don’t even know why i’m posting this stupid long shit

been doing some journaling lately and got an urge.

SourceURL:file:///Users/Jesse/Documents/Writing/2-24-2012

2/4/12

 

Well, I’m trying something I figured I’d do on the way home.

Just got back from Dr. Markowitz and again was having discussions about doing things, how I don’t wanna do things, all the negative thoughts, all the incentive not to, how I wanna die all the time, and shit like that. Since I always seem to have a little shred of positivity after I come home from him, I decided on the train home that maybe I’d try writing down my thoughts, something he has suggested and has been suggested many times before, so here I am.

Everything is negative thoughts to me. That doesn’t even make sense. Haha, look, even stupid grammar and spell check are getting on my nerves, underlining all kinds of shit here and there. Fuck grammar and spell check, asshole.

Why do I keep making paragraphs and indenting shit after like one or two sentences? I guess that will make it easier to read, if I ever read this, or if anyone does. I’m going to save this now. I wonder if there is a ‘journal’ folder or some shit like that that I started, with one lone document in it, at some past time where I thought I was going to start writing and never continued. There have been a lot of times like that, but maybe not on this computer.

Well, now this document is alone in a folder called “Writing.”

 

That shit depresses me.

Let’s see if I can think of the negative thoughts I had on the way home from Dr. Markowitz and try to re-record them in some type of minimally understandable way here.

 

I am not Jonah Hill.

I am not that guy, or that guy, or that woman, or her or him or him or her etc.

That woman is beautiful. That woman has a hot ass. I will not talk to them. If I did, it would be impulsive and stupid. What would I say, “Hi”? There was a time a few years ago in which I had a bit of renewed confidence and tried to score with Eduardo using the rules of “The Game.” That shit depresses me.

All my past depresses me. Seeing people that look like people from my past depresses me. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Well I thought about the mountain of negative thoughts I always have that always disincentivizes me, and how I never will get anything done, and if I do, who’s to say that it has a point, and even if I get one thing done, it’s still only one thing of millions of things, and who’s to say I even did a good job of it, like this writing thing, so far I think it is going kind of crappy, although I must admit it’s good to see words filling up a page with the work of my finger tips and it is mixing up the monotony of shit just a little bit. Well, kind of a lot. I don’t know, I guess it’s ok, anyway I guess in spite of the above, what markowitz and everybody else says is that its better to do the thing than not do the thing, and after all, what have you got to lose? Well, I guess I have some time to lose, but that’s more of a general/long term thing, because right now I most definitely would not be doing anything else interesting except playing stupid “Anagram Magic.” My life sucks.

I guess if I wasn’t playing anagram magic I would be thinking how I should respond to that girl from the online suicide group’s email about meeting up. Which stresses me out. Why? Because I can’t/won’t/know I wont do anything. I really got sidetracked goddamit. What is this. My stupid mind. Shut up Jesse, it’s not stupid, it’s great. OK it’s not great, it’s fine. You calling your mind stupid is ‘the depression.’ Stop underlining shit in green stupid grammar check. Should I turn it off? I wasn’t going to because everything is pointless/what if I need it later and need to turn it off but maybe I will, no, forget it, it will mess up my “flow.”

What else on the way home. Well, fuck doing things in order. I was just thinking about how I was like ‘oh, I’ll have to get a chair for my desk,’ and ‘oh, then I’ll have to clean all the tobacco on the desk,’ and ‘oh, I might as well just clean my whole room if I do that,’ ‘why don’t I wanna clean my whole room?’ ‘well it’s a pain in the ass but more importantly then I will get it clean and 1) eventually I’ll have to clean it again 2) it will be some weird symbol of how I was feeling better and then later I’ll be like ‘you’re such a fool for thinking you were feeling better/this is depressing how you get inspirations and then later they die.’ Why is all that stupid, well, I guess I don’t have to explain because if you reread this it is self-evident. My thoughts are stupid and I wanna die. That is stupid. Downward spiral.

