(no subject)
It's as if it has vanished -- my necessity to write, to understand what's going on in my head. I gave up trying to understand, is that what I ought to infer? I don't know man, it's just, too much effort, too much pain. To articulate things. Articulating things is the first step towards understanding towards change, but it has become more and more difficult.
Is it because I don't articulate this anymore to those around me? It might. It's long hours of silence and lack of social contact. When it exists, it's sporadic and you ought to make the best out of it -- you're not supposed to dig deep and blurt out things which are too serious... or are you? I think you are. But if you're insecure and scared that other's will not comprehend or take the time to comprehend, even if you're saying bullshit, then it kinda makes sense, why you would be detered to try.
I guess. Who knows.
Life's being lived -- somewhat. It continues, it exists. I thought about death recently, in the midst of puking my guts out for over 6 or 7 hours. Upset stomach. Pepto-bismol, what a gross american invention, pink and slimy and gross and definitely does not tame my nausea down. I thought about death because I felt weak and because I am dramatic, I guess. I didn't feel much either way -- no happiness nor sadness, only a faint desire that if I do die, the relevant parties get notified timely: my family, my work, my friends. Definitely do not want a bunch of pissed people thinking I'm just being a dickhead, avoiding responsibilities and calls, when my dead body is am rotting away in my bed. Does it makes sense to even call it it mine, given I do not exist anymore? That's another question to be kept from normal social interactions, I suppose.
I don't have many interesting thoughts lately. I got high on Sunday. Took a hit. I don't like being high. It's the n-th time I try it out, and it's the n-th time I think to myself, why the fuck would I enjoy not being able to process information properly, not being able to keep more than two sentences in memory, to ramble and understand I forgot why I started such rant. There's a lot of doubt that comes into when you're high -- a mild paranoia that you must keep at bay. I managed, sucessfully. Does it mean I have a better control over my mental states?
I think I do. There's definitely a lot less volatility when it comes to my emotions -- they are bounded, upper and lower bounded. Is it because I take anti-depressants? I am not sure... I don't think so, I don't think buproprion is supposed to regulate emotions that much -- if anything it's kinda anxiety inducing. Meh, who knows.
Sometimes, when I walk on the street, I feel a glimpse of hope. Like, this dream state that I entered, back in 2017 has never really left me. And in this dream state, there are moments which are hyper-real, hyper-intense, for no good reason. Just walking down the road and the sky is kinda blue and a little bit of sunshine is beaming down, even if it's cold, and it feels nice. And suddenly things feel kinda nice and all this drama, uncertainty, discomfort kinda melts away, momentarily. James talked about how he likes seeing the sun rays going through clouds, how it's like a 3-D beautiful sky in Seattle.
I don't know where I am going. There are things that happen and I don't pay enough attention to them for them to become a thing.
On friday I sat down in my couch and started looking up random papers. I miss mathematics, I miss numerics. I do miss thinking about differential equations instead of stupid data science. I don't think data science is cool anymore. I don't know if I think machine learning is cool past doing funny projects. I am going down the list of things I have to do, and I have been doing some of them -- some better than others. This list never quite ends but it does become shorter if I pay enough attention, if I focus.
It's possible to focus. There's hope. There's beauty to be found.
Is it because I don't articulate this anymore to those around me? It might. It's long hours of silence and lack of social contact. When it exists, it's sporadic and you ought to make the best out of it -- you're not supposed to dig deep and blurt out things which are too serious... or are you? I think you are. But if you're insecure and scared that other's will not comprehend or take the time to comprehend, even if you're saying bullshit, then it kinda makes sense, why you would be detered to try.
I guess. Who knows.
Life's being lived -- somewhat. It continues, it exists. I thought about death recently, in the midst of puking my guts out for over 6 or 7 hours. Upset stomach. Pepto-bismol, what a gross american invention, pink and slimy and gross and definitely does not tame my nausea down. I thought about death because I felt weak and because I am dramatic, I guess. I didn't feel much either way -- no happiness nor sadness, only a faint desire that if I do die, the relevant parties get notified timely: my family, my work, my friends. Definitely do not want a bunch of pissed people thinking I'm just being a dickhead, avoiding responsibilities and calls, when my dead body is am rotting away in my bed. Does it makes sense to even call it it mine, given I do not exist anymore? That's another question to be kept from normal social interactions, I suppose.
I don't have many interesting thoughts lately. I got high on Sunday. Took a hit. I don't like being high. It's the n-th time I try it out, and it's the n-th time I think to myself, why the fuck would I enjoy not being able to process information properly, not being able to keep more than two sentences in memory, to ramble and understand I forgot why I started such rant. There's a lot of doubt that comes into when you're high -- a mild paranoia that you must keep at bay. I managed, sucessfully. Does it mean I have a better control over my mental states?
I think I do. There's definitely a lot less volatility when it comes to my emotions -- they are bounded, upper and lower bounded. Is it because I take anti-depressants? I am not sure... I don't think so, I don't think buproprion is supposed to regulate emotions that much -- if anything it's kinda anxiety inducing. Meh, who knows.
Sometimes, when I walk on the street, I feel a glimpse of hope. Like, this dream state that I entered, back in 2017 has never really left me. And in this dream state, there are moments which are hyper-real, hyper-intense, for no good reason. Just walking down the road and the sky is kinda blue and a little bit of sunshine is beaming down, even if it's cold, and it feels nice. And suddenly things feel kinda nice and all this drama, uncertainty, discomfort kinda melts away, momentarily. James talked about how he likes seeing the sun rays going through clouds, how it's like a 3-D beautiful sky in Seattle.
I don't know where I am going. There are things that happen and I don't pay enough attention to them for them to become a thing.
On friday I sat down in my couch and started looking up random papers. I miss mathematics, I miss numerics. I do miss thinking about differential equations instead of stupid data science. I don't think data science is cool anymore. I don't know if I think machine learning is cool past doing funny projects. I am going down the list of things I have to do, and I have been doing some of them -- some better than others. This list never quite ends but it does become shorter if I pay enough attention, if I focus.
It's possible to focus. There's hope. There's beauty to be found.