Category: depression

i’m about to have a nervous breakdown

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Sung in the key of Keith Morris.

That’s where I’m at. I kill myself, all day, starting at 4:50AM (yes, IN THE GODDAMN MORNING), bust ass getting ready, taking care of dogs and cats, work my ass off for 8 hours, come home, walk dogs, make dinner, and by the time I’m all done, it’s 6:30, 7 o’clock at night.

Fourteen straight hours of hard go, every day, and what do I get for it? Slippery tongs that send the roast I made halfway across the fucking kitchen to land in a pile of dog fur.

Grilled cheese sandwiches it fucking is.

Fuck today, all the way off.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1357 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel
Comics: Fables 13-15, Fables: The Last Castle 1
Music: Working On A Dream, Bruce Springsteen (more like nightmare, today)

hoping for better depression

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So, I suffer from depression. I don’t take drugs for it. I don’t go to therapy. I’m sure that would probably help, but the drugs I’ve tried have always made me feel worse, rather than better, and well, who the fuck has the time and money for therapy?

The thing is, I refuse to let it define me. It can run me, and it’s a struggle and fight every single day. Some days are worse than others. But I will not be labelled as the guy with depression.

I see it a lot now, and perhaps it’s a generational thing, where people label themselves with whatever damage they’ve got, physical or otherwise, and then that becomes their identity. It’s not a bone that needs to heal; it’s a bone that needs to stay broken, because it’s who they are.

It defines them.

But we’re so much more than that. Melancholy (aka depression) was just a piece of Abraham Lincoln. One could hardly say it was the primary fact of this life.

It was only part of it.

The generations behind me (and I blame my own shoegazing generation for starting this shit) seem to think it’s the only definition of themselves that matters.

I have anxiety, therefore, I am anxiety.

I have ADHD, therefore all I am is a lack of focus.

Man, fuck that. Treat yourself, do the things you have to do to get better or at least, function better within the restrictions you’ve got, but shit – it ain’t you.

Depression is not an identity; it’s just a thing that happens.

Depression is not the core of your self; it’s a chemical imbalance, or the sum total of some disparate thoughts or shitty life events.

It is NOT you.

That’s important. Remember that. You are not your depression; you are you.

And you have control over that.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1102 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel
Comics: Fables 9-12
Music: Working Class Hero: A Tribute To John Lennon, Screaming Tress (and others, presumably, but that's all I got)

thrown off a cliff

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The view was stunning, or smashing, if you prefer.

In any case, fucking sideswiped and scrambling.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 696 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: From The Earth To The Moon, Jules Verne
Comics: Badrock 1, Bloodstrike 21, Brigade v2 19, Bloodwulf 3
Music: (Who's Afraid Of) The Art Of, The Art Of Noise (not me, it sucked)

you know what would be cool?

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If there were like, only a few million people on earth. Enough so you’d have someone to talk to, and stuff to trade, but otherwise, you’re mostly left alone to do the things you want or need to do.

Also, if they could all be cool, that’d be great.

It is an issue, though, this overpopulation. We’re breeding ourselves out, and we’re ignoring it completely.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 2672 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Dog Who Wouldn't Be, Farley Mowat
Comics: Bloodstrike 18, New Men 10, Brigade v2 16, Team Youngblood 17
Music: The Who By Numbers, The Who

guilt

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I mean, I’ve got a lot of it.

I try not to have it. I know people that look like me have done all kinds of horrible shit, and indeed, due to stupidity or selfishness or ignorance of the world around me, I’m sure I’ve done more than my fair share.

I haven’t been a great man. I’m still not, as far as I know.

My life has been defined by trauma – not real trauma. I was never beaten or raped or witnessed a horrible crime. I have PTSD from bad employers, but who doesn’t?

My trauma seems inconsequential; it’s not warzone PTSD or survivor’s guilt.

It’s knowing that every day, things get worse. Brain beaten, bit by bit, until my brain feels like a hockey enforcer with CTE, even if it might not look that way.

