Days and Weeks

Far, far more lost than I believed
I spent all of today
believing it to be tomorrow
I’m fading
The days have begun to feel like years
Feel for the middle aged
One day
Two days
One day?

At night I dream of day
At day the dreams come true
And so night becomes day
Day becomes night

Once I had 7 bars of color
Within my room of gray
Red Orange Yellow Green Blue Indigo Violet
Like the “real” rainbow my sister was proud to recite
So many years ago

Now I have one smear of white
Not the white of clouds and sea foam
The white of glistening sterile rooms
And padded walls.

 

 

 

Forgetting Happiness

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to always be happy. To have sad moments rather than happy moments. To have splotches of sadness upon a canvas of happiness. I have a worn and old canvas, torn and weathered. Upon it are a few sad stains of happy times, almost faded. Maybe it’s just my mindset, that caused them to fade, but, regardless, they are still hardly present. When I’m alone, my thoughts drift. When I’m with people, I disconnect, float away. I’m only half present. Perhaps cracking a joke once in a while. I got hit hard by something today. The acute kind of emotional pain. The sort that feels like a bullet to the chest or a knife to the gut. The pain is intense at first, and then you want to cry. But I can’t cry. I’ve cried once in years and years, over a girl. Of all things, a girl. Ridiculous. So instead I feel the need to throw up, to run, to hide, to die. Oh the times I’ve spent, holding the airsoft gun, caressing it, feeling it, holding it, weighing it, staring at it for hours. Put it to my head and “click”. Wishing I could, while knowing I can’t. I want to start over. I don’t want to be a year away from adulthood. I want to fly away, to some godforsaken place, a place where I can forget everyone, a place where I can start over.

I’m tired of slipping into depression. So very tired. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to sit alone, and think of only good things to come. To not rot in a puddle of despair, worrying over grades, regret, and sadness over relationships. I haven’t talked face to face with non-relatives in almost a week now. Hell, I haven’t talked face to face with anyone about anything worth talking about in years. Seventeen to be precise. Breaks from school have always been this way. Me sitting alone, or with family. I enjoy being with family, but I will drift away, to my thoughts, the recessed ones I never tell people about. I’m tired of feeling like enjoyment is a fucking escape. My cousins are at my house, and I just sit alone, in a completely different universe. I’m losing my grip.

I’ve spent my days, sitting in chairs. Playing the same songs on my guitar over and over again, for hours. I surf the web, I play video games. I should be studying, to improve my grades, but I want an escape. I want to forget school ever existed. I used to be a video game addict. I would lie about it. It was an escape, I knew people who always wanted to play with me. I felt needed, I felt wanted, I felt like I had friends, I escaped reality. I want to escape now, to only know the tapping of keys and the click of the mouse. I want to feel needed, even if that means just being part of a 5 man team for one game. I don’t get respect for my grades, I don’t get respect for my knowledge, I don’t get respect for my social status, I don’t get respect for anything. I’ve never been good at anything, least of all video games. But sometimes, I can be a god among the lowest of the low. I can feel important. I can feel necessary. I wish video games had never been invented, but they are better than the alternatives. Drinking and drugs. I will never touch either. They offer potent escapes, with even more potent crashes. I will drink myself to death, should I ever allow myself to touch alcohol.

I feel unneeded and unwanted. I can sit alone in my room for 2 weeks, and no one will care.   No one needs me to do things with them. No one particularly wants to do things with me. Sure, if I end up hanging out with my friends, that’s all fine and dandy, but if I don’t, then it’s also fine and dandy. I’m insecure, I rely on others for self validation. How the fuck else are you supposed to get validation in your social skills? How am I supposed to get validation in fucking anything? If no one wants me around, then clearly it has something to do with me. I want to sit in my room for the next 2 fucking weeks, and fade away. I want to play the same sad fucking song over and over to myself, until I forget my own name. I want to fade into absolutely nothing, so that even I can’t recognize myself. I want my family to forget I ever existed, so I won’t have the regret of causing them pain. I want to cry, and I don’t want to wake up tomorrow. I want to spend my day somewhere far away, not really present. I want to forget reality existed. I’ll get out of bed, play my song, and stare, somewhere far far away, somewhere where there is no pain.

Conversations

I used to have conversations with people in my head. Usually it was my crush. I had different crushes from most people (I’m assuming, not having much knowledge about other people), my crush was built around friendship. It’s not to say I was friends with my crushes, just that I wanted them to be my friends. I was a lonely young fellow, and I often felt a lack of intimacy between myself and friends. My crush was usually on someone I saw as similar or compatible with myself, and so they ended up with the marvelous job of hearing all my problems. Only that, it was my mental image of them that heard anything, although, technically, even the mental crush heard nothing as conversations were purely in my head. I would tell them everything about me, even the fact that I talked to them in my head. That’s right, I discussed with my imaginary friends the imaginary conversations I had with them. Yikes, that sounds way worse written out. Anyhow, long story short, my crushes were less about romance, and more about wanting a close friend, rather depressing. I would quickly find out later that most people don’t like hearing about all your thoughts and personal issues when your thoughts are practically cancer in the form of depression. Surprise surprise. If I changed from talking to imaginary people to real people, most would either tell me to fuck off within a day, and the rest would listen out of sympathy, and jump off a bridge after a month. Well, maybe not, but the point is that I have started thinking in words. My thoughts now scrawl out in my head in the WordPress draft format. Font and everything.

