Posts Tagged ‘depression’

Antarctica Starts Here

March 9th, 2017

The most useful aspect of this website is as a running check on my mental state. If only it were primarily a tool of artistic expression. And it may have been once upon a time. Now this website is a mere tool of survival. I’m doing the best I can, hurling words into the void. I almost feel like this is the captain’s log on a ship that is lost at sea forever, words not to be read until long after I’m dead from scurvy or mutiny.

 

I don’t know a lot of people who are happy. Most of my friends are going through some sort of crisis. Loneliness, isolation, depression, existential dread. I don’t have the ability to diagnose my state or locate the root cause of it. I’m afraid that the root cause of my problems are like those of many people, and come externally. How do you cut the strings that are pulling you to and fro? How do you gain the strength to move on your own after that? How do you live in a system that is designed to divide you, conquer you and put you at battle with those you’ve been divided from?

 

So when you’re in that state of being, how do you escape? If it’s external stimuli torturing you, does it take external stimuli to rescue you? What comforts you in the dark of the night when nothing is comforting? Where do you turn? Who loves you when you need to be loved? Who holds you when you need it? Who lies to you and tells you everything is going to be better eventually? And where is she now that I need her?

Unlit

January 15th, 2017

It happened again yesterday. Thought about going out. Couldn’t bring myself to do it. I forgot how strong the depression and anxiety could be. It appears that I have underestimated my enemy.

 

I’m not the social person I used to be. What if I don’t know anybody? What if I only know one person and they’re working the room, too busy to sit with me? I can be alone at home, I don’t need to be alone out there surrounded by other people.

 

I don’t go out unless I have to and social events are not “have to”. I don’t put myself out there anymore. Please don’t look at me and judge me. You don’t know my life. All my friends went on with their lives and left me with mine.

 

My heart is a bottomless pit. It’s a tough environment. I put on the air of anger and defiance. Man cannot live on that alone. Sometimes I really am angry and defiant. Sometimes I am resigned to the dumbness of life. You lived your entire life like a unlit candle in a drawer. Never knowing what it felt like to know what your life was for.

You Win Today

January 10th, 2017

RE: Meryl Streep. I went back and watched her comments at the Golden Globes. Then I read a transcript of what she said. To hear the backlash, one would think she advocated eating baby hearts. All she called for was for our next President to actually act like a decent, compassionate human being instead of the counter-punching animal he acts like almost all of the time in public.

 

And of course, MMA fans got all up in arms because she said it wasn’t art. It’s not, it’s a competitive sport. There’s nothing wrong with that. Do you see the football fans getting up in arms over what she said? And if your institution is so fragile you have to defend it lest Meryl Streep lay waste to it, maybe it deserves to die.

 

Glad I got all that out of the way. I had to give Meryl a few words of support, however little they help.

 

Depression is on my mind, in my mind. That’s the main gist of today’s writing. Because every depressed person own brain is their battlefield and their own brain is the enemy. Which all sounds strange to someone who hasn’t been in that situation. Like maybe it’s an imaginary friend that got out of control or something. Just think it over and it will go away, right?

 

Some days go by and a part of me gives in. “Ok, depression. You win today. Have at it. Let’s stay in bed too long. Let’s eat junk food all day. Let’s not clean the apartment. We’ll do exactly what you want to do, depression.” Some days just end up being for naught. You try to make the most of every day, but some days can’t be saved.

 

The silver lining is that I’ve got it under some semblance of control. What’s the worst it can do to me now? Ruin a few days at a time? I’ve been dealing with this my whole life. There were times I thought “stop the world and let me off” and I don’t think that anymore. Read between those lines, kids.

 

Depression is a beast I’ve got to let out sometimes to run wild. It’s like a feral dog that you have to let play in the yard. I didn’t ask for this feral dog in my life but it will claw its’ way back into my house if I don’t try to teach it to heel and mind.

