Journal

Tuesday June 16, 2009

I'm sitting in bed writing this. I made this picture. Do you like it? Do you know what it is? If so, send me your guess, I'm curious to know who got it.

Tonight I have been struggling with depression, with pain. I feel okay for a few minutes then feel miserable for the next few. Days like this I have no idea what's around the corner. I just know I'm confused and those things I know and believe to be true most deeply in my hart had no place in the real world. Blah, that was a terrible sentence--I'm sitting here being so tired that closing my eye will probably result in me fallin immediately to the floor!

My memory hasn't been so hot lately.

Pooh.

Sunday June 14th, 2009

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program automatically stopped and my voice don't am not too surprisingly like some plans lately do a lot of whatever personal effort and realized it several little take this and that's important for attempt to replicate last 20 minutes that'll settle the government has on their and very OxyContin feeling fit smoking that on them think GameSpot documentary, than watching the documentary old treatment called up against of .came from behind 800 and that whole photography sensual photography look and fortunately unlike other books that typically cost $50 plus in that form part from an my then fiancée can talk class in college class this nascent wanted to spend money but recently said that Churchill' against spurge thought it slowly creeping up on investment prospects for once really have just punched pictures think it's in a natural put technically from where I don't really know that much never tried that but it's and mistimed lecithin focus on for no other reason than have some part of my life where I'm outside workouts of programming norm actually focusing on something positive on the other thing that's something some sort am not necessarily taking Schlichting's school photo of thinking more along point just whatever consistent personal picture want to keep people from unlike professional fighting our picture in need of pictures taken with this ridiculous pilot for thoughtful speeches given on hearing Jordan's half on so you something about I have talked about that part will come in that feeling in our time careerwise my dream job for 10 more years they need something outside of devote more money and also in something of filling in your something' nice and sparkly that's programming can't times in this escrow fee do with a collective unconscious not something interesting or creative from there was project started on my own home and have this feature and stability software business case time do it something something big event my best friend X5 listen upon sheets 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to get this stuff forklifts on earth reelecting it does helped me practice being critical without being this past real skill in both critique them something they've done and productive way that helps them something that important to me for various reasons I'm not my last romantic relationship and friendship drilling for many fields do that especially difficult situations or with aspects relationship for personnel and I was having difficulty with this always wanted to be able discuss the way and make her feel on the stack segment so hard that there is with photography personal interaction that would put it there and talk to anyone but something that might potentially come across as very very critical and judgmental toward their Rockaway the next wonderful appreciate him time and the effort whatever it is that you got the word term care so yet but plan to do that well hardest way to do that for me it's nothing personal right that on paper of record just want this to my tendency to let people take that wrong the you see last the fourth of didn't get on here Sunday going down somewhere and dictation from don't look forward that will supplant the stop smoking for good and for checksummed poppycock gave poppycock sure more stupid semifictional now but I'm bumping about taking medications taken him coming down not smoking doesn't really bother me as much effect on respected smoke that's business to do one then not, drugs and withdrawing from them think all possible me feel better is if it doesn't at all his friends that he that's healthier but don't feel some money stuffings always been a friend of should have a friend from the hardest thing that friend on handle at this time things are said I need that smoke that one thing feeling some of it (I'm having withdrawals more of the other wanted to sue for power inside the OxyContin withdrawal of the volume there are 212.5 did get withdrawals did not think land have to do with that it's stand that all-day someone well being through it that's fine I guess this means another weekend summoning and spent most like to visit a hand over his good will upon feeling overwhelmed life this time quitting just regular reasons the reason personal to me I don't want to hear its private something that we do not are part of a single member of the day set aside the smoke that lets you do this not there this day not just virtual book store and income homeowner stuff on all that was on my mind this going to do this thing with a new wouldn't make me feel any better whatsoever but just kind of the ritual makes me feel somewhat okay worst part is like last weekend. Saturday night at work the first time in 15 years shared civic center and that was easy was pretty scary that had been there for 15 years myself space optical smoke thickened this promise on behalf of can contract the art so I became a that she is going, and some people suggested therapy substantive often told that my lowest don't need that you get a friend in the sport friend needs a mantra of stranger thing about all your problems that the doesn't make sense from a psychological standpoint but in the evolution hurt the fault concept family tried friends of their skewed the last thing is the support for means to me calling and stranger things just as good as time but it would just shut me up feeling empty don't have always been people for sexual close in the third they for some of their money is gratifying interest unfair' before I feel the same way and a further stranger to act like they care about rented this one of file they should people for granted like the singer was pretty bad place and anxious thinking about and pick out my films and cigarettes is a rates and script appears to say here and talk on mineral automatically publish see the and documenting this experienced depression see at the last moment because we needed this and thought about the fund shouldst the worlds merge something from MarketWatch that surprised them in this yeah how I got through it somehow meant just that impulsive movie must millionth time shipping the expert in every town on anyway this smoke shuts down Bush goodnight penetrative internals something repression and doing it up on a whole bunch but I'm enjoying doing it for the much cited the more and join my voice still tried to take the time script for

Saturday June 13th, 2009

I'm sitting in bed. It's 10:02pm, Saturday June 13th, 2009. I've spent the entire day in bed, except when getting up to get something to eat, the hour I spend in the art room on the computer, or the brief walk to Albertson's to pick up cat food and make an attempt at feeling human for a short time.

I'm forcing myself to write. I don't feel a strong urge to, although truth is I don't feel a strong urge to do anything. I only woke up around 1pm after a series of nightmares that made sleep an unavailable sanctuary; it wasn't sleeping in by any stretch as I'd been unable to sleep until 5 or 6am. I didn't get out of bed until a half our later or so, just laid there in pain like a trout that had been reeled in then slapped head first into the ground. Finally, after some effort, I got out of bed and spend the next two hours in a daze, as if I didn't have enough oxygen going to my brain. I picked some clothes off the floor and put them on, what I'd worn yesterday. I probably smell, but I don't care.

