I guess it wouldn’t be a new … goal scheme?, if I didn’t fail within the first few days. Let’s see, on Sunday, I was overcome with a feeling of dread and a general panic. I’m pretty sure all of these feelings are in direct correlation to/with my fear of failure and overall worthlessness as a human being. Thus, I intentionally skipped this fucking post on Sunday and reworked my schedule so that I only really work Monday thru Friday with the exception of posting these goddamn things every single fucking day. Then Monday arrived, and I woke up feeling quite ill. I did absolutely nothing yesterday except watch YouTube, play XBOX poker, and roll around on the bed that’s been down in the living room all summer due to the extreme heat in the loft when this godforsaken country refuses to cool off at night.
Today, I’m sort of getting this sense that when I hear other people talk about depression, they seem to be getting it all wrong, which sort of makes me feel as though those people, who talk about how depressed they are/were or how what depression feels like, don’t really know what depression is really like, which in turn means that those who are so willing to “open up” about their depression aren’t really all that depressed. And I can’t even really talk about people who are burdened by “social anxiety.” Like seriously, everything these days that makes anyone feel less than or anything more than however it is that they want to feel or whatever it is that makes them feel comfortable is now somehow a disorder? What. The. Fuck. If something makes you feel uncomfortable or the least bit nervous or sad, that’s totally fucking normal. But when it gets to the point where you’re frozen, unable to move, incapable of doing and being, then that’s when real problems exist.
It’s not that I’m unwilling to talk about my depression because then I fall into my own category of not having depression. It’s that I honestly have no idea how to talk about it. Every time I try to put those feelings into words, I am at a loss for words. I don’t know what it is. I can’t really explain it. I wish an easy fix was out there. I wish that it was this quirky/deep thing about me that would/could define me as a brooding artist/writer-type who just feels everything and is so weighed down by the enormity of all those feelings and insights, etc., etc., etc. That’s all fucking bullshit.
so I’ve done this writing shit for today. I still basically have everything else to do on my daily list of things to do for the next hundred days, but I’m also basically out of time to do those things. It’s off to tutoring in about thirty minutes, and that’s all there is to that.