Still feeling fairly depressed.

I’m beginning to think that my sleep apnea is to blame. I am not getting enough oxygen in my sleep and the effects of that are persisting into my waking hours.

What I need is to get some fresh air and sunshine and become at peace with my environment and in sync with my surroundings.

But odds are, I will end up doing the same stupid shit as usual. Whatever it is I need, or want, or just think sounds like a good idea, I still have to have the spoons to do it.

And I don’t have a lot of spoons right now.

I feel scared. And small. And overwhelmed. I feel like I am one tiny defenseless creature in a world too big, too hostile, too cold, and above all too LOUD to cope with.

And it makes me want to run away and hide forever.

Which is, more or less, what I have been doing for my entire adult life. That’s the inevitable end stage of all the fear and anxiety that my depression creates. If you always feel hunted and exposed, the only solution is to remain where you feel the most safe, or rather, the least unsafe.

I wish it was different. I wish I was whole. I wish I was sane. I wish I could face the world with strength, confidence, and enthusiasm, but I just plain can’t.

There is too much fear in me.

All I can do is try to make it through the day, I suppose. But that’s not enough for me. I can’t just turn off the rest of my human desires in order to “make a life” for myself.

Especially when my life has been so goddamned broken and incomplete.

I have never gotten the emotional nutrients I have needed and I still don’t.

I mean, here I am, brain the size of a planet, and all I do is play video games all day. Why? Because mental (and physical) illness has rendered me so fragile that I can’t even bring myself to look for work over the internet,  and my romantic prospects are less than nil because I never go out and meet new people.

And sometimes I feel like I am drowning at the bottom of a deep dark sea. I feel like there is the world of the good and the strong and the pure, and then there’s my pathetic world where the best that I can hope for is to live long enough to die in my sleep.

And I want more, dammit. Man can not live on video games alone. They help me pass the time and they keep my mind busy, but they are no substitute for love or a job.

It feels like I am locked out of the whole god damned world and I will never, ever become an actual adult and I am doomed to be 13 years old on the inside till the day I die. All the things that mark passage into adulthood have passed me by and right now, it’s hard for me to believe that I will ever catch up.

SO honestly, what’s the goddamned point? What do I have to look forward to? More years of pointless and meaningless survival?

Where am I going to be ten years from now? The exact same place? And what will I have to show for my time on Earth? The exact same nothing?

It’s not fair. I didn’t do anything to deserve this crap. I’ve always been a very nice person. I’ve made the best choices amongst the options available to me. I try really hard to extricate myself from this miasma but it never seems to do me any good.

I even got myself a huighly valuable diploma from VFS, but my mental illness was stronger. It bided its time and then stung me when my defences were down by convincing me to quite the Daily Uno job and then take “a few days off” before hunting for another job.

Well it’s been quite a few days more than a few days off and I have lost all momentum and I feel weak and scared and tired all the time and I am goddamned sick of it.

Maybe I should take a vacation of some sort. New surroundings might just stimulate me and help me open up inside instead of remaining in my canoptic jar all the time.

I long to bloom. But I have this cramp.

Admittedly, it would have to be a very cheap vacation. It’s not like I can book a cruise to Alaska or anything. I might be able to scrape the money together for a gfew nights at some Airbnb in a nice neighborhood and that would be about it.

But the point would be to get myself out of this dank and dismal dungeon and try to connect with life and find my place in it. Give myself a chance to find out who I am outside of my current context and maybe even tarpaper over all those big gaping holes in my soul so I can get on with my life.

That sort of thing is why I keep coming back to the idea of moving out on my own. Find some acceptable little bachelor suite near the Skytrain and get a cat and set everything up exactly how I want it and find some very good reason to get the hell out of the apartment every day.

The point would be to start over again with a clean slate so I can reinvent myself. I need to reboot my life and I can’t do that in my current context.

And just knowing that I was at least taking care of myself now instead of ignoring everyhing because “I can’t even” would do me a lot of good.

Somehow, in this life, I have to find a way to make a place for myself where I can find my niche and make myself useful.

But I am so damned scared all the time.

So I guess I am fucked.

And not in the good way.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

I feel pretty decent right now.

But also quite depressed.

It’s a very strange feeling.

I think it’s a good sign in that it is a sign that my divorcing of my mood from the random chemical bullshit that goes on in my head.

