Titles are Hard

I think I want to start doing a daily thing where I go over my morning emotions. They're the hardest to sift through because I don't really account for the time needed to sit, weighted on my mattress, pondering whatever blurry thought or troublesome dream that's decided to rip apart my sense of "morning".

I am caught between the need to allow half of my mind to continue sleeping for the rest of the day, and being restlessly irritable. In either case, I'm not feeling sociable. But that will change, as it does throughout the course of each day. And if I engage with others while feeling this way, it will most certainly lead to more anxiety. The easiest solution being isolation, leaving myself to contend with loneliness as the least intimidating beast of the bunch.

Other than this edged haze centered in the left side of my skull, I'm well. I worked out yesterday. I slept in a good bed. I'm washed and moisturized, and I've had some water. I'm far and away from anyone who truly wishes to hurt me.

It's Saint Patrick's Day and all I can think of relevant to that is how annoying I was in the past, claiming an Irish heritage that isn't truly mine to claim. Wanting desperately to have some sort of identity to cling to, something to let me feel like more than a heart plug with no chest socket.

At the very least, I have nearly accepted myself as queer. So there's that, as a community.

I'm not sure how quickly this day will pass. I would like to rest this eve, rather than cling to the sunless hours in hopes of reaching some random, insightful satisfaction with myself to cuddle with as the next morning rises.


[Blog Post] Dawn, Depression, Daylight.

Working on Saturday is sort of like "working". Much less noise on the roads, far more in the buildings. I can see the cold mist of 7am, draped over the autumn infused trees, few obstacles between my eyes and the distant suburban forest.

I'm feeling better than I was. I'm not entirely sure of how much that's worth. Then again, I'm probably still emotionally reeling from recent events. Personal as well as national. What else is new?

It sucks when people close tell you they are proud of what you've done, how far you've come, and you feel anger. Does that happen to anyone else? I don't feel I've done anything worthy of praise, which is fine with me as a rule. I am an improvement on who I was. I think better thoughts. I'm much, much better at managing anger. Sadness not so much but hey I'll take what I can get. I'm more active, both physically and politically. I'm doing what I can to build a person who is helpful to those with far less privilege.

A hornet chased me away from the bench at the bus stop. "No rest," they kept saying, circling the nearby trash can. "No rest," they repeated, lost. Far from their friends. Their home.

Every moment I allow myself to relax I feel guilt. I know I should always strive to do more. I'm hoping I'm working my way up to that amount of activism, that this isn't just some blip on my journey, where I go right back to being ruled solely by my addictive personality.

Still. Good things. I'm in a better headspace than I was this time last year, the entirety of last year, the beginning of this one.

It feels sort of like a much simpler version of depression. Usually it comes in bursts, and I am incapacitated by the illness for days at a time. I'm much more functional recently, but I feel it always there. Like that mist, over the autumn trees. I see, I hear, I feel beauty all around me and around most of my actions. I feel the new vigor in the love I pour into what I do and how I interact with people. Still, the mist. Nothing is perfectly clear, still and wonderful. The mist is light, translucent.

Why do anything about it? It's nice. I get to be helpful in small ways, I use my mind to assist in the fight for equality when I am able. That's who I want to be. I just want to help. It's not a huge deal if there's a pall of sadness and lack of self worth that doesn't affect anyone else. Except in the case that it escalates–but I mean, I'm better at recognizing when I'm worse. Managing. Taking steps to deal. Working myself through it mentally.

It seems awfully tragic and overly white knight-like. "Wow what a martyr, sacrifices his happiness for the betterment of others wow so cool" like…fine. I know it sounds that way and I don't care. All that matters is I'm being even a little helpful, I have the potential to be more helpful, and all I have to do to keep it up is live with a mist.

I've always had poor vision anyway. You see a single rabbit spring into the brush, another, smaller, following. I squint, wishing I'd seen it, pretending I had, imagining how nice it was. It's almost as good.

"All in all it's been okay–I've lived well."

Jhene Aiko is pretty corny sometimes, especially in her latest album. But Eternal Sunshine keeps me going. It says, "it's okay. Everything is okay. Not perfect, maybe not great. But it's good, it's alright, I've lived well and I should never stop appreciating that."

So that's how I'm feeling these days. Fairly happy with a constant pall of depression. Maybe it comes with the territory of activism against systems you yourself are complicit in. Maybe it was bound to happen regardless. My current strength of belief in hard determinism would agree with that last.

I'll just keep rolling with it. This path presently sucks for my self worth, like a lot. I don't feel very good about myself or very important. But it's much better for the world, and a continued trajectory has the potential to result in actual…well, results.

It is my hope that this will eventually bring me out of it. When I feel as if I have brought about real change, even in a small way, I might love myself? That'd be just the best.

The mist clears as the dawn turns into day. I'm hoping my sun continues to rise as well.

I’m Sorry, Home Depot Guy With the Crackers

Long ago, in a distant land, a young boy was incredibly grumpy. He was hungry, and he was bored. To top all of that off, he was in the one store every child with moderately handy parents dreads..

Home Depot.