But it’s all excuses, or so I’m told. Avoidance. I should feel guiltier, they tell me. I should feel the weight of two thousand years of straight white male oppression.

And I do.

I don’t know how I stand it.

I don’t know how anyone stands it. I sit at the bottom of this world, like Atlas without the muscles, squished, guts oozing out my sides, eyes literally popping out of my skull like a sausage being run over by a Mack Truck.

And yet, somehow, still alive.

I feel it. I feel it all.

I feel the world’s pain, its anger, its suffering.

And I’m not sure how much longer I can stand. 

Target: 1300 words
Written: 2287 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: World Of Ptavvs, Larry Niven
Comics: Tomb Raider Journeys 5-6, Tomb Raider 23-24
Music: Weezer (White Album), Weezer

edited out

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I’ve noticed a weird trend among my extended family over the years.

For whatever reason, they edit us out of their public lives. I’m not really sure why; it’s not like we’re over here spouting off Trumpisms or committing acts of wanton criminality.

Still, somehow, we never seem to make it into the pictures. If you searched online and tried to find me or my stepdaughter in any picture with my granddaughter (that we didn’t post ourselves), you’d never know we’d even met. Similarly, though pictures of my nieces are routinely posted with friends and other family members and friends of the family, we, despite having spent far more time and energy on the girls, are noticeably absent. These pictures are often accompanied by comments about how great that person is for the kids.

The suggestion, by way of omission, is that we are not good for the kids.

Indeed, at both nieces’ graduations, in which we were present, we weren’t mentioned at all. Well, technically, the second one, no one got thanked at all, it was more about musing on being empty nesters, but in the first one, well, every rando from birth to that day got mentioned, no matter how little time they spent with or on the girls, except us, who were with them more than anyone, except their own parents.

My youngest niece and my wife have a ridiculously close relationship and yet, for some reason, even she can’t make the cut.

It’s a gripe I’ve had for a while, but I just can’t figure it out. It’s not like we’re embarrassing white trash, out here spouting QAnon and JK Rowling.

I’m pro-equality, anti-racist, anti-bigotry of all kinds, anti-fascism, pro-free health care, pro-basic income and taxing the rich (in fact, let’s just do away with billionaires altogether), and I believe all people should be evaluated based on the things they actually do, not whatever random defining fact, like who they’re into or skin colour, happens to be one part of their make-up. Assuming that’s all there is to a person (even if that person is yourself) is such an injustice to people as they are.

We’re all so much more. We contain multitudes, and the only thing we should really judge by is action.

Anyways, not complaining, I get it. People curate their social media and they don’t want people they consider “lesser than” ruining their carefully crafted social images. I personally want my reputation to be based on what I do, not the fucking fluff people put on Instagram.

We all know that shit’s B.S. anyway. Your performative liberalism is better than being a Trumper, for sure, but it’s also shittier than being, you know, a good fucking person.

Disingenuous is better than evil; that doesn’t mean it’s good. Same with hypocrisy. If your hypocrisy is getting people killed, obviously, that’s worse, but if it’s just stalling real progress because the only thing it does is serve your reputation by being part of the collective (and socially and mentally toxic) online outrage?

Well, shit, dude. That sucks too, just not as bad.

It doesn’t help anyone.

And shouldn’t we aim to be better than, you know, not as bad as the other guy?

I mean, I know that’s what I’m aiming for, even if I fall short quite a bit. Being a good person, a happy person (something I’ve not entirely given up on, despite the last forty-eight years of evidence), that’s all I’ve ever wanted. To write me off as an alcoholic redneck and ignore every other aspect of me and the rest of my family (and I suspect a great deal of this is rooted in ableism, even if it’s unconscious), well, then, fuck.

That’s pretty shitty, and it doesn’t feel good.

Maybe we strive for better, yeah?

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1203 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: World Of Ptavvs, Larry Niven
Comics: Tomb Raider: The Greatest Treasure Of All 0, Tomb Raider 19-20, Tomb Raider Journeys 2
Music: Weezer (Teal Album), Weezer