It’s 3 in the morning and I can’t sleep. Partly from pain, partly from fear. I just ad a filling put in at the beginning of the month, and suddenly my tooth hurts. All signs point to a root canal. Why post this here? Because I’m scared. Like a child. I hate dental and medical treatments, and I can’t handle two in one month. Two in one year. I would literally rather die than get a root canal done. I don’t care how harmless people claim it is, I’m fucking terrified and I’m allowed to be. I don’t want to work tomorrow, I don’t want to do anything. I fucking hate anxiety.
I honestly don’t know why I hope. I worked up the courage to ask somebody out, after nothing but pain for almost a year. She said no. I understood completely. Then I went into my room and punched my door until it splintered. I can’t even control myself anymore, and nobody fucking wants anything to do with me. I fucking can’t do this.
My life has become more meaningless than I’d like. I’m not in a great place to handle a great many responsibilities and curve balls, but my state of being is a little more than pointless right now. I’m working full time selling lumber, and lumber related products. After a hard day of work, distracting myself from my loneliness, I come home. I sit down. I catch up on some tv show. A tv show I’ve seen all the way through already. What will I do when I complete it again? I’ll watch another show I’ve seen many times already. When I’m tired of that? I’ll play through a video game I’ve played again, and again, and again. I’ll stay up late, not feeling tired until after midnight. I wake up feeling like something is wrong, go to work, lather, rinse, repeat.
I’ve done everything I can to fix my situation. I don’t want to be in a depressed state of pain any longer. So I try everything I can think of to force myself to feel better. Apparently the only thing I could do to stop, is make myself numb. Numb to the voices of the people who look down on me, numb to the pain of being ignored by the closest things to friends I’ve got, and numb to the pain of dealing with everything on my own. There’s a glaring problem with this ‘solution’. When you suffer a deep cut, even when the wound doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t feel right. You’re overly aware of the wound. Even if it doesn’t hurt, you hate the feeling and you want it to heal. None of my wounds have been properly tended, they’ve healed wrong, and now they’ll feel strange forever.
Enough with the metaphorical shit. Let’s get down to brass tax. I’m unhappy. I’ve worked to move past the girl I fell in love with, and it hasn’t made a difference. I can be in pain from denied love, and absence of love all the same. There still isn’t a one girl who wants anything to do with me. And even though I understand why I’m not my ex-girlfriend’s favourite person, and even though I’ve forgiven her for hurting me, I can’t move past the fact that she said she hated me. I can acknowledge my mistakes, and my bad choices, yet I don’t believe I deserve that.
I think I preferred the pain. I may not have totally understood at all times where the pain came from, it was something I could fight against. I haven’t lost the desire to fight my unhappiness. But it’s become like fighting smoke. I’ve lost the ability to fight it.
Still hanging on. I can’t for the life of me (forgive the pun) remember why. I don’t like my job, I have no interests I could make a career out of, girls have taken to ignoring me instead of rejecting me (yes, that’s worse), my only friend is tired of my bullshit. It doesn’t matter what I do. Because of who I am, I’m never going to be okay. Ask anybody, all you need to be happy is to accept your life and make the best of it. Where’s the fucking silver lining? How does one look at the bright side here? I honestly want to fucking know. What do you tell someone who has no friends? That at least I’m not acquainted with assholes? It’s good nobody will ever love you, because that way you’ll never get an std? it doesn’t matter what you do for a living, because we all die in the end anyway? Fuck that shit. There’s no good here. And fuck religion. I apologize if you’re religious. But seriously, fuck you if you try to tell me any of this is happening for a reason. It is fucking cruel to make people suffer, regardless of the reason. Religion can’t help me. Being a good person isn’t making me apply. It isn’t making me content. It isn’t even enough to make other people treat me with respect. So fuck religion, fuck the good people, and fuck you.
My ex girlfriend hates me. She fucking hates me. The girl who broke up with me, gave her ex boyfriend a blow job two weeks later, and got a new boyfriend less than a month after that, hates me. What the fuck does that tell you? I don’t hate her after all that shit. I fucking forgave her after all that shit. How was I rewarded? A sliver of peace, the devastation of another human being berating you for existing. How am I supposed to take that? The only person who has ever loved me, hates me. How the fuck am I supposed to take that and move on?
Where’s the fucking love of God for someone who does their best to be a good person? I get fucking nothing from it. Not even peace of god damn mind.
I try to keep religion out of these. Because it really is unto interpretation, and I’ll let people believe what they want. But if you try to tell me to trust in God, fuck you.
