Dancing With Myself
One of the easiest post titles to come up with, really.
After much reflection, I've come to realize that my current lack of motivation and problem with procrastination, which is the worst that it's been in years, are due to depression. Really no surprise. I'm ridiculously lonely. I've had to fight with myself not to look or act desperate for socialization beyond what one gets when dealing with those in customer service, ie. cashiers, because that would just exacerbate the situation. However, I am a bit desperate, really.
It's maddening when my main outlets for socialization are my mother, who's often dealing with work-related stress, and my family's dog, Luna. I don't want to bore my mother by repeating the same mantra over and over, and Luna, well, she'll let me talk all that I want, but obviously can't offer any input. It's pretty pathetic.
My main source of socialization other than them in recent times have been a select few denizens of Buffalo's unfortunately small goth scene, who I only see during the monthly TechNoir nights (Amy really does a great job). I've tried expanding my rather lacking social life, both online and in person, but to no avail. I went to see a movie and had dinner with an intelligent UB criminal justice major earlier this year (strictly platonic), but I probably talked too much for their liking, as they e-mailed me just once after that. Online, I corresponded with an eBay seller from whom I won a few items, mostly Cure, after they complimented me on my eloquence and grammar, and they even sent extras with a couple of the packages. We exchanged what she referred to as "novel-length e-mails", which was fine by me, as I'm not much for small talk. However, my last e-mail, which was a short one, was sent over a week and a half ago, and though she responded to that promptly, mainly because it had to do with an eBay item, I think, she has yet to respond to anything in the last of the aforementioned "novel-length" e-mails, and didn't seem to be particularly interested in talking when I last IMed, so I think that this avenue is at an end. Those are just a couple of examples. It'd be easier on me if I knew what I've been doing or saying wrong, if anything, but most of the people in this world aren't particularly forthcoming with that sort of stuff.
I really enjoyed attending Karmyn's wedding and reception last month. Thank you much for inviting me. :) It felt like old times, with so much of the old group together, and such a familiar atmosphere. However, as soon as my brother and I began pulling out of the parking lot at the park, I began feeling sad, profoundly so later in the day. It hit me just how far away we are from where we once were. Red Square is gone. The Cont is gone. Heck, The Cont's parking lot is now being used by Bacchus patrons, part of the roof is filled with water a few inches deep, and the back patio looks dilapidated beyond the three years that the club was last open for service.
I've also recently been by a place a couple of times that I remember only with fond memories, aside from being at the game where Alexander Mogilny broke his leg. Yes, I'm talking about The Aud. It's totally fenced off, and the crews who are presumably the ones who are going to demo it have been stripping off the outer wall bit by bit. It looks to be, for all intents and purposes, a corpse. It'll be gone soon, too. I'd love to get back in just once more, but I know that the chances of that happening are virtually nil, and even if I did somehow manage to do so, I'd probably cry my eyes out, like I did at the end of the last NHL game ever played there, because if the inside is anything like the outside, then there's probably nothing left that I remember.
I feel like I've been watching a past life fade from view. So much is different. It's depressing me even more, and would have probably inspired me to drink the brandy that's been inhabiting my fridge for over six years if I was still a drinker, and buy the mushrooms that some drive-by drug dealer offered to sell me on my way from Mohawk Place this past Friday night if I didn't have a strong personal prohibition against using illicit drugs (it's something I've never done, and don't plan on starting).
I don't drink, don't use drugs, and suicide has never been on the table as an option or even something worth consideration due to my low pain tolerance and fear of death, so without resolving the problem of abject loneliness, it seems that my only option is to slowly lose my mind. Wheeeee! I guess that I should probably take my mother's suggestion seriously and see a therapist. However, it would probably be eminently more helpful if more people would talk with me more often. Any takers?
P.S. Sorry for the long entry not being behind a cut, but considering my lack of regular posting, I hope that you won't mind.
After much reflection, I've come to realize that my current lack of motivation and problem with procrastination, which is the worst that it's been in years, are due to depression. Really no surprise. I'm ridiculously lonely. I've had to fight with myself not to look or act desperate for socialization beyond what one gets when dealing with those in customer service, ie. cashiers, because that would just exacerbate the situation. However, I am a bit desperate, really.
It's maddening when my main outlets for socialization are my mother, who's often dealing with work-related stress, and my family's dog, Luna. I don't want to bore my mother by repeating the same mantra over and over, and Luna, well, she'll let me talk all that I want, but obviously can't offer any input. It's pretty pathetic.
My main source of socialization other than them in recent times have been a select few denizens of Buffalo's unfortunately small goth scene, who I only see during the monthly TechNoir nights (Amy really does a great job). I've tried expanding my rather lacking social life, both online and in person, but to no avail. I went to see a movie and had dinner with an intelligent UB criminal justice major earlier this year (strictly platonic), but I probably talked too much for their liking, as they e-mailed me just once after that. Online, I corresponded with an eBay seller from whom I won a few items, mostly Cure, after they complimented me on my eloquence and grammar, and they even sent extras with a couple of the packages. We exchanged what she referred to as "novel-length e-mails", which was fine by me, as I'm not much for small talk. However, my last e-mail, which was a short one, was sent over a week and a half ago, and though she responded to that promptly, mainly because it had to do with an eBay item, I think, she has yet to respond to anything in the last of the aforementioned "novel-length" e-mails, and didn't seem to be particularly interested in talking when I last IMed, so I think that this avenue is at an end. Those are just a couple of examples. It'd be easier on me if I knew what I've been doing or saying wrong, if anything, but most of the people in this world aren't particularly forthcoming with that sort of stuff.
I really enjoyed attending Karmyn's wedding and reception last month. Thank you much for inviting me. :) It felt like old times, with so much of the old group together, and such a familiar atmosphere. However, as soon as my brother and I began pulling out of the parking lot at the park, I began feeling sad, profoundly so later in the day. It hit me just how far away we are from where we once were. Red Square is gone. The Cont is gone. Heck, The Cont's parking lot is now being used by Bacchus patrons, part of the roof is filled with water a few inches deep, and the back patio looks dilapidated beyond the three years that the club was last open for service.
I've also recently been by a place a couple of times that I remember only with fond memories, aside from being at the game where Alexander Mogilny broke his leg. Yes, I'm talking about The Aud. It's totally fenced off, and the crews who are presumably the ones who are going to demo it have been stripping off the outer wall bit by bit. It looks to be, for all intents and purposes, a corpse. It'll be gone soon, too. I'd love to get back in just once more, but I know that the chances of that happening are virtually nil, and even if I did somehow manage to do so, I'd probably cry my eyes out, like I did at the end of the last NHL game ever played there, because if the inside is anything like the outside, then there's probably nothing left that I remember.
I feel like I've been watching a past life fade from view. So much is different. It's depressing me even more, and would have probably inspired me to drink the brandy that's been inhabiting my fridge for over six years if I was still a drinker, and buy the mushrooms that some drive-by drug dealer offered to sell me on my way from Mohawk Place this past Friday night if I didn't have a strong personal prohibition against using illicit drugs (it's something I've never done, and don't plan on starting).
I don't drink, don't use drugs, and suicide has never been on the table as an option or even something worth consideration due to my low pain tolerance and fear of death, so without resolving the problem of abject loneliness, it seems that my only option is to slowly lose my mind. Wheeeee! I guess that I should probably take my mother's suggestion seriously and see a therapist. However, it would probably be eminently more helpful if more people would talk with me more often. Any takers?
P.S. Sorry for the long entry not being behind a cut, but considering my lack of regular posting, I hope that you won't mind.