Monday, May 12, 2014
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
THe Blog No ONe Reads
"You have your blog," the Case Manager says, listing the things I'm doing right in coping with my depression.
But does he realize that no one reads it?
But does he realize that no one reads it?
Pre-Destination
The Case Manager asks, "Do you believe in pre-destination?"
"In the Calvinist sense?" I ask, slightly confused.
"In the Calvinist sense?" I ask, slightly confused.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
And Death Shall Have No Dominion
"Though they go mad they shall be sane,
--"And Death Shall Have No Dominion" by Dylan Thomas
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion."
--"And Death Shall Have No Dominion" by Dylan Thomas
Friday, May 2, 2014
No One Ever CAlls, Part III
People still ask me how I'm doing (either in person or via email). I don't know how to respond, so I usually say I'm fine or "okay."
I don't know how to express that I want to drown myself in a hamburger, fries and a quart of ice cream. And pasta, can we get pasta with that? The eclairs that I have saved away in the freezer, I might down one of those also. Just for the variety.
And I'm sad, I'm sad for a lot of reasons, you want to go down the list? Well, buddy, I don't fucking feel like typing it all out.
And if we're sitting next to each other, I don't have the energy to start the conversation about my fucking sex life or lack there of.
So, we don't get into it, which is healthy.
We're currently out of vodka, which is a natural disaster. I don't drink tequila, and I don't drink Jack Daniels, which are sitting in the cabinet.
It's normal to just drink, and feel sorry for yourself, and be alone in your misery (because to be honest, nobody really gets it, no one gets that the pain is like shooting up heroin on the weekends and then going through withdrawals for weeks, and then fucking doing it over and over again for months which turn into years, and then finally fucking yourself over by calling it quits).
So, you're alone in your misery (this is important, so I'll say it again), and you can be proud of yourself, how brave you're being. Isn't this great?
Just hand over the pasta, and no one will get hurt.
I don't know how to express that I want to drown myself in a hamburger, fries and a quart of ice cream. And pasta, can we get pasta with that? The eclairs that I have saved away in the freezer, I might down one of those also. Just for the variety.
And I'm sad, I'm sad for a lot of reasons, you want to go down the list? Well, buddy, I don't fucking feel like typing it all out.
And if we're sitting next to each other, I don't have the energy to start the conversation about my fucking sex life or lack there of.
So, we don't get into it, which is healthy.
We're currently out of vodka, which is a natural disaster. I don't drink tequila, and I don't drink Jack Daniels, which are sitting in the cabinet.
It's normal to just drink, and feel sorry for yourself, and be alone in your misery (because to be honest, nobody really gets it, no one gets that the pain is like shooting up heroin on the weekends and then going through withdrawals for weeks, and then fucking doing it over and over again for months which turn into years, and then finally fucking yourself over by calling it quits).
So, you're alone in your misery (this is important, so I'll say it again), and you can be proud of yourself, how brave you're being. Isn't this great?
Just hand over the pasta, and no one will get hurt.
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