Yes, it was in this gray and orange, smelly, musty establishment, that we find our hero. He is whining, moaning and groaning. Nothing, nothing in the world will fix his mood. He is beyond help.

His cry for sustenance is met only with impatience by his mother. She does what she can to keep him quiet enough for her to be in and out of the dreaded depot as quickly as humanly possible. She wishes should could stuff some food in his whiny little face and shut him the hell up, but she cannot. Alas, she is a mother who takes care of this little brat all on her own, and spends every penny making sure the two of them keep a roof over their heads.

An employee, probably on his way to save some cats from trees or babies from burning buildings, stops to try and reconcile the increasingly irritated child. His heart is pure, despite the dust and must present atop the vest of his chest.

“I’ve got some crackers you could have,” he practically sings. He is a golden beacon of hope for the mother, who just wants her child to, for once, shut the hell up.

“I don’t want CRACKERS,” the child screams indignantly.

“Get over here, you do not talk to people that way! Sir, I’m sorry,” the mother does her best to remedy the situation. The hurt on the man’s face is small, but present. The child, remorseless, continues on his way, convinced the world is out to starve him right to death.


Sir. I’m so, so sorry. You were so nice to me. I can’t believe I was so rude to you. You offered what you had, to someone you had no connection to. I tear up to this day, thinking about how incredibly kind you were to me that day, when I gave you less than a single reason to do so.

You deserved better, and I hope you got it from every other waking moment of your life. The world needs people like you. People who simply want to help, just to help. People who do not care if the person in need seems to deserve it, they try anyway, just to make the world a little brighter.


Thank you so much for offering your crackers. I’m sure they were very delicious. That little brat I grimly think of as past-me didn’t deserve a smile from you, let alone a nice package of salty, crunchy crackers.

More than anything, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin your day. I hope you forgot about me, and kept on helping, with that big, dust-free, pure heart of yours.

Cameron’s ADD Meds–Pretend Game Bus Rides

My friend Cameron was the funniest mother fucker around in grade school. He always had that perfect delivery, that perfect sense of how to tell a joke. I loved that kid, and I miss him.

He was on medication for ADD at the time. He always appeared to be incredibly hyper, which doesn’t seem like what was supposed to happen. Either way, it did. He was always such a joy to be around.

We would ironically play those pretend games that kids play where it’s basically an improv exercise. It usually took place in the mornings, on the sunlit bus ride to school. They say they shot you, you say “but pretend I’m okay because of forcefield,” they respond with, “but pretend you weren’t because I had forcefield bullets,” and so on. It was an amazing way to start a sleepy, school-ridden day.

I could never beat him. He was so fast, so quick with his comebacks. Just a barrage of, “but pretend you weren’t,” “but pretend you weren’t,””but pretend you weren’t,”…on and on, he had a defense for anything I could possibly say.


I talked to him after high school, reminiscing about those moments. “Man, remember how funny it was when we…” you know the drill.

I thought he would laugh and respond in kind. Instead, his voice took on a sad tone, hidden beneath a half smile.

“Yeah, I was on a lot of meds back then…”

Followed by an awkward silence.

In that moment, I realized I wasn’t talking to my friend. I was talking to a different version of him, but one that I didn’t recognize. A version that felt like, who he was at the time…wasn’t really him.

It feels like I was friends with a ghost, y’know? I feel bad for taking joy in thinking back to those times, because for Cameron, those moments didn’t involve him. They didn’t exist in his memory like they did in mine.

I think…I think things like this are what scare me away from getting psychiatric help.

The Teen Finally Sleeps

D.A.R.E. was weird, right? We can all agree that was strange and jarring.

I thought I would never smoke marijuana until I was 16 at my friend’s birthday party. They were right about one thing–that peer pressure tho!

I kept smoking through the rest of high school. You might think that messed me up. Made me worse, slowed me down.

Man…all I know is, I could finally…finally sleep.

It was so great. I was a bit high sometimes, which can make you feel like you aren’t yourself. But Christ on a damn crutch, I felt more like myself than ever before. I slept about 4 hours on average each night as a kid. From sophomore year on, whatever bullshit weed did to my brain…it was worth it. I was finally able to sleep.


Hot Pockets were a lot better, too. I legitimately got a boner eating a Four Cheese, once.

A Quote and Loneliness

I read a stupid quote today that really got to me.

“Maybe we feel so empty because we left pieces of ourselves in everything we used to love.”

It’s dumb, and I know that it is. But it is exactly how I feel.

I feel like I thrived in a college environment. I do suffer from social anxiety, but I cherished the moments when I was around tons of people and could make them all laugh. Those were the best moments of my life. I don’t remember specific moments right now, but I know that I have been funny before. I have been entertaining. I loved it. I loved talking to tons of different people in the scope of one evening. I loved being social.

I’m not social anymore. Part of me loves that. It is a much less exhausting existence.

The other part hates it. The other part of me wants to go back to living in a dorm, to studying abroad, to being broke and drunk and…well, those things are mostly true anyway right now, save for drunk…anyway, whatever.