The Bitch Is Back

December 30th, 2016

I attempted to write a short story for Christmas Day. Set exactly one year in the future, it had our new President sitting in the Oval Office considering firing some of those new nuclear weapons we’ve been stockpiling in the previous eleven months. Call it a piece of political thriller horror-comedy.

 

The conclusion to this story would have been Trump picking up the red phone to give the nuclear launch codes (aimed at what country, we don’t know), making the big call and starting to give the USSC in Nebraska the codes before abruptly choking to death. The twist is that a Secret Service agent in the Oval Office would actually smother the President to death while screaming where the phone could hear “OH MY GOD, MR. PRESIDENT! ARE YOU OKAY! THE PRESIDENT IS CHOKING! I THINK THE MR. PRESIDENT IS CHOKING! PLEASE LET ME HELP YOU! NO, SIR, NO! NO, SIR!. . .”

 

I don’t really have the heart to finish a lot of things right now, or start other things. My depression is picking up steam again. It would have no matter who won the election in November. Ebbs and flows. When I’m up enough I stand up for myself and I put in work. Right now, I’m sleeping a lot. I’m not writing as much over these last few days. The last two months were a torrent of emotion and I poured as much of it out as I could.

 

I have hope that on Inauguration Day, Trump tries to give the longest inauguration speech ever. The record is one hour forty-five minutes by William Henry Harrison, who died one month later because of hypothermia he suffered while giving that speech without a hat or coat on a very cold day. If history could repeat itself one more time, that would be hilarious and a relief.

 

We live in a crazy country, in a crazy world. Something ridiculous is on tap for 2017 and it won’t be good. I oughta be excited.d

I Guess I Live Here Now

October 17th, 2016

This is my life now.

 

I live on the outskirts of a small town by the park with a big red train caboose in the front. I’ve started a weight loss program and attended a lesbian wedding/anniversary party. I’ve sold merch in a redneck bar for the next big country star. Two of my friends paid for me to get a lap dance from a girl named Samantha and it was great. Maybe, just maybe, things are starting to turn around for the better.

 

This is my life now.

 

I have an instagram account (@mikewritesandsings) but I barely post on it. I haven’t posted in about eight days. Mostly I click the heart button on other people’s pictures, which tend to be of babes. It’s no Twitter, which I have flogged the holy hell out of. In the course of my Tweet career, I have probably tweeted 20,000 things. That’s 20,000 thoughts I would have said to nobody. Thoughts that would have stayed in my mind and just festered and died a slow aching death. Thoughts I would have had to tell to small groups of people over and over again, like a focus study.

 

Am I. . . happy?

 

I am getting closer to happy and that is a strange thing to feel. I’m not used to it. Have you read this website lately? Ever? It will take some time to get to the point where I realize that it is okay and I deserve it.

 

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” My research tells me that Eleanor Roosevelt said that. My research also tells me that Eleanor Roosevelt was a floppy-tittied dyke, but that’s irrelevant. I just like saying that. Sometimes I sing it to myself: “Eleanor Roosevelt was a floppy-tittied dyke, yeah-yeah, uh-huh.” I haven’t turned that into a song because where I am going to go from there. If you see me out somewhere, ask me about the Eleanor Roosevelt song and I’ll sing it to you quietly.

 

What was I saying? “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” People will treat you bad but you can’t let them stay in your head. When they hurt you, you’ll feel it. But you can’t linger on that hurt. Some people have to be cut loose. Because “fuck them”, that’s why. If you mean so little to someone that they can hurt your feelings and not give much thought to it, then why obsess over them and what they did to you?

 

Am I talking about something that happened to me? Yes. Will I discuss it now? No, because fuck them. Yeah, it hurt my feelings but I’ll get over it. Sometimes I think about it and ARGGHHHH I get mad again but those moments are aftershocks and they get further apart from each other.

 

Life can be so nice.

My Depression Has Me

September 24th, 2016

That is the best way to describe our relationship. My depression has me. I am at its mercy.

 

The proper way of saying it is “I have depression” but that doesn’t feel right. Not when I have dealt with it nearly my entire life. Not when things look the way they look from my perspective. Get on my level. See it my way. Look at the situation through my eyes. Understand that depression is the owner and I am its’ pet.

