Here we go. Affirmation time.

Right now, I feel terrible. I just woke up around `20 minutes ago, ergo I feel like used shit. My stomach feels like it’s full of rocks, my head is pounding to the kind of savage jungle beat that means the white hero is in VERY big trouble, I have an ache in my balls feels like they have been stepped on by an elephant, and I feel woozy and dizzy and thorough discombobulated, deranged, and depressed.

And just how am I supposed to get myself combobulated, ranged, and pressed at a price I can afford on a Sunday?

But here is the thing. This is the affirmation part : I am still an awesome dude. 

Nothing intrinsic to me has changed. I am still the same ol’ wonderful Fru as ever. Feeling bad does not make me bad. My identiyu remains the same.

And it’s a pretty good one.

Patient readers know that this is where I am, psychologically. I am at the point where it is time to establish a solid and unchanging identity that is immune to the wild vascillations of my inner maelstorm.

The storm may rage but the real me is safe inside the solid brick edifice that is my new sense of identity. no matter what is going on on the outside, who I truly am does not change, and I can sit in front of my big bay window in my dressing gown with a cup of hot cocoa and a cat to pet and look out at all that chaos and laugh to think that I once thought that had anything to do with me.

What a silly notion. Fuck the chaos. No matter how I feel, I am still one amazing dude, and that is what really matter. I am smart, funny, sweet, creative, insightful, imaginative, and downright adorable, and I am never going to forget that again.

That settles THAT.

Now the question is : how goes one go about being a sick awesome person?

By staying positive, I think. Like the wise philosopher Honey Bear says :

Even when I feel like crying
And I can’t find the sun
Still I know it’s always shining
And I’ll feel it when the rain is done

Now that’s a kind of faith I can get behind. Simple, undemanding, reassuring, life affirming, and scientifically accurate.

I mean, the sun really does shine all the time, whether we can feel it at the moment or not. It’s a star, they don’t have an off switch and they are certainly not subject to anyone’s mood swings.

There’s sunshine in my heart. It’s always there.
And it makes me a sweet, sweet honey….. fox.

<———————————->

Something interesting has been developing lately : I seem to be naturally progressing towards eating half as much twice and often.

You know, eating every three hours instead of six without increasing total food intake? It is something that is recommended both for diabetes and good health in general. The idea is that our bodies are not designed for large binge meals.

Our primate ancestors, after all, were opportunistic snackers, not intermittent feasters.

And lately, I have been getting full before my deal is done. So I end up with leftovers, and then a few hours later, I am hungry again, and eat the leftovers.

This is a fairly radical change for me as I have been a ‘clean plate’ type all my life. And so I am struggling to ignore  that imperative (EAT IT ALL)  and listen to what my body tells me it actually wants.

Needed me a nap.

God, do I get tired of being tired. Depression is such a drag. I mean, here I am, brain the size of a planet….

I wantg to put that on a T-shirt and wear it. I am pretty sure that whoever owns Douglas Adams’ estate right now would not sue me for borrowing one of Marvin the Paranoid Android’s catchphrases. And it reallty does express how I feel a lot of the time.

Especially now that I am permanently awesome. Here I am, this amazing guy with amazing talents, and due to depression slash anxiety (anxession? depriety?), all I use my massive talents on is video games and writing this blog.

Not to knock this blog or anything. As patient readers know, this blog is my lifeline and without it, my emotions would have no outlet and I would be a far, far more depressed person. At least with the blog and my commitment to it, some of that massive massy burden of social damage I keep talking about gets aired out and melted every day.

But writinjg these little messages in a a bottle of mine and setting themt to float out on the evening tide is not getting me any closer to that candy colored dream of actual employment in my chosen field9s0.

Or hell, employment period. Right now, I would take damned near any job that I thought I was physically capable of doing.

For example,. I would love to be a cashier/clerk in a small business again. I enjoyed that work except when there were no customers. I like interacting with the customers and I loved having people need things from me that I could actually supply.

You have no idea how much that means to me. I am so used to thinking I am useless that it was a real shot in the arm to have a job where I can successfully do things for people, even if it’s just taking their money and making change.

The point is, it is frustrating to know that I have all this awesomeness stored up inside me and know that I can’t use it to get what I want from life because of stupid lousy depression slash anxiety.

If only I knew the sort of people who would see my potential and push me to use it and do things like show my work to people who might want to hire me.

Or even just say ‘attaboy’.

I really need some encouragement.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

…it is exhausting.

