16 June 2008

Something is Wrong

Very wrong and my vise is slipping because of it. This wrong goes beyond the panic of unfinished errands.
I've started to remember the reverse writing from a while back. The image of my hand moving across the page. The feel of something, some part that hasn't come out before and just how important that part was. I was panicked and excited and stuffed it back down immediately - and it this moment, this breach that has me thinking about what edge I need to walk... what functions I can't have and still achieve something-- no not something: the thing. Start being fucking honest with myself. The thing I could achieve.
It's a brink, a teeter. Sometimes I'm headed with full kinetic force towards the thing. But other times the mere thought of grander aspiration feels shameful. It's the logistics, the lack of drive, thats what makes it so far away. It's what makes me feel foolish for believing.
If I'm ever going to make it, I'd better have a long life.


It's what I really miss-- held away from the outside, getting lost in a fictional world is the closest i get. They aren't even mine anymore. I'm drawing other people's words other people desires hoping to spark something that never seems to get any close. It's empty, it's habit.
I miss wanting something
This is what I feared the other side of a goal. The next stage. It doesn't drive me. Fantasy.(don't forget) How do I work that into my new life.(may be that's it. this is essentially a new life)

Puzzles Pieces Made to Fit... Or

Revisionist History.

When I was a kid I slipped through the cracks. I was quiet and smart. I adapted, I compensated as the learning went on. After it was 'caught' and 'fixed', a lot of what I knew changed and it was a struggle to adapt back. And now i have to do it all again. I have to go back and find motivation and desire again. It's fear stopping me. I can't understand how i could have ever had the level of passion I once did. How could I ever feel with that instensecity if it's controlled? How could I ever risk loosing control?-- This isn't fire, this is explosives. Things won't slowly char before before it could be smothered, they'll be torn apart violently without time to salvage or dampen.
But i cause more damage when I go back and forth.


There's a paradox, (is that the right word?) between the unhealthy state, the imbalanced that I railed against, and the well one... Without desire or motivation, without the crazybeing constantly at my door step. I am "functional". But without those states without the chaos to rail against, I don't know what to function for.

The Crux

They've done studies, it's been proven you can't live without desire. I have none left-- it's been drained. I have a vague memory of once having it. The feel of it making empty acts more important. Made me feel.. something. The escapes were enough, were calling me, were so grand.
I hope it comes back. But it's an empty hope-- one i don't believe in.

How to maintain

How many things I am convinced i won't be able to... stand. The dread is worst than the act. I don't know how long I'll be able to maintain the limited existence I'm in now.

Do, Complete, Stand

While my day passes with so little being done, I'm convinced I can't keep a job. Even if I started looking, (which will be a feat in and of its self) whatever kind of job I'll finally get will be beyond my ability.

In and Of

Life after college. There's more time but so far everyday has been the same: wake up, waist time, at 3pm: be surprised, let time pass, it's dark, wait to sleep. repeat.

10 May 2008

So who are you really?

I don't know who i'm talking to. i am unsure what i'm doing by typing away.

After looking at my past entries (as few i have), i'm struck by one blaring commonality--
I only did them when i was at a loss for something 'productive'.

After consideration i realized i don't know you.

Therefore i don't have any sense who i am talking to.

Maybe that's what's missing from these 'blogs'. (i really hate that word, is that really the official name?)

A sense of with whom i am conversing.

Is it the teachers who have completed the grading of the contents?
But will they still come?

Is it my fellow students who i have strived to disassociate myself from?
But have they ever come?

Will it be random users who happen upon this page?
But they are only drawn in by the first flashy content visible.

Whoever you are what ever you think of me this is my waste, my ultimate procrastination.

In the span between entries do you care what i am doing?

Do you care about me?

Whoever you are know that in the span between entries i am working or thinking or writing...

I am producing,

I am creating something that will benefit me

Whoever you are know that what isn't said here is funneled into something wonderful

And i will try and remember that too.

07 April 2008

Depression Or Debilitation

Why are these my only options?

Who said I couldn’t be more than a shadow, it’s a very cruel joke. And I think I’m starting to get it, maybe to chuckle. The punch line is real hidden so bear with me:
The last medication I got on worked great, my clarity went up, my energy went up -- I could continue through my day while keeping my patience and my confidence intact. But about a month and a half into it, these severe waving migraine pains started in, and even with small reprieves it stopped me cold. This is a not common side effect of the medication I started, but for those that do get it they don't go away and there really isn't any choice but to stop this med, wait till it’s out of my system then try another.... Again. So choiceless, I went off the best advantage to my functionality to date because it caused me pain, and you know there was still a moment of pause where I wonder if debilitation was better than depression. Because I like functioning, it seems like such a little thing to want, and I feel so validated when I do.
The ratio of meds in my system and pain in my head seems consistently proportional. Now, it's a mild throb, no more than remnant, and I can feel the depression seeping back in its place.
And that what has me ready to scream, out of frustration, out of surrender, out of lost patience, confidence, energy... I’ve already cried, already planned my drop out, into whatever vise presents itself first. The number question when starting with a new therapist is have you ever tried or thought about killing yourself. Since I was 11 my standard answer to them and to myself has been no, that only because I know I have to answer the question do I ever give it thought
But you know what. I realized it’s a lie. I do think about it, when I’m too tired to keep any of it up, when I think about my status as a burden, when I don’t think I’ll ever reach the point where I’m a contrition, when I become so disgusted with myself because I can’t get out of bed, not so much killing, as allowing myself to be pulled in a direction. But damn it I’m here, I don't want to pause my life anymore for something in my head.
And it is in my head. That’s the joke, the biggest vat of chemicals controls the our very essence, how we think, what we see from the most subjective to the most literal, is being fucked with and there’s nothing we can do, except sit back and be case studies.
There's no denying it, that is where the problem is, completely within my head, mind, brain. Valid, real, and out of my control problem in my brain. And even I don’t know why I can’t just get over it; let it stop being a weight on me.
I want to be able to push through it, I want people to understand just how much I do that already and give me a cookie for it.
I want to have control over my energy, my perception; I want so little, something so simple. I've already compromised so much, and I still can't have it.

I want to function, to be at least a semi productive member of society, maybe just a bit part. I want more than to merely exist. And I’m not sure I can have that.