Now I just realized the paragraph above went absolutely nowhere, so I will make this more interesting by talking about a theory of mine. People have anti-bullshit programming built in. I was standing in the shower today, letting hot water run over me, while forgetting to actually wash myself. Even though I live in drought-ridden California, I still sit in the shower for 15 minutes doing nothing, before I remember the point of the shower is to get clean. What an asshole I am, a little cracked patch of dried mud hates me now. So anyway, I’m in the shower, right? Right. And I’m thinking about (in wordpress draft format) all the conversations I’ve had with people. I had a, heh, watershed moment. (That, my friends, was a pun AND a throwback reference in one word) . It occurred to me that I couldn’t even remember what I last discussed with my friends, face to face. The fact that I had last talked to my friends 5 days ago may have something to do with it, but still. I think that people automatically forget conversations if they were bullshit.

“Mrs. so and so was a bitch today?”

“Yeah, dude.”

“Damn man, what a hoe.”

“Yeah, fuck garden tools.”

“What? That was the dumbest joke I’ve heard all year.”

“Bitch, you wouldn’t know a good joke if it kicked you in the balls.”

^DELETED

You don’t remember these kinds of conversations. You mostly remember the deep conversations, the ones where important matters were discussed. Important as in personal, not important as in the math homework that’s due next period. I came to this realization when it turned out I could only recall the content of approximately three conversations in my entire life. All three were about personal feelings. All other conversations in my life had been filtered out, because, I think, they were just bullshit. Discussions over movies, classes and other meaningless trash. Either that or I’m more of a recluse than I thought, it may turn out I have only had three conversations in my whole life. Perhaps try it yourself and see. I have a good feeling that I’m right, and that this means I need to start talking more to people.

On a sidenote: Merry Christmas/Hanukkah + happy birthday to me

Friend pt. 3

I’ve often thought about the nature of our individualistic and capitalist society. We are encouraged to go our own ways, to take our own course, alone. High school friends are made to be lost it seems, doomed before they begin. I hate it, what good is a career you love and a sustainable income if you wish you were dead because of loneliness? We shed friends like skin, they flake away as life changes, and new ones emerge. The weathering of college, careers, spouses, and finally children too often prove to be the death of friends. We are told to go our separate ways, without people by our side. I sometimes wish planes and cars never existed (no longass DMV wait times), so we would have to stick with our childhood friends. Friends forever by your side, from birth to death.

I love you more than I have loved anyone (not saying much, considering my history of love), and I want to always love you through the wear and weathering of life. I fear the day of parting with you, to never be seen again. But I will trust life to see to it that our paths collide once more. I wish to hold onto you, dear friend, and never let go, through the worst of life, and through the best of life.

Friend

I wanted

Someone to lie beside me whilst peering up at the universe

watch a satellite flash by

get close for warmth

Someone to hug, just because I love them

Someone who will hold me

and keep me together

when I am breaking apart

Someone who will cling to me

just because they want to

be with me

Someone to cuddle

just because we want to feel loved

Is this a friend? I wanted it to be so

Perhaps in this day and age,

it is only a romantic partner

 

I need physical affection

Like I need food

I hunger for it

Not kisses, not sex, not romantics

just love.

 

Regression

I’ve regressed. I’m back to talking to myself in my head and listening to the same music I have played over and over for years. Today was just another day, except I’m 17, and I think I pissed off my parents. It’s supposed to be my special day, and the most exciting thing I did was take apart a bed, enjoyable, but not notable. I could tinker with things all day, it helps ground me in reality. Life becomes as simple as pulling a screw out of a hole and turning a screw driver. It’s the simple tasks, I’ve found, that are most satisfying.

I’ve never changed. I always have the same haircut, the same clothes, the same interests. Joseph is the kid who is in every class who just sits there. Reliable old me, the guy who bothers with you a text about politics or his depressing life when you just started blissfully forgetting he existed. I stopped initiating text conversations with my friends a while back. Haven’t received a text from any of them in months. Do I give a damn? Not really. I’ve just learned I’m probably not that important to most people. Oh well, that’s their problem, since I’m such a (Narcissistic adjective needed) person. I’m just unsure why people don’t want to do anything with me. If I suddenly went quiet, never texted, only said hi to people at school and exchanged a few bullshits, and never invited anyone anywhere, no one would really mind. I’ve thought about going to the doctor, to ask about my mental health, maybe I’ll get diagnosed with depression, then it’ll be official and I can REALLY beg for sympathy.