Also when I think I’m feeling a bit better then I see people that look like people from my past and remind me of shit. One was Dmitriy from Intralinks. Dammit if only I could go back to that past and do shit right. And I wish I hadn’t been prescribed the stupid adderall, although maybe I still would have lost the job if I hadn’t have been, although maybe if that dumb Dr. Grossman had just suggested I try the antidepressant alone first I would have coped more functionally, I hate myself and my life is fucked and I want to die.

I was thinking about putting on some music, (mom’s home now, do I talk or act like an ass and say ‘don’t interrupt me, well, I’m kind of talking to her as I write this).  She says it’s really raining hard now. That fucking sucks. I hate when its raining because it makes smoking cigs a pain in the ass, also my dumb fucking ghetto ass umbrella is broken and I don’t wanna buy another one/haven’t yet bought another one. Also I hate buying stuff and doing things. I wanna die.

So far this isn’t especially explanatory. I don’t (mom is bothering me about the medication. Its not bothering but I’m getting frustrated. I can’t explain all this shit. I can’t explain anything. Can’t can’t cant. Can’t you try? What is wrong with you? I wanna die. You? I?)

I keep thinking sort of like what is the point of this if I don’t reread it or show it to somebody or something. Well, it’s an activity. I would like to show it to one of my doctors (lol, one of my doctors), but it’s not like it would make a huge difference and anyway with all this long shit I’d have to retain them fucking full time.

Mom says chase is canceling ‘quick pay.’ That fucking blows. How am I gonna get reimbursed for shit now? You are such an idiot.

Another thing that I of course thought about on my way home, as I always do, these things that hold me in my depression, things, not thing: Bill, birthday/funeral/books, ben’s wedding, dentist’s appointment march 20^th, shoes, jacket, haircut, beard, clothes. Do I need to actually elaborate on this shit? Well, it would probably help, but ‘i’d prefer not to.’ There I go again, fucking bartebly. Maybe I could pick one of these subjects and discuss it in more detail tomorrow, maybe do one each day or something? I probably won’t do it and what would be the point anyway. Oy vey, there it is again. So maybe I will do it. But I wont do it right now. Why don’t you ever want to do anything now? Well the easy part of explaining it, the emotional shorthand that you already know, is that you were hoping you’d be dead before having to deal with any one of those things.

Why do I want to be dead? Oh there are so many reasons, there is one big reason. All the negative thoughts, the hopelessness, the bad attitude, and beyond that, the sad closed little suffering world that my fucking life has become. I hate myself and I want to fucking die. Why won’t I just kill myself? How would I even do it?

Well I’ve tried a few stupid ass things. I’ve tried to hang myself with my belt. From a few doorknobs, as well as a few doorways with the aid of the exercise bar that my dad got me as a lark (on a lark?) for my birthday. It wasn’t my ‘real’ present, that’s ‘in the bank,’ for me to decide, and the big dilemma there again is that I don’t want anything, but death, and I was hoping to be fucking dead before I claimed it.

Anyway, ive also tried to drown myself in the tub (couldn’t breathe in the water and if I did I’d probably just involuntarily pull head out of the tub when I coughed and get some painful fucking lung infection or some shit) and I also took four benadryls/diphenhydramine and taped a plastic bag over my head, it got so fucking uncomfortable within a few minutes and I didn’t even come close to falling asleep, what a stupid idea, I had thought of it and researched it already and knew it wouldn’t work, then I read some bozo’s forum post saying that’s how he’d do it IF he wanted to die, people who say “IF” I wanted to die don’t ever know what the fuck they’re talking about when it comes to suicide methods, they don’t realize how fucking hard and complicated it actually is.  Also when I tried to hang myself my throat hurt for like a couple weeks when I swallowed.