 

Don’t focus on what you lack. Focus on what you do have. Stare at the absences, the gaps. The calendar that hasn’t been changed in over a year. It still reads April 2015 on the wall. You have a mess, you are a mess.

 

Things are changing, though. This is temporary. My time in Fordsville is running low. I’ll be moving to Whitesville soon enough. A lateral move is not a backward step. I don’t want to be in this trailer anymore. It’s a tribute to disarray and emptiness. I needed a brand new start two years ago. Sept 27th 2014 my grandfather passed away. I lived here with him for years. Took care of him when he needed me to. When he got too sick and frail to fend for himself. I would have done anything for him.

 

This is the final step. I get to finally let go of him. This is where we lived for so long and I’ll be leaving it behind. Leaving this chemical toilet town with it. I’m ready for life. I ready to fight the good fight. Where I’m no longer the bitch in my relationship to depression.

 

Tears will flow heavy for me. The final step in saying goodbye. You don’t have to move halfway around the world for fresh air.

I need

September 4th, 2016

I don’t want to focus on what I don’t have.

 

If I focus on everything I don’t have, eventually I’ll remember that something I don’t have is something I actually need.

 

If I don’t have something I need, I need to get it. What if I don’t have a plan to get it? What if I don’t know how to get it? What if getting it is beyond my means?

 

I have a lot of things I need to fix. I don’t know where to start. It’s too much. I can’t do it.

 

I am not in control of my life. My destiny belongs to the wind and the tides. I am a piece of debris left on the open ground, vulnerable to pickup by strong gusts, tornadoes, streams, creeks and the like. I do not control how long I float or how long I fly.

 

That Elton John song “Candle In The Wind” about Marilyn Monroe? At least the candle had a base holding it down, I assume. Even if the wind put the flame out it didn’t get knocked over because of inclement weather.

My Depression Is Strong

August 28th, 2016

I’m trying to make some changes. Diet changes. Less pizza, less soda, less potato chips and Doritos. In place of the soda, I’ve subbed in flavored sparkling water. I give myself a pop every day or every other day but it’s not it used to be. It wasn’t uncommon for me to drink a bunch of sodas in a day. Mountain Dews, Pepsi, Diet Dr. Pepper.

 

My stomach feels better. I think the lack of soda pop has made it easier on me, stomach-wise.

 

I wasn’t raised in a normal way. I sort of have to raise myself now. At the age people think mortgage for their home. I have to nurture that inner child that makes some people sick to hear about. That neglected inner child.

 

I am a depressed little boy. My depression is very strong. It’s not strong enough to make me want to die, but it’s strong enough to make me not want to take care of business. “Don’t clean up around here. It doesn’t matter.” I won’t clean up, depression. I won’t pick up all these clothes on the floor. I won’t sort out all this mail that piled up on my counter. “Don’t work on songs right now.” I won’t work on songs right now. I won’t finish any one of the millions of songs that are almost done. Maybe I will work on a few of them. . . eventually. I have so much to do. But depression is the boss around here. I just live here and pay the bills and put out the garbage at 9pm the night before the guy comes to collect it.

 

Or 1am. Whatever works for me and my depression.

 

Which one of us is in control? Obviously, the depression is right now.

 

I’m not melancholy. I’m not even sad. I’m listening to a soundboard of a Prince & The Revolution concert from 1986 just before they broke up and I’m enjoying myself. This might be the last concert they played in Tokyo. If depression were just a state of being sad, I wouldn’t have a problem. Because I’m not sad.

 

I have a chemical imbalance in my brain. That is the reason for my depression. I am not getting what I need, chemically and hormonally. I try to work through it with therapy and medication. It’s a science, not an art. Not a perfect science, either. And that is okay.

 

My depression is not going to be relieved by medicine. Pills are not happy-makers. They do not make me oblivious to my problems in real-life. They don’t help me forget that I am too fat, as well as a bunch of other stuff. The pills just aim to give me a more level playing field so I can deal with my problems instead of be on edge like a maniac all the time.

