My mood is… not good.

I found myself feeling utterly lost in class today. Like I was completely alone, even though I was in a small room with six other people.

It didn’t help that I fucked up again. I am so fucking sick of myself. As is often the case, I leaped to an erroneous conclusion with my usual perverse agility. I was not sure what the assignment was for my TV Pilot 2 class over the weekend, but I did an outline for a couple more episodes of my show Sam just in case.

But when I posted it to the class forum Monday night, I found out that none of my fellow students had posted theirs. So I figured I must be wrong about the assignment, and dismissed it from my mind.

Aaaand that was dumb, because it turns out I was right about the assignment, it was just that none of my fellow students had posted theirs yet when I posted mine. Mine was six hours late, but theirs were…. much later.

So I showed up at class today to find out that everyone had read everyone else’s outlines for the next episode, including mine, and I hadn’t read any of theirs.

This launched me into the cold panic that has become all too familiar lately. Once more I had screwed up and let other people down. My life is a never ending stream of humiliations and I don’t feel like I have the power to stop them because whenever I remember one thing, I forget another, and I just can’t get ahead.

I try so hard to get my shit together but it just doesn’t work.

Reference : the first verse of this song.

Band name mostly coincidental.

I did get a little bit of positive human input, though. The episode of Sam I was dreading having other people read because I was convinced it was horrible turned out to be the one that everyone loved. Go figure.

I must have some kind of talent. I just don’t quite know how to use it yet.

In general, I have been feeling craptacular lately. I really feel like my depression has gotten worse as of late and I am wondering why.

As patient readers know, I tend to end up in a bad mood at the end of a term at school. I think it comes from a form of mental exhaustion. Too much putting out more mental energy than I generate until my mind is in deep dark debt.

And speaking of the deep dark, it might be seasonal too. I haven’t found my SAD therapy unit yet, nor have I gotten around to getting some full spectrum bulbs for my lamps. So the possibility that sunshine would improve my mood remains.

It does seem like I feel better on sunny days. It’s anecdotal but compelling. My vision of paradise is full of spring sunshine on cool green grass. It’s a vision that captures, in the deep symbols of my mind, a feeling of being happy and safe and free and life being a wonderful thing filled with simple joy.

Pretty sure I am not a grownup in that vision.

I get so tired of correcting my negative thoughts. I suppose that illustrates the folly of a purely cognitive approach to curing myself. I can correct the thought but the underlying emotion doesn’t really change.

That icicle-sharp wind keeps blowing through my soul regardless.

I found myself staring at the number for the local suicide hotline on a poster at school today. I was not considering self-harm. I don’t go there any more except in very brief spurts which I quickly reject and correct.

But I thought it might be nice to have someone I can talk to whenever I want. Someone who is not connected to my life at all so I can just dump my depression on them without feeling bad about it.

After all, it’s what they are there for. It’s not just for people actively considering suicide. It’s also for us people who really need someone to talk to.

And what the hell, if they can’t stand the effects of my unshielded reactor core and end up super depressed, they can always talk to each other.

My depression is probably not as toxic as I think it is. But someone like me has to be careful because I have extremely potent powers of communication and I am very good at expressing how I feel in words.

That’s what makes me so deadly. In my desperate animal-level need to communicate how I feel, I can give people far more than they are able to handle.

Hell, there’s been times I depressed my therapist. That arctic chill of mine is potent stuff. And I am too damned empathic – and moral – to be okay with destroying someone else in order to let the chill winds out of my soul.

I’m a utilitarian, and we don’t do that zero sum bullshit. An action has to improve the world, or at least do no harm to it,  in order to be morally acceptable to me.

This precludes most forms of victimization, except in extreme situations.

I suppose I should not be worried about my therapist’s mental health either. After all, absorbing my toxic output is what he is there for too. And perhaps it is absurd of me to think my problems are somehow worse than those of the rest of his patients.

But the rest of his patients aren’t geniuses with crazy strong verbal skills, high emotive power, and so much zombie tissue embedded in the flesh of their souls.

Deep down, my id says “Fuck everyone else, just let loose with the full power of your personality and mind and leave a smoking fucking crater where your suppressed life used to be. The world can take care of itself. ”

And maybe everything would be fine. All my fears would prove to be unfounded and the world would go on just the same only with me far, far happier.

But maybe I would end up in the secure psych ward.

And I just can’t tkae that kind of risk.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.