i think i might be dying

Scratch that. I know I am.

We all are.

But I think it might be more serious than that.

I haven’t slept properly in weeks, if not months. I get lightheaded regularly. Every joint hurts. I have frequent headaches.

Something is always sitting wrong in my stomach.

I think it’s weight, but I can’t lose anything, even when I’m properly dieting.

I feel like a few days’ sleep would do wonders for me.

What I wouldn’t give for a week long coma.

Target: 700 words
Written: 136 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Desire Map, Danielle Laporte
Comics: Danger Girl: Viva Las Danger 1, Danger Girl: Delusions Of Grandeur 1, Batman/Danger Girl 1, Danger Girl: Back In Black 1
Music: Off To See The Lizard, Jimmy Buffett

bite sizes

I know it probably looks like I’ve completely checked out on writing, but I’m just in a lull.

My overall total of written words and time spent on The Mungk still exceeds its target by about twenty thousand words, so if I take a few days to regroup before the draft, I have the leeway. It’s one of the reasons why I keep a daily target and a total target.

That way, if there’s days where things go off the rails and the demands on my life leave me with barely time to take a piss, let alone crank out a few hundred words, I have the room.

And this past week?

I’m near to bursting from holding it.

This can’t be healthy.

Target: 700 words
Written: 54 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hans Christian Anderson's Fairy Tales
Comics: Danger Girl 0-3
Music: Odds & Sods, The Who

all i’m saying

Is when you’re talking about suicide, depression and mental health around others, be aware that there may be sufferers nearby for whom your demonization or minimization of their struggle has a negative impact, reinforcing the very stereotypes about themselves that may be keeping them in this state of diminished being.

Your words could spiral someone who was teetering, and you might not even know it.

Leave the place better than you found it. That’s all I’m saying.

And for Pete’s sake, if your only contribution to empathy is a social media post or bluster to friends, stop pretending you give a shit, so everybody can know what an asshole you are, and not only those attuned to your hypocrisy and bullshit.

(Also, who’s Pete? Why are we doing things for Pete’s sake? Is Pete depressed? Should we be worried about Pete?)

Target: 700 words
Written: 41 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hans Christian Anderson's Fairy Tales (so.  goddamned.  long.)
Comics: American Vampire Second Cycle 11, American Vampire Anthology 2, American Vampire 1976 1-2
Music: Ocean Of Confusion: Songs Of Screaming Trees 1989-1996, Screaming Trees

empathy-less

A guy we don’t know through some people we don’t know through some people we do know killed himself recently.

I’m sure it’s not that uncommon; I suspect many unexpected deaths that they don’t list causes for in the newspaper are suicide-based, more than we care to admit.

What bothers me is the response.

The condemnation of this fellow is unanimous – what an asshole for leaving his wife and children, and in his own home!

This, from people who will advocate for nearly anyone who has a “disorder”, as long as they don’t know them personally. The homeless are just broken. Oh, you can’t hold them responsible for that. They have anxiety, and get this, DEPRESSION.

And yet, the condemnation of this poor fellow is ASSHOLE, LOSER, IDIOT, MONSTER.

I don’t know anything about the situation that led to all this, so I don’t know the man’s motivations or the attitudes and behaviours of those in his life, but I suspect if he was willing to go that far, his thoughts about himself probably ran much the same.

ASSHOLE, LOSER, IDIOT, MONSTER.

And as someone who has lived with depression since I was twelve and thought about snuffing it more times than I can count, I can tell you that someone showing a little empathy, some care and concern, could very well have turned it around.

My go-to is “this too shall pass”, which reminds me when I’m feeling like that just to keep moving and the situation will change. Sometimes, that takes days. Sometimes, it just needs one other person to say something nice, or to engage you in something that takes your mind off of it.

Writing helps. Better out than in.

I don’t know anything, again, about the man or his wife, his kids, his job, whatever. Maybe he just found out he had stage 4 cancer and didn’t want to put his family through that. Maybe he was into some shady shit and his whole world was about to blow apart. His reasons might be entirely different from my own.

I don’t know if she was supportive and he was suffering psychological issues beyond what she could deal with, but from the sound of it, it was fairly unexpected, so who knows?

Either way, I think some empathy is due. He felt enough pain to make the one choice that truly abdicates one’s responsibility toward this life in which we live. That, in itself, should trigger questions as to why, not condemnations. That solves nothing, and for the other people in your life that may suffer in depression, and may be thinking of self-harm, it sends a clear message – what a worthless, idiotic, monstrous asshole you would be for committing such an act, and by extension, even considering it (which we sufferers inevitably do).

I can guarantee, because the thought was my own, the reaction for those hearing about this and still suffering was “they don’t understand the pain”, followed by guilt and a further spiral of anger, as again, the world proves it does not care about us, that it devalues us, that we are worthless, idiotic, asshole losers and now, yes, MONSTERS.

Of course, these same people show empathy when all it requires is meaningless words to people not involved or a post on social media, but when it comes to supporting or sympathizing with someone in reality?

That’s how you know these people are more interested in status and reputation and not in empathy or helping those who suffer.

So, sorry, guy I didn’t know. You were suffering to the point where you felt leaving this life was the only reasonable choice. You didn’t have (or didn’t know you had) people around you who would support you, who would help you and you made the ultimate choice.

And while we can debate endlessly the nature of the act – cowardice and irresponsibility versus relief and the end of suffering – we can spare a minute to think of the pain of those left behind and the departed.