 

Pills will not make all my problems go away. They’re not supposed to, that’s not on the label. Some people want to make their problems go away and stop feeling sad and medicine just isn’t going to make that happen. Because bad things happen and your feelings are going to be what they are in relation to those events. If you’re in debt, depression medicine isn’t going to make that debt go away. I was fat before I took the medicine, I’m still fat. Pills didn’t take those things away. I didn’t take diet pills.

 

This has gotten away from me. These things usually do. I started writing about one thing and ended up writing about a bunch of other things in relation. I’m trying to tie it all together in a bow and I can’t. I wish I could but the real world isn’t tied in a nice little bow. It’s all a mess and it’s a mess in my life and it’s probably a mess in your life too. I just wanted to give a little bit of wisdom that I’ve gained from years of experience.

 

Everything I learned I learned the hard way.

 

 

Life Without Medication

April 14th, 2015

PRO TIP: When you get your medicine refilled, make sure to check the label to see if the pharmacist gave you what you were prescribed.

 

Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever been given the wrong prescription? Have you ever not noticed immediately? Like two weeks? Let me explain.

 

I called in for a refill of some depression medication. The cashier told me that my script had two different shapes of meds but it’s the same thing. Okay, I understand that. BUT they didn’t give me my depression meds. They gave me a thyroid medicine prescribed to a relative. Long story short: I’ve been without the depression meds for two weeks but on the thyroid meds instead.

 

Have you ever stopped taking an SSRI cold turkey? I don’t recommend it. Cold turkey leads to a physical and psychological crash that causes people to attempt suicide in some cases. They should have given me the medicine I asked for. My safeguard was to actually check the label, but I didn’t. The drugstore had never steered me wrong before.

 

Two weeks of torment. I’ve been screaming and crying hysterically. This is terrible. I’ve been crying listening to music. Songs that have never caused me to break down are doing that. Damn you “Bananaphone” and “Girlfriend” by Avril Lavigne.

I’m A Fool To Do Your Dirty Work (c)

April 10th, 2015

I’m so miserable, listening to Steely Dan seems like a good plan of action.

 

Nobody explained to me why Steely Dan were supposedly so creepy. Why? Because they wrote songs about cousin fucking and old hipsters trying to pick up teenage girls and do drugs and shit?

 

True story: when the guy from Slint tweeted that stuff about his marriage failing and taking his own life I actually called 911. I’m not patting myself on the back. No doubt other people did the same. I know of at least one other person who called and that one’s in my circle of friends. So if us two called 911 (even though I wasn’t sure whether the guy was in Kentucky, Philly or New Jersey or wherever), then no doubt others did the same.

 

He has two small kids, which is enough reason to keep living even if you’re so miserable you voluntarily listen to Steely Dan.

 

Writing songs about fucked up situations and people is more interesting than what normal song subjects are about (love, loss of love, desire for love, etc.) Steely Dan know it, Frank Zappa knew it (“Montana” for example) and I know it.

 

True story: I was thiiiiisss close to performing a solo piano version of “Deacon Blues”. It was going to be played like something from the early Residents albums, discordant and shrill. That goes double for the vocals which I was going to sing like one of the Residents (either Charlie or Ron, can’t remember which one). The final verse of “Deacon Blues” is so perfect it should be murdered in public on stage. “I cried when I wrote this song/Sue me if I play too long/This something is something/I’ll be what I. . .” You know how the thing goes, I don’t need to tell you. And it wasn’t like I wanted to take down the mighty Steely Dan a notch. I like that song and them because they are the perfect band for nursing oneself out of an emotional coma. Beats the Sweet ‘N Low of listening to Kiss, I’ll say.

 

If you want to die, you don’t cry out for help. Even at one in the morning on social media. A month later the guy is palling around with his old buddies Karen O and Lance Bangs. I’m sitting around with no shirt on in my trailer listening to Steely Dan and he’s the one who is suicidal?