And what do you know, here it is, 7:53 pm, and I feel liked used shit again.

I am truly a wretched, horrid thing. Or at least I feel like one. Right now it feels like I have two bowling balls in my stomach and even the slightest of motions makes them click together or grind against one another.

That’s probably due to having eaten too much heavily margarined rice earlier. I did a full batch of rice in the rice cooker for supper yesterday – which, sadly enough, was a big achievement for me – and today I tried to recreate one of my favrote dirt-poor meals of buttered curried rice and I do believe I ate way too much of it.

Plus I added a ton of curry and still could barely taste it. Is it possible for curry to lose its zing over time? Because I highly doubt it’s that I have suddenly developed an iron palate that feels no heat.

IT might seem odd to eat one’s rice buttered, but I assured you, it is delicious, inexpensive, and surprisingly satisfying. It fills you up in a way that plain rice or rice with soya sauce does not.

And that’s a big deal if you are dirt poor. And I have been that poor. So poor that I had to buy and cook according to whatever got me the most meals for my money and to hell with thoughts like nutrition.

And you know what’s cheap? Carbs.

Speaking of nutrition, so far, my supper consists of one banana. Being a veteran when it comes to eating against my appetite, I know that now it is just a matter of waiting until my stomach settles after the banana and starts to wake up and get moving before I will feel like maybe eating something else.

An apple, maybe. Or some mandarin oranges. I guess fruit has a high appeal factor to me when I am in this state. Nice, lovely, delicious fruit, cold from the fridge, packed with flavour and nutrition and that particular kind of wet cellulose that seems to calm my stomach down, presumable by giving it something to work on.

I realized earlier that I have been pretty depressed lately. It’s not always easy for me to tell because I am so good at keeping myself distracted and bare-minimum content that I can easily fool myself into thinking everything is okay.

But it’s not okay. I feel terrible. My sleep is even more busted up than usual. I feel turgid, trapped, and tense. I feel like something inside of me is trying to get out but something’s blocking it but good, and the pain of straining against the blockage to no effect is really starting to wear me down.

But more than the physical symptoms telling me of my internal turmoil, I have realized that I have not been resisting that deep down dirty fear that lies at the core of my depression at all lately.

It’s had its way on nearly everything. I simply have lacked the wherewithal to push against it. I have been a prisoner of its gravity and it’s time I took a good look at it and why that might be.

because I don’t know what makes it so that sometimes I can resist the crushing effects of my depression and other times the best that I can hope for is to maintain the status quo and live through another day of arctic chill trying to kill my soul.

My gut tells me that it is some aspect of my physical health that determines this. And when I think about it, I am shockingly ignorant of what is going on in my body and why. Like most modern humans, I eat what I eat and live how I live and act as though how I feel as a result is some mystically complex and random phenomenon beyond my control like the weather.

If I could master my physical health, it would go a very long way to making my psychological health improve as well. And yet I spend all this time every day with my head stuck up my navel trying to work the system the other way around.

Well it doesn’t work like that. no amount of psychological insight and growth is going to overcome physical depression. You’re a physical being first, after all, despite what the transcendentalist hordes will tell you. Take care of the body and to a certain extent the mind will take care of itself.

A pretty speech – I am good at those – but what could I actually change? It’s one thing to talk about the generalities of the subject but the truth is that I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do to improve my feeling of physical health.

Well, besides exercise, but that’s a whole thing.

Exercise would undoubtedly lead to my feeling like a zillion times better. For one, it would get my sweat flowing and thus unclog my pores and let my skin breathe a lot better. And I would dissipate all that excess energy kicking around my system that fuels my neurotic self-destruction because it has nowhere else to go. And over time I would lose weight and have more energy and feel a lot better about life.

And so forth and so on. The arguments for exercise are logical, sensible, and conclusive, just like the arguments for the semi-infinite number of other things that I “should’ be doing and totally “could” be doing.

But none of that matters when the chill sets in at the merest thought of doing things and robs me of all my motivation and makes me feel all dead inside.

Dead. But still in pain. How ironic. How cruel.

Still, perhaps I could persuade myself to get some in-apartment exercise at least. Think of it as a hobby, or a game, or just a way to make myself feel good.

Or even just as something to DO, god damn it, besides playing ESO all day.

It’s so hard to give up the bad pleasure you’re addicted to in favour of the good one that can’t help but pale in comparison because you are not fixated on it.

Here’s hoping it is worth it.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.