The main way I think that is actually the most “logical” is jumping off the damn terrace, something that I always am fucking thinking about, yet which at the same time I have also realized is something I’ll never do. Or maybe I will, I don’t know, but this is the part where then I really just want someone to fucking kill me, or at least to kill both of us, which is something I’ve explored quite a bit as well. Because often I just know I want to die, I fucking know it, and then I go out on the terrace, can’t even fucking conceive of that shit, then I go back to bed and imagine it, and later I am on the terrace not being able to conceive of it, and so on and so fucking forth. Fuck, I am getting a bit fatigued, cold, want a cigarette, getting kind of frustrated with how fucking all over the place this shit is, too, kind of want to smoke and then come back and play fucking ‘anagram magic.’ What the hell is wrong with me? It has been 40 minutes or thereabouts since I started writing and I do have about 2 and a half pages of single spaced (bullshit) writing. So should I just say, oh, you’ve done enough for the day, or should you push forward? Does it fucking even matter? Hate decisions, hate inconsequential decisions, hate consequential decisions, hate everything, wanna die, there you fucking go again. Going for the cigarette, then we’ll see, guess I’ll probably play some dumb fucking anagram magic, then maybe I’ll come back to writing? Should I make a new document? Or continue this bullshit? Come to think of it, should I make a new document for each day, or just keep it all in the same document (assuming I actually give this shit some continuity)? And if it’s one document, when I start writing again, should I start after the page break? I don’t fucking know and I hate this. Oh you negative ************. I hate you, I fucking hate you. I wonder if it’s still raining. Goddamn it if it is.

 

2/27/11

 

If doing things that made me feel good led to bad things, should I just do things that feel bad? But I only do what feels bad now, or actually I only do what feels good, but almost nothing feels good (except sleeping and eating, although it’s debatable if even the eating feels good since the negative tense thoughts are normally running through my head the whole time, and with the dreaming, its usually about people/stuff I am sort of sad about when I get up, in addition to the fact that I am sad that I am up and still alive), but isn’t there a big difference between KINDS of bad and KINDS of good? Whew, what a shitty ass run on sentence, my lord my lord.

Just got back from appointment with Andrew, another one of those experiences where I feel a bit better afterwards and during the walk (yes I actually walked back this time, haven’t in a while) while listening to my music, singing/whistling a bit, had my old swagger back, but where simultaneously I could feel my shit going down hill and continued thinking my ‘futility’ thoughts pretty much throughout. What the fuck man.

Part of the reason I felt a little better, ironically (ironically? I dunno) was because I saw Amir waiting in the waiting room after my session, and he said, “How’s group?” I said, “Oh, you haven’t been going either? I haven’t been going haha” and I don’t know why that made me feel better, actually I do, it was that I wasn’t the only one who has stopped going, its funny how I feel stupid about that making me feel good so my first inclination was to say “I don’t know why that made me feel better” even though I pretty much did know why, although I guess I still don’t know why the fact that I wasn’t the only one who stopped going, although, I guess I do…because I’m not the only one? Because I’m not alone? Why does that in itself matter if I am alone all day? I guess this is kind of a sign of why I have such difficulty with feelings and emotions, because even if I know why I have a certain emotion, I don’t know the why for the why, or the why for the why for the why, and so on and so on and so on oh circular brain you kill me.

I was thinking on the way home about I have been depressed with regards to Amir before because he just does so much more stuff even if he is in a rut of his own, he does yoga and runs fucking marathons and shit, even marries people, has an incredibly active social life and travels, etc., his only problem seems to be about getting motivated to do his art, he’s lucky that’s the only thing, he’s lucky he’s even got a career as an artist, has his own place, seems not to have much financial difficulty, has a dog, probably does his own laundry and showers on a regular basis too and just generally seems better equipped to manage life, as everyone does, except me, and maybe some of those people on those social anxiety forums, who still, in their own way, seem better equipped to manage life, in that way that makes me feel all alone, like I always do, like a freak, a freak with no ability to change my attitude, to change my life, TO MAKE MYSELF DO STUFF. Anyway I also thought, even though he is better at shit, it’s kinda nice that he still feels he identifies with me, the alternative would be him thinking (knowing?) he’s better and acting like it. People who are relatable usually tend often to try to identify with me, and I always deny them the credibility, thinking, “you don’t know how bad I’ve got it,’ when I should really just accept their sympathy/identification and be grateful for it. Should, shouldn’t should should should, whatever, oh, stupid red underlining, the repetition was on purpose for crikey’s sake, maybe I WILL turn you off soon ************.