He made a bad choice, driven by bad feelings, caught in the tunnel vision of despair, in which one sees no options and none are presented.

Perhaps if someone had taken the time to pay attention, and provide an option or a shoulder to cry on, instead of ASSHOLE, LOSER, IDIOT, MONSTER, he might not be gone at all.

Target: 700 words
Written: 63 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hans Christian Anderson's Fairy Tales
Comics: American Vampire: Second Cycle 7-10
Music: Ocean Mist, Sublime

responsibility

I think I’m sick of the lack of responsibility and accountability in this world. From millenials and Gen Z blaming all their woes on whatever psychological issue that they have or fucking Trumpers assuming they can commit literal crime (up to and including fascism or hate crimes) with no pushback, I’ve just had it.

Take some fucking responsibility, goddamnit.

If you really want freedom, you have to understand, that the more freedom, the more responsibility. The more responsible you are for your own behaviour.

You don’t get a pass because you’re white, straight or male.

You don’t get a pass because you have generalized anxiety disorder.

I’m all those things and I feel responsible for everything. I know my choices are my own. I know my depression is just a thing I deal with, not the thing that runs my life.

I make my own choices.

Are they always good? Nope, but that’s the point. You fucking learn from the bad ones.

You are not hopeless. You are not powerless.

You are not able to do whatever you want without consequence.

These things are true.

So suck it the fuck up, take your lumps, and BE. BETTER.

Target: 600 words
Written: 123 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hans Christian Anderson's Fairy Tales
Comics: American Vampire: Second Cycle 3-6
Music: The Observer (Single), The Strokes

derailed

I hate in-office. There’s so much extra (unnecessary) shit to do. And there are things that you have to be in the office for, but honestly, so much of it could be automated, or done by the group that is in office all the time, and with what they’ve assigned me this week, there is absolutely zero reason for me to be there.

It’s just so goddamned unnecessary – a time suck, a morale suck, a tension raiser because I don’t like being around all those people (I’m not a crowd guy). I work less efficiently, it raises my stress levels and the extra time I need in the morning, afternoon and lunch to travel, get lunches, get things ready for dogs, cats and whoever, the whole fucking week just becomes a drag, literally, slowing down any momentum I might have had with the extra time and energy I have from a work-at-home week.

Any why? Because they want federal employees to stimulate the economy by spending money on gas?

Polluting the fucking planet when we don’t actually need to?

It’s so goddamned irresponsible, fiscally and morally, and as human beings.

Ridiculous.

Target: 600 words
Written: 60 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hans Christian Anderson's Fairy Tales
Comics: American Vampire: The Long Road To Hell, American Vampire Anthology 1, American Vampire: Second Cycle 1-2
Music: The Observer, Bjork

not quite three

Man, this kid.

Also, I’m simultaneously way out of shape and still surprised that I can scamper up a giant play zone to help lift her up to higher heights or rip down slides as much as I did.

I did realize my claustrophobia is starting to get worse.

Some of those tunnels were way too tight.

Also, I couldn’t help but think about Wytches and kid farts and matches blowing the Jones family onto the wall.

Birthdays are weird.

Target: 600 words
Written: 185 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: A New Earth, Eckhart Tolle
Comics: American Vampire 9-12
Music: Volumen 1993-2003, Bjork (I don't know what it is about her, but there is no female artist on the planet I connect with more; something about it - there's an innate empathy, an honesty, an innocence that's somehow all mixed up with sex and love, but in the sweetest way... Maybe it's youthful memory, but there's love in them there words)

game 7, for reals

Today’s the day. Are we going to break the curse of the Boston strangler, or are going to Leaf it up in the Leafiest way we possibly can?

I don’t believe in curses, but I do believe in complacent cultures that think they don’t need to try as hard because they’re making money hand over fist.

I do believe in overwhelming personalities who don’t give a shit about that culture and drag everyone else along with them toward some grand dream.

One of these two teams has that. Tonight, we’ll find out who, and whether the NHL decides to screw them anyway.

Target: 600 words
Written: 60 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Carrie, Stephen King
Comics: Universe 1-4
Music: Villains, The Verve Pipe

i go through all this

Beeefooore you wake up.

Sorry. Bjork phase. I do like to get up early. I like the quiet. The alone time. If I can get that, and get enough things I want to get done before I engage with the world, the world and me are both infinitely better off for it.

I don’t go in rushed and angry, upset and falling behind. Frustrated and distracted.

And, the sense of peace is palpable.

That, of course, is not today.

Target: 600 words
Written: 797 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: People Of The Deer, Farley Mowat
Comics: Monstress 31-34
Music: The Very Best Things 1995-2008, Filter

nauseous

Don’t know where it came from, don’t know where it went, but for a good two hours there after lunch (my standard lunch, nothing special or funky about it), I felt like spewing all over my desk.

Of course, everything thought runs through your head: food poisoning, the flu, an ulcer, stomach cancer, that canker sore behind my molar that swelled up and pushed my teeth far enough out of line they throbbed for two days’ straight was actually trenchmouth.

Then, it fades, and I enjoy a nice Tom Collins and pray for sweet release.

It seems like that last thing is coming up a lot these days; I suspect I’m in desperate need of a proper’s night’s rest.

Then again, who isn’t?

Target: 600 words
Written: 666 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Sword Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Monstress 1-4
Music: The Very Best Of Chicago: Only The Beginning, Chicago (narrator: it was, in fact, not just a beginning, but rather, the sum total of everything they ever did before becoming little more than nostalgia.)