"Grief is worthless..."

"Because grief transcends value. A man would give entire nations to lift grief off his heart and yet, you cannot buy anything with grief, because grief is worthless."

--"The Counselor" written by

Cormac McCarthy

Day Five, Part III

I'm trying to think of reasons why I shouldn't commit suicide.

(entry not finished...)

Day Four, Part II

I'm drowning in my own pile of shit.

As YOu Grow Up

I don't stay in contact with too many people from high school (a few and primarily through Facebook), but they all (no exceptions) have children, and I believe only one of them isn't married.

I could have led that life too, but something happened along the way--

I remember watching FB graduate, he's standing there as a line of people come up to hug him and shake his hand and give him best wishes--and I know I should be one of those people, but I'm so overcome with sadness and emotion that I'm still next to my chair. I run off to go cry in my Camaro in the parking lot.

Now, he's married with a kid. I never talk to him.

Day Three

Still no response.

"I know you are deeply ambivalent about me being in your life, and for that I am sorry...I know you struggle with your own demons..."

--from the "Saying Goodbye" email, sent on March 22, 2014

Day One (Part III)

"I love you, all I ever wanted was to spend time with you because being with you makes me so happy..."

--from the email "Saying Goodbye," sent to Morpheus on March 22, 2014

Tricked Out of Progress

Yesterday sucked.

For the record, Morpheus apologized for yesterday--today.

So, he emailed me at six thirty-ish pm, saying he was going to have a movie night, maybe, he wasn't sure yet.

I just sort of stared at my cell phone, thinking, okay, is he going to invite me? Is he just toying with me?

I really didn't know how to react. I waited, and waited. No invite. Finally, I emailed, "Hope you have fun :-)"

He emails back, "I always have fun."

I kept waiting for an invite. None came. After almost an hour, I emailed, "I'm sure you do."

Time passes, I email, "Hey when are we going to have our cup of coffee together at starbucks?"

No response.

Another email, "We don't speak for weeks at a time and that's all I get. We don't ask each other how we are doing? We are not friends to each other at least?"

Another email, "I worry about you, you know. If you're happy or not. With Work and your family life.

I miss the way you kiss me."

At this point, I've had four shots of vodka (I had the booze earlier in the day, around four and five pm) and taken my night meds.

Finally, he answers me with a "don't worry," and a short paragraph and about his life.

At 11:37pm, he emails with just a title, "can u come over."

Now, I can come over?

Hello Evening

Dad came home yesterday from work, and stood in the kitchen, pouring almost a full glass of pure vodka (Tito's) in ice, and then cracked open a bottle of Corona Extra.

"Is Depression Just Bad Chemistry?"

"Perhaps the most frequently cited evidence in support of the chemical imbalance hypothesis is the effectiveness of antidepressants, many of which increase the amounts of serotonin and other neurotransmitters at synapses. Zoloft, Prozac and similar selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs) result in such an increase and can often relieve depression, at least when it is severe. As a result, many believe that a deficiency in serotonin and other neurotransmitters causes the disorder. But just because a drug reduces symptoms of a disease does not mean that those symptoms were caused by a chemical problem the drug corrects. Aspirin alleviates headaches, but headaches are not caused by a deficiency of aspirin."

--"Is Depression Just Bad Chemistry?" by Hal Arkowitz and Scott O. Lilienfeld, Scientific American Mind, March/April 2014

Six Months to Live

When I told the Advisor that the Stanford ECT doctor told me that I would never be stable enough to finish college, the Advisor said that, "at best, it's an educated guess...it's like saying you have six months to live."

From the Time I Was Very Young

I had goals--okay, the problem was never that I was aimless.

From the time I was very young, I wanted to be a doctor (treating humans, originally)--but as time pressed on, it became clear that I could never go through the schooling. Science, although I found it interesting, it was not my strength--learning literature was easier for me.

Life, the normal goals and bench marks, they slowed and then they just stopped--like how a beat up truck will just turn its tires in the mud and then finally quit, sinking further and further into a cosmic mess. You can take a shovel around the axle and it can take a lifetime to back out.

I wanted a successful professional life to make up for the empty personal space--so no one would notice the lack of intimacy. Again, in my youth, I figured I'd never marry nor have children. I guessed, I gambled on that idea. Funny how little knowledge we have back then, and how powerful preconceived ideas have on us. At age ten, I only knew of one marriage, my parents, and from that I decided I'd never have my own. I'd grow up and have strength of character that would never lean on another. I'd be timber and tall and terrible to drive all away.

I'm only thirty. Life is far from over. Life, though, slips through the cracks when you're waiting for it to pass by and jerk you to change. When you wait for it to toss you about and create a miracle. 

Clueless Insanity

There are states worse than depression--psychosis with auditory hallucinations.

Losing your mind, and not knowing it.

Being clueless to your own insanity.

Libido

The Case Manager said that Morpheus was "driven by his libido" (hence why he kept calling me in the middle of the night).

When I told Harry about the Case Manager's response, Harry said, "Aren't we all?"

Turning into Grandma

"You're turning into your grandmother, and it's scary," my mother says as she's folding laundry. "Next time you wear this, it's going into the garbage." She holds up one of my favorite sweatshirts.

She is referring to the fact that my clothes are old, and that my grandmother really doesn't give a fuck what she looks like when she goes into town.

At Thirty, The Magic Age

My mom doesn't like my new job. She doesn't like the fact that I work for minimum wage and that I work around hazardous chemicals (thiram).

"I hope you aspire to something better," she tells me.

I don't know what I'm doing with my life--where I'm going--what I'm supposed to be doing.

I drive to work every day through the industrial portion of town, thinking there's a great spot back here to put a topless bar or a strip club. I just have to get the money and the town's approval to do it.


This wasn't what I wanted for my life at thirty years of age.

Retail and Sales (Move that Ass)

The manager asked me as we were handling pouches, "So, what did you do before this?"

I couldn't help but smile, larger and larger. I paused before speaking, trying to come up with a reasonable lie. "I was in retail and sales."

More on Morpheus

All those things I loved--

evaporated.

The Unjust Facts of LIfe

I spent a week working for this ag company doing (I admit) unskilled labor, and I make (after taxes), roughly $250.03, which I could easily obtain in an hour as a private dancer.

But we won't go into that.