Now I’m hitting some sort of a block, fuck me, fuck everything, fuck life.

Oh, I was just thinking about Ray Fatty again, about how I want to send him another text begging me to take me with him, how I feel a bit better in this moment, feel more expedient about shit, then it always seems to go away, would rather go out on a high(er) note, although of course even if he did take me with him it wouldn’t be in this moment so I dunno. So I dunno what, FUCKER?? You are always getting distracted by some shit, getting some kind of brain fatigue, and then just saying “I DUNNO” or some dumb bullshit. What I was thinking is that this info renders this shit unshowable to parents or anyone who doesn’t know about my desperate attempts at using the internet to find a suicide partner, or, more aptly, to fucking kill me, and I don’t care if they kill themselves too to tell the truth although the image that got stuck in my head of dying in a car holding hands with some depressed girl while the h2s fumes peacefully (yeah right) overtake us is still stuck in my head, calling me, ever since Colorado Michelle stopped fucking responding to me at all, and since Laura decided she didn’t want to do it that way, couldn’t drive all the way up here and do it, that we’d ‘get dinner and chicken out,’ etc. I wonder if she actually will send me that N. And if so what I will fuckin do with that shit since I have no idea how to order an effective antiemetic.

Then there’s this girl Katie who posted on the hideout group about trying to organize a ‘suicide anonymous’ type group, who, for all the dumb numerous reasons I am not responding to (yet) which makes me all the more anxious, and that little ************ ryan on the group who always makes me feel like a fuckin dick asshole, who I can’t respond to cuz I don’t know how to get angry without feeling embarrassed plus I guess I sort of agree with him, I do act like a moron on that group, I never write much shit cuz I’m too lazed out/uninspired plus I am a desperate little fucker who really would rather someone kill me than commit suicide, but what the fuck, I don’t understand all these people who can write all this long well-articulated shit when they are fucking depressed, oh god I hate that little fucker I hate him, I fucking hate bully people what the fuck what the fuck I hate them and I hate me. I guess its hard to fight back against bullies when you feel like an asshole yourself, like what they say is true, I guess that’s why all those poor middle schoolers kill themselves from the bullying, poor little fuckers.

What else. Well, I enjoy listening to music but certain songs come on and I like them but they remind me of shitty things, for example there’s a leon/homer/toby/whatever song on write now and you know about that whole can of excluded/lost opportunities worms. This is one of those stupid blockades where I just don’t want to fucking describe all that shit that leads me to feeling depressed about it, partly because I know already, although I guess the point of this exploratory writing is just to fucking articulate that shit for myself more, but I don’t wanna, fuck you. “I DON’T WANNA, I DON’T WANNA!!” Why? Cuz it’s too hard? What is the deal, lazy fuker? Oh yeah, it’s not laziness, because laziness is usually something else. Everytime you think you ‘should’ do something and don’t do it, you feel like an ass, the solutions are either to do it, or be more self-accepting, people say, and these solutions, to me, SEEM COMPLETELY SELF-CONTRADICTORY!!! What a riddle! I just don’t know how to deal with all this shit, and it even seems acknowledging how contradictory it is is its own damn futile thought which doesn’t help anything at all! Circles and circles and circles and circles and everything is still dirty, and squalid, and disorganized, and broken, and fucked. Fuck you. Die! Die! I want to fucking die! Your hair, your body, your clothes, your room, your closet, your past, your future, your present, your life! Your fucking life!!! Fuck my ass!!! (If you’re qualified).

