That’s how my life feels right now.

It’s not easy to stave off depression in this state. At least I did the right thing and got dressed. I have mentioned before how sitting around nude make my depression worse. I think it’s because the lack of a boundary layer between myself and the world encourages the exact kind of loose, diffuse, unfocused, and uncontained state of mind that is the way my depression operates. In order for any chance at a good mood, I need a container to give me a shape.

Look, water imagery is back! It’s just so apt.

But still, when I am physically depressed, it tends to make me emotionally depressed as well. I guess that’s true for everyone, it’s just that the sadness is a lot less dangerous in mentally healthy people.

They might feel sorry for themselves, but they don’t feel like hurting themselves either.

Me, I never feel sorry for myself. The closest I get to that is being pissed off about getting jerked around or stepped on. When the universe is polite enough to give me an obvious enemy, I have no problem finding motivation to fight.

But when the enemy is yourself, it gets…. complicated.

Outrage is not the same as sympathy for oneself, though. I am still working on that one. I am still living in a dungeon of my own design, where I am both Inquisitor and… Inquisitee, I guess? Conditions have improved but I am still very cruel and demanding of myself.

So little pity, so little forgiveness, so little compassion. I am my own villain and I am one of the nastiest kinds : the kind that thinks they are on the side of right.

There are times when I can look back on my past self, that sad little boy who laid down in snow bank, wanting to die, and feel sympathy for the poor little guy. He didn’t do anything wrong. He got dealt a very weird hand of cards and it’s not his fault that the system could not handle him. He did the best he could with what he had. Sometimes, I wish I could go back in time and give that poor kid a hug.

But then the overzealous superego steps in, and what I really want to do is give that kid a smack and tell him to stop being such a pussy and take control of his life and his fate. Stop drifting and decide things!

And while that is not entirely incompatible with a loving approach (not all good parenting looks like hugs and kisses and Sunday morning breakfast), it is pretty low in compassion. Something like that might have helped me snap out of it at an early age (instead, it took puberty to give me the hormones to wake the fuck up), but it might have just further convinced me that the world was against me and caused me to retreat even further into the world of my mind.

Then again – I guess it would have given me a villain to fight, at least.

And the real crime is that I am (obviously) still mad at that kid. I still blame him for what happened to him/me due to his extraordinary wimpiness and cowardice. As a big guy with an off the scale IQ, I could have ruled that school.

Not sure why I’d want to, but the option was there. All I needed to do was get the fuck over myself, grow up, and take charge.

Then again… I was only a kid. A very, very damaged kid.

I’ve never understood the pursuit of power. Is it just the ugly stepchild of ambition? Because honestly, I have a completely utilitarian view of power. What would it get me? What do I need it for? What do I plan to do with it when I get it? Is it worth the target power paints on your back? How will it make my life better? Iwould honestly prefer wealth. With wealth, you can live as you please, especially if you avoid drawing attention to yourself via some kind of conspicuous consumption.

I loathe conspicuous consumption.

If I had money, I would get myself a nice house in a nice neighborhood and buy some neat toys but for the most part, I would be like any other suburbanite. I’d buy what I thought I ought to in order to keep up with the middle of the pack, and happily become just another guy at the swap meet or clothing drive.

No drawing attention to myself, no bragging, no trying to outdo the Joneses, just the simple life of a writer who happens to take fairly expensive vacations.

It might seem odd to some that as individualistic a person as I am, someone who has insisted on being himself and nobody else for his entire life, wants nothing more than to blend in and, to a certain extend, conform.

But the thing is that, at least for me, being an individual means doing what pleases you, and seeing as I have never been forced to conform, I have no issues that makes me need to do the exact opposite in order to silence those demons.

So if I dream of quiet middle class anonymity, I am crystal clear that I am choosing that, not having it forced on me or obeying some kind of herd instinct or having my individuality squashed by The System. I am choosing to do it, and I feel free to choose it and free to change my mind if I get tired of it.

To me, freedom is autonomy – the freedom to do as I please, without any preconceived notions as to what that might be. Maybe I would end up building a big weird mansion that is my own little perverse kingdom. Maybe I would buy a comfy apartment and live downtown with the freaks, weirdos, and losers. Maybe I would do something I can’t even conceive of until the situation is upon me.

But wealth and power have exactly one purpose : to make me happier.

Anything else is bullshit.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.