“I’m depressed”

“Oh really? Maybe you’re just a whiny bitch?”

*pulls out diagnosis

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you want a cookie?”

I probably shouldn’t though. Knowing the state of US healthcare, I’d probably get sent home with a bottle of happy pills, just because some fat cat in charge of a pharma company needed a little pocket change. The day I begin taking pills is the day I kill myself. No way am I going to live like some half rate heroin junky, relying on a drug to get my hit of happiness.

I just wonder why no one wants to be with me as bad as I want to hang around with them. This isn’t something new. My memories from elementary school are always of people hanging out without me. I probably seem odd to most people, probably look like a dumbass who is just taking advanced classes to attempt to go to a nice college. At least, that’s what I’ve heard from people who didn’t know me well, a grand total of 2 people. One is now my friend, the other was and always will be a self righteous asshole. A very intelligent fellow, but a complete dickwad, nonetheless. I’m a nice guy though, probably too nice, unless you start talking about politics, in which case I get very un-nice, for lack of a better newspeak term. I like books, movies, and politics, seems like I would be able to get some next level conversations going, except no one reads anymore, and my taste in movies probably has more in common with those of kids born in the 80s, thanks dad.

On a side note, everything on this blog is probably going to be more bloggish. I got tired of poems and stories. Those will show up once in a while, when I feel like being a cryptic bastard. This is far more therapeutic than being poet.

Thought Processes

There’s an old proverb

About how you can’t eat money

What kind of disgusting world requires money?

I realized today

You can have all the wealth in the world

Every material good

All things you ever begged for in Target

But money doesn’t love you

and you can’t love money

If I had the whole world in my palm

I would give it up, because I’ve forgotten how to be happy

I’m not happy when my family loves me

I’m not happy when I receive gifts that are worth enough to feed an African family for a year

I’m not happy when my friends are happy

I’m not happy with myself

I’m not happy that I write all these things

I’m not happy that christmas is tomorrow

I once received praise, a few days ago, and I didn’t know how to react

I’m mentally ill, I slip in and out of the illness.

I’ll act happy, to make everyone else happy, because that’s the least I can do at this point

I’m 17 today. I received hundreds of dollars today. I would happily give it all away, to be happy.

Maybe if I lie enough, go through the motions enough, one day I’ll believe it.

Maybe that’s all happiness is, people lying to themselves until they can’t distinguish between the lie and the real thing.

And then a few lucky people actually end up with the real thing.

I can self analyze, I can trace the root of all my problems, I can understand want I yearn for, I can understand people’s minds, I’ve spent hours upon hours just reading about depression, loneliness, people, relationships. I understand it all, and it’s no help whatsoever. I understand that 2 + 2 = 4 but I have no clue how to add 2 + 2 to get 4. I’m still stuck at 2 + 2, adding meaningless quantities over and over, and ending up with the same result: I don’t know.

I’m an introvert. I can’t lie to myself. I’ve been lonely since 8th grade. I thought I was enlightened, I thought I understood friendship on an entirely new level, and I did. But with that enlightenment came the dawning realization, that I had no friends. I would be more than happy to remain ignorant, to desire only to have people to talk about classes with, because enlightenment is no fun.

My friend thinks that I’m sad when she’s happy because I’m jealous. I once wanted her, and she dated someone else. She’s right and wrong, I am jealous, but not of her boyfriend, only of them. They have a fantastic relationship, good for them, they have each other. They have love and happiness. All I can think when I see them is: “I wish I had that”. I also know why, it’s because I have no self esteem and depression. I haven’t felt needed or truly loved by anyone, although I am, I haven’t loved or trusted anyone wholly. I wish I could be happy for them, but how can I be happy for someone else when I’m not even happy with myself? When I can’t even be happy on my birthday, when my family expresses their love for me and come to do things with me.

So to my dearest friend: it has nothing to do with you, I wish you the best, and I wish I could be happy for you, but I can’t. I have depression, you see, I have had it for years. To be happy for someone else you first must be happy with yourself, I’ve been trying to work on the latter for years. One day, I will get there. You misunderstood one thing: I am not jealous of only you and your relationship, I am jealous of all my friends, and the good things in their lives, your life just happens to be particularly fantastic, which is why it is more acutely painful for myself.

I have realized several things in writing this, I can be both happy and depressed, this is a weird poem/essay/rant, and that this would make a fantastic suicide note. But fear not, through the best of times, and through the worst of times, I will remain.

This is a pure, unadulterated look at my thought process. I am happy now, but I know I will slip back into these feelings soon enough, so for now, let me enjoy my material possessions, like a dirty, capitalist pig. 🙂