Here’s some more, slightly deeper things wrong with my life.

This life is humiliating. I have nothing to be proud of and a lot of things I have to work hard to avoid being ashamed of. I have no accomplishments, no career, no relationships, no family, and nothing else to show for my time alive on planet Earth.

Except some video games I have beaten. Whoop de fucking doo.

The worst is when someone asks me what I “do”.

Sweet fuck all, okay? I don’t do a god damned thing. I play video games and write a blog read by two (wonderful… love you both) people. That’s it.

Here I am, brain the size of a planet, and that’s my total output. A pittance. Better than nothing, but only proportionately. A fucking joke.

Not that I’m bitter or anything.

This life is unsatisfying. I have nothing from which to derive any sense of accomplishment or success. Nothing to tell me that I am a good little human who is a contributing member of the collective and therefore deserves to live.

All I can do is tell myself that I am a relatively insignificant burden on society. People wouldn’t be all that much better off without me. Taking me off the disability rolls would barely improve the books.

And I dunno. Some people seem to like having me around. Therefore I must be good for something, right?

Nothing I do truly satisfies me. I feel like a subsistence farmer, barely making it through the day, always hungry and never, ever full.

Only my malnutrition is of a strictly spiritual nature.

And I have been so very hungry for so long I don’t remember what it is like to actually have one’s needs met.

I can’t even remember what it’s like to not feel lonely.

No offense to my loved ones…. you are doing nothing wrong, and I love you so much.

I’m just lost on my own ice-cold lonely planet most of the time.

My life is also unrewarding. Both literally and metaphorically.

Literally in that I have no way to earn money, otherwise known as how society tells you that you did something that was worth something.

And the frustrating thing is that I know damn well I have a dozen Fort Knoxes worth of valuable job skills in this head of mine. I’m a fucking wizard after all.

But this mental illness of mine keeps me on a very, very short leash. I can’t go very far at all before it freezes me cold and hauls me back to my tiny little comfort zone.

And I am worth so much more than this!

It’s also unrewarding metaphorically, of course. Nothing in my life makes me feel like I have really done anything.

I live a distressingly frictionless life. No wonder nothing feels real. There’s no friction, no pushback, and no resistance.

Just me forever flailing helplessly on the smooth slick ice that coats my heart.

More after the break.

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A quick observation

The previous section, completely randomly, ended up being exactly 500 words.

Such things please me.

Now to write the rest.

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Another dark resurfacing

Just^[1] woke up from more bad sleep.

Went pretty deep this time. It’s a wonder I didn’t get “the bends”.

Or did I?

Woke up drowning in my own sweat like usual. Took me a while to even form a coherent mental state, let alone have any idea what planet I was on.

And because I went to sleep when it was light and woke up when it was dark, I had no idea where I was in time either.

Or do I mean WHEN I was, hmmm?

No. No I do not. Also, shut up.

I looked at the clock and it said 9:36 so I concluding it was morning.

Eventually something seemed wrong about that, so I move the clock so I could see if it said AM or PM.

Sure enough. it said PM. It was evening, not morning. With that vital datum, reality snapped into place with a painfully intense CLICK.

Oh right. The real world. I’d forgotten all about it.

Glad to know it’s still here.

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I suppose most people don’t experience the sorts of extreme mental states that I do on a daily basis.

Between the depression, the sleep apnea, and the fluctuations in my blood sugar, the bus that is my so-called life makes a lot of weird stops along its daily route.

Perhaps the imaginary disapproving public in my head would go a little easier on me if they knew just how much mere survival takes out of me.

Depression is like living life with the parking brake on, I always say.

But nah. Those guys are dicks. They LIKE hating me and making me hate myself. They’re not going to let anything as lame as empathy and understanding get in the way of all that fun.

Gah. 167 words to go. That seems like forever away.

All I really want to do is go back to sleep. But it’s too close to midnight and watching Colbert with J and J for that.

I might not have much choice in the matter, though. I’ve put like half a liter of Diet Coke into me since waking up and it hasn’t made me any less sleepy.

Caffeine never fucking works right for me, dammit.

Today’s been the usual (haha) “snoozefest”. Didn’t do jack shit except blog, eat, poop, and sleep. Not necessarily in that order.

Yay for bare existence. Congrats, you didn’t die yet. Yaaaaay.

I still have his deep dark paralysis weighing on my soul and smooshing me into the ground like a battleship on my chest.

Well, let’s not exaggerate. A cruiser at most.

But some day soon I’m gonna shift this shit and find out what it means to rise.

No more excuses. Stand up and fight.

And heaven help whatever gets in my fucking way,

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.