I can feel the depression in me quite clearly. It’s a weak, collapsing, despairing kind of feeling that I know all too well. It feels a bit like dying and makes it clear that the center cannot hold and that I am at risk of losing everything I have built up in my head since the last time this happened.

I have a lot of “works in progress” on the go.

It is the eroder. The destroyer. The dissolver. It is the angry tide that washes away all my sandcastles in the air, and break apart all of my hopes and dreams.

But to be honest, it’s no big deal.

Because for once in my life, I don’t feel like that force of destruction is in charge. I am not helpless before it. It wants me to think that I am, but I am not. There is my mind – strong and pure – and there is the depression that I am holding out at arm’s length like it is a soiled diaper.

Only I have more respect for the diaper.

Like I said, it’s jjust chemical bullshit. I have felt this way all day and yet I managed to get through the day I even got some productibe things done.

So I can feel this cold wet wad of despair inside me but I will deal with it how I see fit. I won’t let ot take charge just because I am too scared to take responsibility for my life.

That’s all it boils down to sometimes. Not wanting to take responsibility for myself. And I am defibnitely not the only one. I think this issue of self-possession is what holds a hell of a lot of people back.

So they blame their parents (like me), blame their lousy childhoods (ditto), blame all kind of outside entities and trends, but deep down, all of that is just smokescreen for a a fear of growing up and having to be responsibile for oneself.

Imagine that you were told that you were going to be held responsible for every single thing you do from now on, with no excuses and no deflecting blame.

SOunds really scary, doesn’t it? And yet, that is the true definition of adulthood : taking full responsibility for your own health, happiness, and success.

I’m working on it.

The thing is, if you are an adult, you already have that responsibility, and no amount of blame and retreat tactics will change that.

Take it from someone who has been hiding from reality for his entire adult life.I realize that nobody is responsibile for the outcomes of my choices but myself. I realize that nobody can fix me but myself because I am the one whose hands are on thr controls and with my taking action, nothing happens.

So I go to therapy every week and I take my psych meds and I try to pluck the shrapnel from my flesh one painful piece at a time on this here blog and I do what I can.

But I still don’t feel like I am in charge. Neither is anyone else. Story of my life, really. I can’t look after myself and neither can anyone else.

So I live a pathetic, fucked-up life devoid of meaningful content where I am more or less just passing time till it’s time to die.

I was left to my own devices and assumed to be fine taking care of myself (or not… whatever, as long as they didn’t have to think about me)  at far too young an age, and I think that burden crushed a vital part of me.

And I have still not recovered.

So what to you do when you can’t help yourself and nobody else can help yiu?

How do you deal with a disease that can prevent its own treatment?

How do you heal a lack of love and nurturing in your life when you are 44, 320 pounds, large of body, abd heavily bearded?

I want to live so badly, but I am broken and wounded inside and I have no form limb to stand on and sometimes it feels like if I was an animal, I would have been put down by now so that people didn’t have to hear my whimpering any more.

I was forced into the “real world” when I was only halfway through blooming into the adult I was supposed to become, and I have never recovered from that.

And it is so frustrating waiting around for my life to finally start. I thought VFS would be the startbut then they told me they wouldn’t recommend me for anything ever and that kind of took the wind out of my sails right there.

I’m still angry about that. Sure, I was a space case and fairly gross because I was on too low a dose of Paxil when I was there, but all that should matter for a writing program is how gooes I am at writing and I am a damned good writer.

I can see them not wanted to send me to job interviews, kinda. But not even recommending me for jobs done over the Internet?

That’s just plain cold, man. And cruel. And WRONG. I proved, over and over again, that I was a better writer than most of my fellow students and that should be all that matters.

But no, I was weird, and gross, and out of it, and so I am not worthy of even mentioning in passing because to them, I could be nothing but a massive embarrassment and god forbid they should take any kind of risk for a student they didn’t even like.

I keep toying with the idea of logging on to the alumni message board and asking if it’s been long enough since I was there for them to remember what a goddmaned wonderful writer I am.

I could go whole hog and tell everyone what I REALLY think of my education from VFS.

They would hate that.

And who knows, maybe some day I will. Blow the lid off their fucking scam.

Then they would regret how they treated me. And who knows, it might just get me noticed better than any of my usual bullshitting myself in the dark.

At this moment, I really don’t care about the consequences.

But I might later.

So I will hold my tongue…. for now.

I will talk to you nice peop[le again tomorrow.