I am getting kind of fucking tired of this. Why do I get tired/bored so fucking easily!!! Too many years of smoking pot?? WTF! I hate my damn bullshit. And the indecision of it all, and the disgust! What should I do now? Keep writing? Try to end this shit on a more ‘positive’ note? Write back to that girl, Katie? (I wonder if I’ll be able to follow through on that shit, or anything, like the holographic breathing sessions or the primal scream therapy, goddamn obstacles, the phone/not answering/silent/missed calles/unlistened to voicemails/unread emails/unread facebook fuck all that shit, the clothes, the showering, the teeth, the lack of soap, the dentist’s appointment, ben’s wedding, ellen and bill’s books/seeing them/birthday/new health/funeral? (egads you freak), the way you feel everyday, hopeless, immobile, just wanting to disintegrate into nothing, anxious when you can’t, sad, all this shit you don’t even wanna touch, mother fucker!!!!!), have a cigarette, play fucking anagram magic? I can’t believe there are people on that forum with thousands of messages posted, a dude who logged a list of all the banned/non existent words/conundrums, I mean, who are these people, do they have lives? Presumably, maybe some not, but like many who edit wikipedia as you can see from their profiles are just very productive people, although maybe they are lonely, although maybe they are married and have children and careers too, or maybe they are single by choice, who the fuck knows, who the fuck are these functioning people, these people who probably say “NO! Don’t DO IT, Life is ALWAYS worth living, it will get better”, who are they??? Who are they!!! Even some of them are the genuinely sympathetic people, maybe some who have had depression themselves, even been suicidal in the past, WHO ARE THEY!!! And why do I not even want to meet them, or take steps to change my life, why do I feel so different from them, and in certain tiny ways, so the same????? What is this self-defeating thinking??? What is this depression, and what is me!!!! I do wanna die so bad, but not enough to take action, what is that all about!!! It feels not like hope, more like either fear (in the case of jumping over the terrace wall), or like fear/”INACTION (THE BIG ‘MYSTERY’)” as far as buying supplies that are easily obtainable (or at least easy to try to obtain) like helium tanks, tubing, backs, nembutol from china, why CAN’T I DO ANYTHING?? WHY DON’T I DO ANYTHING??? WHY CAN’T WON’T I DO ANYTHING???????? WHAT IS MY FUCKING DEALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL WHY AM I SUCH A FUCKING MYSTERY TO MYSELF, WHY DO I HAVE ALL THESE STRONG FEELINGS AND DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY ARE AND LET THEM CRIPPLE ME AND TRY TO AVOID THEM!!!!!! WHY AM I WRITING IN ALL FUCKING CAPS, ITS STUPID STUPID STUPID!! (This song “just another day” by chemical brothers is on right now, it makes me feel longing, for the past, for drugs, for girls, for my shroom trip with Jessica for some reason, oh goD!!! I wanna go back there but I hated it (except that shroom trip was amazing, I felt like a man afterwards, was on adderall at that time, stayed up all night shroomin then took it, was probably more a mess than I acknowledge, although there really was something so amazing and beautiful about it, oh I miss that trip and I miss Jessica, but real life isn’t like that, fucking real life, fucking real life, fucking real life!!! FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT!!!!! Guess what, drugs also aren’t enjoyable if you are a totally depressed mess, plus I don’t know where to get them anyway, just like I didn’t know where the fuck to get acid for years and years and years and years even though I missed it so much and was happier and wanted to do it, now I’m screwed, depressed for life, I want more transcendental experiences, oh, my autumn shroom trip with Elena, oh my lone acid trips, with stereolab here and with porno for pyros at Hampshire, the last time ever, and the ones with ben, and with Elena, the pair, where we went to FAO shwartz and I got buddy for her, and when we saw white-jacket “oh greyhound, greyhound?” girl from the greyhound bus. WTF!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE FUCKING PAST!!!! MY FUCKING LIFE!!! FEELINGS!!!!! Oh yeah was gonna say if I really did have depression my whole life, those were just other instances of me doing drugs while depressed, they were enjoyable, but clearly fucked up, but not bad trips, so could I have a good trip now?? Maybe, not likely, never know, either way, I would never want to come down and would have to if I had a good trip, that is what happened then, that is why acid destroyed me (the relatively few times I did it), shrooms destroyed me (same), weed destroyed me (constant), but really the depression destroyed me, the abuse and the depression, am I destroyed??? I love/hate being a victim, always looking for fucking ways to be a victim, conditions to identify with, so that I can ‘give up,’ why? Why? Plus people are never entitled to give up, even suicidal paraplegics with fucking cancer are out there trying shit and making their lives as good as possible, why am I not one of these people that can just soldier on, try to enjoy life like these people, appreciate all that I have, use all my options, instead of only seeing fucking obstacles in the way???? Is it me??? Is it my depression???? Am I a victim??? Or am I stubborn??? What disabilities do I have?? What abilities??? What is WITH ME!!!! ARGH, the SELF-CRITICISM, THE CIRCLES!!! THE CIRCLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Cig time. Stupid fuck. Course if you had adderall you’d probably never stop. That wouldn’t be good either. Nothing’s good fucker. FuCK! Shut up!! Does this make me feel better or worse?!? A little both, like everything else….’everything’s grey’…FUCK EVERYTHING BEING GREY, THAT’S AN UGLY ASS COLOR! BLACK OR WHITE FTW!!!!! FUCK YOU!! FUCK ‘FTW’!!!!

