Pity from Strange Dogs
I write a lot, when I feel like I'm at my worst. I'm not sure if it helps -- it's not always pretty, and it's not always with a consistent schedule or format. I'm not always kind to myself, like I'm sure my therapists wish I was. But it feels nice, to be able to get my feelings out of my head, and into somewhere where I don't have to feel quite as weighed down by them. It doesn't really have any set format. Sometimes I do it on my phone, sometimes I do it on my laptop. Sometimes I publish it online, sometimes I don't. But any time life just feels like it's about to explode inside of me, I write.
I'm writing right now, so you can probably tell that things might not be going the best. I missed a dose of Venlas yesterday, and it hit me today during work, so that's going to be a fucking pleasant experience. I've got a therapy appointment coming up in a few hours, and I haven't made the progress with him that I'd like. I don't know if he gets me, or gives a shit to. I'm not sure if he's reading this, but on the off chance he is, sorry.
I've been living what feels like an entirely provisional existence since June. It's just been me on my own, waking up, then spending who knows how long killing time. Goes YouTube, music, reading some blogs, walking, writing, buying some food, pornography, eat some food, and then finally, when I've wasted enough time for me to accept it, sleep. A trained monkey could live my life, maybe outside of the writing. it's depressing in and of itself, disregarding any chemical imbalance stuff. would you choose to live like me? I'm guessing not.
I can't fucking focus on anything long enough to do anything productive. Well, maybe if you consider writing productive, but fuck all besides that, and I can barely focus on that on its own. I've always got to be doing at least two things at a time, and then suddenly I'm done with those, so onto another two things at a time. It's hard to derive any pleasure or joy from anything, when my mind is constantly reminding me that there are better ways to avoid doing important work. The fucking distractions barely distract anymore. I get so fucking tired of it all, I don't want to live this fucking joyless dump of an existence anymore. I don't even want to kill myself, I want to live a different life, but how the fuck do I? I've been grasping around for a better life with my whole fucking might, I've been trying to get out of myself, but I just feel fucking trapped.
I've been trying to talk to other folks, reach out, all that. Helps a little, when I've got the strength for it. I've been showing this one guy on Discord demoscene stuff, and I've been trading messages with a couple guys I met on a forum for people with severe depression. It still all feels a little hollow when compared to having time with people in person, which I barely get any of. My sister had a Halloween party last Saturday, that was nice.
It feels like none of my efforts to change my life for the better do a god damned thing. People tell me to put myself out there, talk to people, but when I do, the connections don't stick. People say to focus on yourself, but when I do, I never get anywhere, and just wind up staring at my failures. no matter what I do, how hard I try, the answer's always that I'm not trying hard enough, or I'm not doing it right.
I was walking, and crying, and writing, when these dogs that always come up to their fence and bark at me did their usual routine. Only for a little bit, then they stopped. I'm not sure if it was just my imagination, but they almost seemed guilty, or sorry for me. pity from strange dogs. huh.
I'm going to be moving back in with my folks in November. I figure right before Thanksgiving. Just couldn't hack it on my own, with all this shit going on in my head. Feelings are mixed, of course. I'm trying to stay optimistic about it. Feels hard, when I've lived with them in California before, and all the isolating patterns were there back then. Let me tell you, I can be just as depressed with a bus into the city and a hot tub in the backyard. But, there's always new opportunities. Maybe I'll find something there that I couldn't here. Even if I don't, I'll at least have real food and no rent. It's all I can do, anyway. hope.