not the first time I have gone through something like this. I remember back in my “emo” days–I wasn’t really “emo,” but you get what I am saying–how I used to get depressed and shit. I hated the world in those day, and I yearned to be alone. I wished everyone on Earth would disappear and leave me alone to wallow in my self-despair. I don’t feel that way anymore, it’s a more mature kind of self-despair now. These phases in my life come and go for some like me, and typically I am pretty good at getting myself out of them if I can find some productive outlets to take up my time. At least in my situation, it can be tricky to snap out of it, because you want to shake the feeling off, yet you lack the energy and enthusiasm, the mind feels numb (I think this is arises from concealing our emotions from others over an extended period of time), and I usually lack interest in many things. I need more meaningful outlets, and at the moment, I don’t have too many outlets, except for writing and reading, and even with those I lack interest sometimes. It feels like I am becoming a depressed, whiny, lil’ biatch; I don’t like it. The first step to recovery is admitting! I have to snap the fuck out of it. What I find interesting is how I can be aware of this, yet, here I am, feeling the way I feel, full of self-pity. Maybe I do need to get laid!
I wouldn’t want to make anyone that suffers from depression feel bad, it is a serious condition, I know, but I find that talking to myself in this way–hope I am not taken too seriously on some of the things I say, some are for comedic purpose–and finding some sort of comedic way to look at it helps me, if at least for a brief moment, feel a little better. I can breathe more easily. You should try it yourself, but you may want to talk more tenderly to yourself, and give yourself a hug if need be. It seems to be helping me right now–try it, and laugh. As I type I feel it a little less crappy. Of course I wouldn’t let anyone else talk to me this way–well it depends on how they say it, and whether I know them or not. I like tough love once in while, though I am a tender soul, believe me.
And trust me, if you are feeling down, I know how you feel. And fuck big pharma, and pills. Smoke weed instead.
Will it make you feel better if you knew that I am technically homeless? Shit, I want to cry just typing that. I joke! Though I am technically without a place that feels like home and have no job. The job is by choice though, for now, I just can’t muster the enthusiasm to apply for voluntary/involuntary slavery.
You know? When people used to tell, “at least you are not blah blah blah, they have it much worse,” that never really alleviated how I felt. It kinda just made me feel a little worse. Why should I feel better? Poor bastards are suffering too! It made me feel like they didn’t really understand me, and comparing sufferings doesn’t really reduce one’s own. We are different. Comparing what you’re going through to what someone else is going through is not a good way to make yourself feel better. We all suffer our own way, and acknowledging that is important. A person may be wealthy, have everything in the world, yet feel empty within and suffer from depression. The other day I was thinking of Robin Williams, as you may know, he committed suicide–may he rest in peace. Yet, we have to find some way to make ourselves feel better because there won’t always be someone there to make us feel better–unless you have a therapist on speed dial.
Something which I have come to learn though is that a supportive family is good to have. I learned that through a lack of it.
Depression can be something to laugh about–as insensitive as that may sound. We can learn to laugh even through despair, that’s something Viktor Frankl taught me. When I really begin to think about the way I feel I begin to realize that I have nothing to really feel bad about. I mean, beside a shit family, lack of close relationships, and lack of self-love, what else do I have to feel bad about? All those things can be fixed, it just takes time.
Nothing last forever. We are constantly changing and growing. Ups and downs are all part of the ride. We can’t expect others to always understand us, unless they themselves have trotted down a similar fucked up paved road. All takes time, and things will get better.
I am going to walk down to the CVS to buy some cigarettes now. My head feels like it’s going to explode. And maybe I’ll drive down the strip to find a toothless hooker–Charles would be proud. Wish me luck.