I want to live around various people. I want to have my alone time, but go out and talk to a group of crazy, different, weird, wacko characters. People are so strange and different and…I love them. I hate them sometimes, but I love them. I cherish the moment when I connect with someone who is completely different from me. I love that so much.

I haven’t had that in at least two years now.

I feel like I put so many pieces into the social part of myself. Maybe not in each person I used to talk to, maybe just in that part of myself that is now dormant.

I feel depressed without that part of myself being active, but I also feel like there is no way to get that part of my life back.

How the hell do people socialize these days? Where do you go? Bars suck–they’re stupid expensive and I hate them for making me lose hundreds of dollars just to get a buzz going. So what then? No one goes up and talks to strangers at a park. You can’t talk in the theaters. People go to restaurants to be with the people they went with.


I’m lonely.

I mean, oh well, right? There is a lot to be said for not being around people a lot. Less drama, less money spent. Maybe this is good for me. Maybe I’m supposed to really work on myself for a while. That’s probably the case. I could use some self-work.

Some real work wouldn’t hurt either–Baziiing!

I suppose I’ll try to pursue some creative endeavors, see how that works out. Maybe moreso tomorrow than today. Today sort of sucks. I’ll wait out today for the most part. What I’ve written today hasn’t been very good or original. And I mean, if I’m going to write terrible stuff, I’d at least like it to be daring.


I don’t know how to end this post. Cheesecake cookies from the Nice! brand are good, but cheesecake itself kind of blows. It’s just too much.

Depressing Musings

I worked out today. It was nice, even if it was out of anger.

I got in a fight with my girlfriend, shortly after we woke up. I was irritable because my job did not give me hours today, and I had been hoping to finish up. Other employees say it will be like this for the rest of the week, because of the holiday weekend.

My job is very annoying. I know this is no excuse. I apologized. It wasn’t enough. She is angry with me for doing this on more than one occasion.

I don’t know. I guess I have been caught between happiness and a crushing sense of being lost and lonely. I’m finally at a point in my life where I can concentrate for a bit on what it is I want to actually do. I do not want to be stuck at a couple dead end jobs that help me pay rent. I would like to find something I love and pursue it.

One of those things is voice acting. I have trouble pursuing it because I am embarrassed to try and do voices while others are around.

Sometimes I wonder if I would like living alone. I don’t know if I would. I get very lonely, but then I also get very sick of people. I feel like I have all of the worst parts of being extroverted and being introverted just mashed together to make up my personality towards others. I need time to recharge, but I am also very happy entertaining large groups of people.

I don’t know what my father was like. I never met the guy, or heard much about him. My mother seems to like to keep to herself, and my grandfather was a very popular singer and actor at his college. That’s all my mind really goes off of when looking for an answer to why I am this way.

I don’t have many friends anymore. I mean, there are a few who would still say we are friends, but we rarely, if ever, hang out. I can’t say they are sorely missed, either. They were never very close friends anyway, despite what some obscenely drunk nights might tell you.

I don’t know if I enjoy being sober. Sometimes I find it very refreshing, like I’m a day that finally decides it isn’t time for a storm. I love the rain, though. Always have.

I never thought I would have a steady girlfriend. Past-me would be very happy to know that much, at least. I spent a lot of time as a youth going after people I knew I could not attain, and relishing that feeling of wanting something I could never have. Then, when I could have it, I would reject it. I suppose that means my significant other is a testament to me growing up, at least a little.

I like being productive, but I don’t know where to put all of that drive. I want to put it somewhere fun, but I also need money. Said everyone ever, right? I should be happy to have a roof over my head and moderately good food to eat.

Will I always just want more? Will I always be miserable, no matter how far I get? Will I die with regrets?

I hate imagining old me. It’s like in those movies where, they look in the crystal ball and see a miserable, wretched silhouette of flesh and they go, “well idiot, if things keep going the way they are going, you’re going to end up like that!

As of now, I’m going to end up alone and sad.

This is coming across as really depressing. I’m really not that terrible depressed, I don’t think. I am sad, but I’m sure it will pass.

I have always needed therapy. If my mother had made enough money to not go bankrupt on more than one occasion, then perhaps I would have been able to get some as a child. I always had anger issues, anxiety issues, depression. I guess not always on the depression front, that only started when I was 12 or so.

Depression is such an asshole. Makes you feel so comfortable in your numb, lifeless world. Then it has the gall to say, “actually if you aren’t diagnosed, I don’t exist! You’re just a loser! HA!”


I have my mother’s insurance until the end of the year. I should see if the place nearby accepts that insurance, and how much it would cover. I just want someone to finally be like…

Yes. This is a problem.

No. This is not how you should be feeling.

Yes. It is okay.

No. You are not crazy.

No. You should not lay down and give up.

Yes. You can get through it.

Yes. It is real.

Yes. You are loved.

Yes. You matter.

No. You are definitely not crazy.

Yes. Talking will help.

Yes. I can help you.

Yes. Maybe medicine would help.

No. You do not have to be afraid.

It is scary. It is okay to be afraid. But you will be okay. You can breathe.


You can breathe.


That would be nice.