So many damn negative thoughts in the space of about 10 minutes. WTF!! Do I want to write about them now? NO! I am going to play anagram magic! Writing is boring, anagram magic is boring! WHY ANAGRAM MAGIC

 

3/2/12

 

Oh great, wonderful, it’s March. WTF. FML. Fuck everything. Well here I am writing again, I don’t know why. Desperation maybe, for that seems to be the only reason I do anything, otherwise I am sleeping. Oh fuck it all. I don’t even know if I can do this. I am getting a tiny bit of a headache. Two aspirin? Sure why not, only downside is it makes having a spontaneous heart attack a little less likely. Why can I not just have a heart attack and fucking die I hate everything I hate myself I hate life I hate existence. Is this helping? Well I guess it’s marginally better than thinking it all in my head but I don’t know.

Why don’t I do anything I don’t want to do, why don’t I do anything I want to do, I am running out of tobacco again, I was a little more at ease this week, I don’t know if at ease is the right word, I don’t even know how to identify my fucking feelings, I think I am alexithymic, ha this stupid spelling dictionary doesn’t even have that word, let me just die, die, die. Why can’t I just die, die die. I don’t even want to be doing this right now but I am. I can’t even fucking think straight I fucking hate hate hate this. This is so stupid. I am so stupid. I suck suck suck.

Stole some of mom’s attivan a couple of days this week, sort of seemed to help a bit, sort of didn’t. Not very descriptive, can’t do any better than that. Took an online anxiety test and realized, again, I am very anxious, then heard this pitch by this guy who wanted me to shell out 66 bucks (first week is free trial) for this calm clinic program. Actually did, because tired of giving up on shit all the time, next day was terrible, regretted it, didn’t want to do it, then finally did, felt a bit better, next day terrible again, because I felt I over simplified the night before, I don’t know what is wrong with me, I am not even being very descriptive, I am dead inside, I hate myself, I wonder if I should have coffee, will that help, will it make me more anxious, I don’t know, I hate this weird shit with anxiety and depression, fuck everything.

Guess I’m feeling super negative right now, for some reason got myself to email back that girl Katie from new york, who knows where that will go.

I don’t even know, what the fuck, why am I doing this, if I can’t even seem to think straight. I think I will have two fucking aspirin and go have another cigarette, then just keep farting and not showering like a stupid asshole. Why can’t I make myself do good stuff. Why do I hate existence. Why is everything so eternally fucked. Stop underlining shit in green you mother fucker I am ending my goddamn questions in periods on purpose you mother fucker. It is almost time to eat some shit but what the fuck to eat and it won’t make me happy you mother fucker. Make me happy you mother fucker. I wish I could make someone read this shit you mother fucker. But it wouldn’t even mean shit you mother fucker. I hate being trapped inside this stupid brain you mother fucker. This lame body you mother fucker. What the fuck is wrong with me you dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb mother fucker kill me mother fucker. Fuck. Posting this whole shit to suicide project now I don’t even know why, fuck it.