Seriously though, I have been doing well at remembering that I am a pretty awesome dude even when I feel utterly terrible.

Like I said before, this takes energy. As horrible as mistaking one’s mood for one’s worth is,. I have to admit that it sure does simplify things.

What cogitive dissonance?

And even as I take my frist trembling wobbly steps into the world of actually liking myself, I can feel a voice inside me tugging in the opposite direction.

Let’s go back to hating ourselves, it says. It was so much easier. And easier is always best, right? RIGHT!?!

Wrong. Whne it comes to personal energy, I have a surplus, not a deficit. Doing things the hard way would probably do me a lot of good. Video games drain some of the surplus energy away, but only some forms of it, and the rest just ends up jacking up my background tension level. till I am a tightly wound spring with no release.

And I keep wanting to become more active. but I am scared. Scared of what happens when I leave my cozy corrupt killer coccoon and enter the big bad world out there where stuff happens that I can’t anticipate and/or control and which therefore will stimulate me and that means i will be anxious and not even be able to take a nap to fix it!

What could possibly be worse/

Oh right, dying without having done anything with my life. Unfulfilled. never having escaped this filthy fucking cage of mine.

This life is NOT okay.

At least I am now keenly aware of the miles and miles ofsocial damage inside me and the way it has of vetoing practically anything I want to do with that tell tale cluitch of fear that says ‘no. ‘

And the result is paralysis. The intention freezes in place. And sooner or later, the mind needs that circuit and so all it can do is clear the intention without fulfilling it.

And that is very painful and sad, in an icy cold life-destroying way.

Enough of that and you end up not even starting to intend to do things because it is just too damned painful to have one’s healthy desire for action get flash frozen to death over and over and over again.

Damn do I want to go to sleep right now. But I must blog,. I blog, thereofre I am.

Where was I? Oh right, feeling the damage. And now that I can feel the damage and give it a sort of location in my mind, I can begin the process of learning to recognize when it’s the damage doing the talking and therefore that voice can be safely ignored because, as we have firmly established, it has no idea what it’s talking about.

Guys selling tips outside horse tracks have a higher hit ratio than my depression/.

Being able to feel the edges of the damage also improves my sense that this is a finite problem that can be conquered with long term effort on my part.

After all, as huge as my pile of unresolved emotions has gotten, it’s still finite. As long as I keep shoveling the snow off my sidewalk and into the street, my yard will evebntually be clear, and I will finally have that long awaited springtime of the soul.

But it won’t be like Genever walking through a doorway into the bring, warm, wonderful world of summer and dreams.

It will be a long flat comfortable corridor that gets slowly brighter and sunnier as I go, until one day I will suddenly realize that I am outside, and have been for some time.

Damn. Gonna lie down for a bit. Good thing I can set an alarm. BBIAB!

Stupid unstable waking state.

Feeling fitfully horny lately. Still have trouble ‘getting there’ when I masturbate. Stupid antidepressants and aging and everything else.

I try to be more nonlinear about the whole deal. After all, ejaculation is wonderful and all but just making myself feel real good for a bit without blastoff is a good thing too, right?

Nevertheless, it is frustrating. I don’t know what it is like for chicks, but for men, there is definitely a direction to sex and that direction is towards the happy squirting. Everything is driving towards that magic moment. And when you have to stop without getting there, part of you wants to roar like a sexually frustrated lion and then go beat the crap out of someone lower than you in the social hiearchy.

Look, I didn’t say it was a noble feeling.

The real frustration, though, is knowing that I can never have the kind of sex I really want,. The kind that truly matches my sexual orientation.

It’s not safe to be any more specific than that, but those who know me can probably figure it out. The kind of sex I really crave is illegal even in the most progressive countries of the world and considered extremely immoral by nearly everybody.

Even really open minded people who are into and/or accepting of some really crazy, gross, or downright disturbing variations on human sexuality have accepted the message that the kind of sex I really want is inherently very evil and would violently reject me if they knew I even liked that kind of porn, let alone wanted very much to do it in the real world.

It’s not like I chose to be this way. Who would? Who would choose to belong to the most hated sexual minority in the world? I would change it if I could. It’s basically a curse.

And to know that I am that way because of what was done to me by someone who was like that makes the whole thing far worse.

I have to believe that it is possible to get the sort of sex I want morally. At least in theory. And hold out the hope, however dim, that I might find myself in a situation where I truly can have what I really want.

Only this time, without anyone getting hurt.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.