A life rife with disappointment
I've been reflecting a lot on my life a lot lately. I mean, I guess everyone does this often enough that it's not really anything special. But for some reason I feel like writing about it on a blog nobody really reads (except for you Ariane, and you sometimes Matt) because I don't like to talk to people about my issues. I always feel like I shouldn't, like my problems are petty, kids dying of AIDS in Africa or something, stuff like that. Because no one wants to hear it, because everyone wants to talk about their own problems instead, because once I get started I just start rambling on and redundantly repeating myself. Because I'm programmed not to talk with other people about my own problems. Because I'm supposed to be a man who's strong enough to take care of himself. Because I need to be a pillar of strength for others who need help. Because I'm afraid people will find out just how insane I think I might be.
* I was homeless for roughly 3 months. This has had a seemingly irreversible effect on my already lousy car. Nobody knew, and I didn't really mention it to anyone. To the few I did mention it to it took a lot of effort. It was an overall terrifying and stressful period of my life. If I suddenly became homeless again I might just quit the game.
* My father pretty much labeled me a parasite with no future, and has never supported any of my passions. I have not spoken with him for about half a year. I have no plans to ever speak with him again.
* Up until this month my entire family has been located on the other side of the country. I have not seen some of my brothers for a few years; my mother for longer. Andrew has finally come back to New England, but I have yet to see him.
* The brakes on my car are going. I think the brake pads might be gone, and the caliper seem to be starting to lock up. I don't have enough for a new car and need to work out a budget in order to be able to afford any sort of payment plan. I'll have to start walking.
* I'm feeling overwhelmed by my latest game project. It's very promising, and it's starting to shape up well, but I feel like I might never be able to finish it. This is my depression talking.
* My accomplishments... the 3 published albums, the published video game... feel worthless and trivial. This is my depression talking.
* It's depressing that I know there's no reason to feel this depressed but not being able to quit being depressed because my depression likes being depressed even though it's so depressing. This is my depression talking.
* As I walked across Bridge Street and looked down at the river I was thinking about how the smell of the river and sewer drains might mask the smell of my corpse as it rotted out of sight. I'm not entirely sure that it would though because rotting corpses smell pretty awful. This is a recurring thought process of mine, though usually it involves thinking of how each of the skull fragments and chunks of gray matter might feel if I were able to retain consciousness after a point blank gunshot to the back of the head, but when I'm out and about my mind has been known to expand its horizons.
* I've stopped trying the actual suicide attempt part years ago, but the thoughts don't ever leave. I thought they started to, but nothing lasts forever. Nothing. This is the depression talking, because it can always find a way to turn a positive into a negative.
* I can't afford therapy. Even if I could I'd still have my trust issues, which have grown worse again.
* A friend failed me, but I feel like maybe I failed my friend, too. I haven't been taking the fallout very well at all.
* I hate feeling like I want to die.
I'm drowning, lost in the drink. I'm drowning, losing my peace. All my good intentions cast me out to sea.
I think I'll play that tomorrow night at the Wild Rover open mic.
* I was homeless for roughly 3 months. This has had a seemingly irreversible effect on my already lousy car. Nobody knew, and I didn't really mention it to anyone. To the few I did mention it to it took a lot of effort. It was an overall terrifying and stressful period of my life. If I suddenly became homeless again I might just quit the game.
* My father pretty much labeled me a parasite with no future, and has never supported any of my passions. I have not spoken with him for about half a year. I have no plans to ever speak with him again.
* Up until this month my entire family has been located on the other side of the country. I have not seen some of my brothers for a few years; my mother for longer. Andrew has finally come back to New England, but I have yet to see him.
* The brakes on my car are going. I think the brake pads might be gone, and the caliper seem to be starting to lock up. I don't have enough for a new car and need to work out a budget in order to be able to afford any sort of payment plan. I'll have to start walking.
* I'm feeling overwhelmed by my latest game project. It's very promising, and it's starting to shape up well, but I feel like I might never be able to finish it. This is my depression talking.
* My accomplishments... the 3 published albums, the published video game... feel worthless and trivial. This is my depression talking.
* It's depressing that I know there's no reason to feel this depressed but not being able to quit being depressed because my depression likes being depressed even though it's so depressing. This is my depression talking.
* As I walked across Bridge Street and looked down at the river I was thinking about how the smell of the river and sewer drains might mask the smell of my corpse as it rotted out of sight. I'm not entirely sure that it would though because rotting corpses smell pretty awful. This is a recurring thought process of mine, though usually it involves thinking of how each of the skull fragments and chunks of gray matter might feel if I were able to retain consciousness after a point blank gunshot to the back of the head, but when I'm out and about my mind has been known to expand its horizons.
* I've stopped trying the actual suicide attempt part years ago, but the thoughts don't ever leave. I thought they started to, but nothing lasts forever. Nothing. This is the depression talking, because it can always find a way to turn a positive into a negative.
* I can't afford therapy. Even if I could I'd still have my trust issues, which have grown worse again.
* A friend failed me, but I feel like maybe I failed my friend, too. I haven't been taking the fallout very well at all.
* I hate feeling like I want to die.
I'm drowning, lost in the drink. I'm drowning, losing my peace. All my good intentions cast me out to sea.
I think I'll play that tomorrow night at the Wild Rover open mic.