I’ve had it. I really have. I’ve got nothing. Remember Zombieland? I always tried to remember one of their rules. “Enjoy the little things”. When you feel like you have nothing, it’s good advice. But how long can you pretend listening to a new song is meaningful? How long can you lie to yourself about what really matters? I can’t eat a sandwich and tell myself the hole in my life has been filled. I can’t pretend watching a movie I like is the same as holding someone who loves you. I can’t pretend having plans for the weekend is better than having plans for my future.
Why don’t I just end it? Many reasons I suppose. Mostly fear. Fear of what might happen. Without faith, death is terrifying. I can’t comprehend not existing, no matter how many people wish that were the case. No matter what I say next, it doesn’t sound right. Fuck it.
What’s the answer? What do I do? If you try to tell me to be patient, fuck you.
For the first time in years, I truly want to be dead. I’m not going to kill myself, for several reasons, but I really just wish I would. I’m tired, and I’ve given up. I’ve been depressed since I was about fourteen. I know other people have put up with worse, longer, but I guess they’re just stronger. There was always something. Some reason for me to want to live. Half the time it was just hope. Then when things started getting really bad, and I felt suicidal for the first time, I had Blondie. She helped me through it. She was always there to talk, or comfort me, and I made it through everything because of it. She saved my life. I can never thank her enough for that. Then I met… whatever the hell fake name I gave her on here. My ex girlfriend. For two years, I had her as well. When I lost her, Blondie was still there. She still helped me, and she still cared about me. She kept me grounded, and because of her I felt like I could make it. Then, even when I fell in love with her and she didn’t feel the same way, I knew she was still my friend. I wasn’t alone, because she still wanted me around. After everything, I still had my best friend. No matter how badly I felt about school, she was there. Even on the days when I felt like I couldn’t go on because I couldn’t be with her, she was still an amazing friend to me, and I felt less alone. This girl saved my life, and gave me hope. I never really properly expressed what this girl means to me. This is it. I had a hold of my depression, instead of vice versa, because of her.
Then there’s now. If you didn’t see my last post (which is a 98% certainty), you wouldn’t know that she just cancelled the dinner plans we’ve had for over a week. Again. I haven’t seen her in almost a month. I’ve been trying and trying to plan something, but she was always too busy for me. When my aunt died, she couldn’t take half an hour to go for a drive, so I wouldn’t have to be alone. Then cancelling the only plans she had made today. For the past month and a half, I’ve felt like she doesn’t care whether I live or die. So why should I. The one person I’ve cared about the most, the only person who’s opinion really matters to me, my best friend of so many years, the girl who literally saved my life. She doesn’t fucking care.
The one thing that kept me from killing myself long ago is fading fast. I have nothing anymore. I’ve been hopelessly single for a year, too depressed to have the ability to meet someone new, and too in love to really want to look. I hate being away for school, and I can’t see it going anywhere anyway. I can’t find comfort in religion, I can’t distract myself with hobbies anymore, and now I’m losing the best friend I’ve ever have. There’s no barrier anymore. Nothing keeping me from sticking the barrel of a gun in my mouth. Nothing but me. I’m not going to do it. I know that for sure. But to want to this badly after so long. It’s scary. If you were to ask me again in a couple months? I don’t know what I’d say. That is fucking terrifying.
She cancelled on me. Again. After not having time for me for weeks, not having time for me when a fucking family member dies, she doesn’t have time for the plans SHE made, a week in advance. My only friend doesn’t like me. Fuck this. Just fuck everything.
Depression is obviously hard on everyone. it affects so many aspects of so many lives. However to me, it affects one thing so much that it overpowers it completely. Writing.
Writing is hard. I’m sure all of you would agree. Writers are unsure of their best works by default. So imagine introducing automatic self doubt into that fucked up cocktail. Writers are rarely happy with what they’ve written, until at least ten re-writes, but when you have days when you doubt everything about yourself, you stop writing. You simply can’t risk it, because you can’t find the right words. Then the idea no longer makes sense, the font looks stupid, any reason, really. All I know for sure, is that I stop writing. I stress and worry over how a sentence sounds out loud until I don’t even care to finish. Even now I’m forcing myself to continue, even though I keep internally screaming to myself that this entire concept is unoriginal. I’m doubting my word choices (choice?), punctuation placement, tone, mood, length, etc. The only reason I’m still writing, is because this doesn’t matter. But anything I’m serious about, gets abandoned within a few weeks.
I envy that cliche about self-loathing writers. It’s gotta be better than a self-hating writer.