But not tonight

Nr. 64 I’ve known for quite some time now how little I care about myself. It’s one of the reasons why I had no problem giving everything of myself to others, as I feel I have nothing worth saving for myself (which has opened my eyes to one big reason why my relationships hasn’t work out, but that’s another story). It sounds awfully self pitying, except that I don’t really feel sorry for myself nor do expect others to either. I can change the way I think about or view myself, but that would be trying to mask or bypass what’s objectively true. Normally I would be ok with this ridiculous dejection, but when it is combined with a ‘low’ it can turn quite unappetizing and worth hiding. I have a small core base of people willing to help me. Who are waiting for my call. Even though at this point it’s like waiting for Godot. Even my psychiatrist asked me the other day why I didn’t call when I was at my worst last week. I couldn’t really give her a good answer. Pride? Stubbornness? Or pe

Nr. 63 I’m jumping back on the blog. Even though pressuring myself to write something each day made me produce and feel accomplishment, it also gave me a fear of what would happen if I stopped. I did stop, and the shame washed over me immediately. I could feel it in my core how disappointed was. This circles a little to what I have been trying to face recently; coping with personal shame and impossible standards enforced by depression. Normally I would set a goal so high I knew I wouldn’t reach it but try hard enough so I could go further than if I sat a lower goal, thus always progressing (yet never with satisfaction). That might sound quite dreary and self defeating, but it kind of worked when I was younger. However, combine that with depression which just emboldens your distorted self worth and you have a disaster waiting to happen. Coming to the realization of this doesn’t automatically turn things around, but it can give a boost to your survival instinct. So, getting back now

I don’t think I’ll be able to keep going each day with this blog. Which is actually very sad. When I started I felt so positive about it, but now I feel it has been consumed by negativity and depression. I don’t feel any better. I wanted this blog to be a safe haven for me, but I feel all I touch turn to ash. Depression is truly poisonous and it has altered my mind. I can’t think straight or find positivity. I’m truly struggling each day just to get out of bed. Some days I’ve not moved at all.  But on I go. The need to not hurt others is strong within me, as it is with most people suffering from depression; we know the pain a suicide will inflict. I definitely know all about it. Maybe in a morbidly poetic way my experience with death in my family is what might save me from committing suicide.  This might be the last entry for a while. I’ll return though. Hopefully more cheerful and with a deeper focus on philosophy and ideas, not just my depression. 

During yesterday’s afternoon I had to lie down to rest. I had only gotten 2 hours of sleep the night before so it was definitely needed. I woke up abruptly well into the evening from a nightmare. Or it wasn’t so much of a nightmare as much as a psychological warp that changed how I view myself. I’m still trying to come to terms with it.  The dream had its normal amount of absurdities; I was part of a group hiding from a murderer who was hunting us. The team consisted of me, some friends of mine, Casey Neistat, Mila Kunis, and a robotic version of Hachiko. We were all hiding in this large locked down house. The murderer was in here with us. I had a gun which fired small amounts of glue, but if I did hit someone the glue would explode.  I was eventually spotted by the murderer and I fired off a serious of point blank shots to his face and neck. They exploded one by one. Nothing happened to him. We then warped into an abstract world where we would fight strategically using our minds

Next month I’m attending a wedding. I’ve been so busy thinking about practical things (like finding a suit to wear and what to bring as it is for a weekend getaway) that I didn’t realize until now that I actually need to socialize. Meaning talk about my current situation. I’m officially on sick leave due to depression which isn’t really the most festive conversation starter at a wedding (or any event really). As much as I really want to celebrate my friends getting married, I simultaneously feel stressed as to have I’m gonna phrase this. I know there are people out there with far greater difficulties than me, even within my friend circle probably, which makes me even more frustrated about my worry. I’m positive I will get through it of course. I even know despite my definite self torment of reviewing my ‘performance’ I will get by.  But I still feel slightly anxious about it. I used to be ok attending events with strangers when I could smalltalk about my work and then swiftly cha

I’ve been sitting here for 43 minutes trying to start today’s post. Every first sentence sounded awkward and defeated to me. Not worth uttering. I’ve been wondering my whole life if creativity was the right path for me. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’ve intellectually romanticized the idea rather than gone at it from a natural fluidity. Maybe my refusal to give up is rooted in pride rather than sensibility. Realizing I’m not cut out for something is hard to admit when that something has helped define who I am today. It’s basically about losing my whole identity. My only alternative is to fall in line; I conform; I live.  Maybe today is weighing extra heavy and tomorrow I’ll see it differently again, but the repetitive pattern of self doubt has grown stronger the last 5 years or so. That’s irrefutably damaging and holds an iron grip on my optimistic side.  I’ve been told I’m creative ever since I was a small child. I was told I’m intelligent, kind, athletically apt and pretty. But I