Not caring is not, as you might think, a negative emotion. It's not like I think "I don't care about picking the clothes and doing the laundry," as if that's something I hate, dread, or have other negative emotions towards. Not caring, in this context, is the complete and absolute lack of emotion. It's a blank page in the middle of a book where you'd think words should be. It's an empty section of the book shelf where that book and others in the series should go. It's an analogy without meaning. It is as much as it isn't and it's something I feel almost every hour of every day and every week, Sundays, workdays, and holidays. I have to remind myself what order to put my clothes on and remind myself to keep dressing lest I fall back into bed half dressed and not caring.

I've been watching more World War II documentaries. I never thought much of the smiling faces of the American soldier as they were going into or just had just survived the terrors of war. And I wonder what that's like.

I've sometimes compared to Depression to being a soldier in a psychological war but I'd always remember to note that it's preferable to being wet, cold, hungry, and afraid, in a fox hole like those brave men of the 101st Airborne who fought in the famous Battle of the Bulge. They were, in some respects, forced by their commanding officers to hunker down in the forest outside Bastogne and risk their lives and their sanity to defeat the Nazis. Depression just can't compare to that, at least not in intensity and damage to the psyche and spirit, can it? If not, then why are all these fellows always smiling?

I've now forgotten the last smile to cross my face. Was it several weekends ago when my parents visited? No, I don't even recall ever smiling when they were here. Maybe some day at work between then and now? I don't recall; indeed, I spent most of my day hunkered down in a small cube staring intently at three monitors. What about when I interact with people at the store? I doubt it. I hardly respond to attempts at conversation anymore. Nobody really cares about my day so when they ask I just shrug and say, "Okay." It's what I feel is expected of me. I've even tried to watch and read things that might normally be funny, but even those comedian's I might normally laugh at seem like they're just making noises and I end up spacing out on thoughts like the psychology of laughter, like some sort of space alien who's plopped down onto earth to study the emotions of a species who's thoughts and emotions are completely foreign to my world.

When soldiers found themselves in such a place during WWI, the "Great" War, the "war to end all wars", it was called Shell Shock. With every war since it's been called something else, most likely out of our need to somehow transform it by renaming it (a personally annoying behavior I feel humans stumble into generation after generation). Today it is called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. With one exception I like this term.

I'll get my dislike out of the way first and it's regarding the word "disorder". Two things. First, since this is term coined and used by the psychological community, a group that claims to be based in science, it's simply inappropriate. The term "disorder" is a statement of judgment describing a state that is different from "normal" (whatever the hell that is). Worse, it has been used over the last century to isolate small sections of undesirable people; I have never observed a positive effect of the social label on any person or group. Second, the very term disorder, when broken down into its root elements, "dis" and "order", suggests something isn't going the way that it should. Is that true? If you get a flat while driving a work would you say your car has a disorder or would when you find the nail piercing the rubber would you recognize this as a cause-effect relationship that's lead you to be 20 minutes late to an important meeting at work. It's annoying, not a disorder. If you dropped a coffee mug and it broke you wouldn't look at it and expect it to be anything other than a broken mug. Sure, you might be upset because it was your favourite, but you wouldn't expect it to be in any other state than "broken". It's no longer a mug and we'd look at someone funny if they expected it to be. When we use "disorder" to describe someone's mental or emotional state we're projecting the same thing, that we expect them to somehow be different, but that's just an inaccurate view of reality. A woman who has been raped, for instance, may carry a sense of distrust in men and fear of walking alone in the dark for the rest of her life. That's not a disorder, that's to be expected and anyone to say any different needs their head lights adjusted.

What I like about the term Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is that it is one, descriptive, and two, applicable to any person, military or not, who experiences stress of some sort in the present due to stress of some sort in the past. No longer relegated to those who have experienced war of one man trying to kill another, it's now applicable to anyone of any age, colour, race, or creed. And why not? Our brains do not distinguish between a plane flying down to strafe bullets to our right and to our left and an x-spouse who tries to take our children. I'm sure some will disagree with this point of view and for those few veterans who might stumble onto this page with anger because I will never know the experiences of battle, you are right, I probably never will, but you'll probably never know Depression and social isolation either: we all do our best to understand each other's experience and it's only through language, dialog, sharing, and empathy, that we'll ever manage to do that.

Social isolation, unfortunately, is not just a "post trauma" but a present one that a lot of Depressed people struggle with. Some might say Aslynn, just go out there and meet people. You can't make friends or build support systems unless you try. And there's truth to that. But there's also truth to the fact that some don't have the social skills to quickly or efficiently build social support networks. I don't. Then again, I do have more social skills than many but the kind of people I want to connect with are few and far between. And my last excuse? It's that I'm utterly terrified of one, people (hurting me, taking advantage of me, slandering me, using me, the list goes on), and two, I lack the simple emotional energy to sustain a conversation with another human being for more than a minute or two without falling back into silence and focus, something that I can tell you from experience doesn't elicit warm arms and understanding, but discomfort from others usually resulting in things like, "Well, I've gotta get going to XYZ, but it was really good meeting you!"

Anyway, I've lost the desire to explain myself so I'll just simply say I'd rather be in a war than going through whatever this is. A soldier at least can point to a calendar and say, "If I survive until August 1st I'm going home!" A soldier's enemy is usually easily defined. A soldier has the support, friendship, and comradery, of his "comrades". A soldier has been trained and is (generally) provided with the tools necessary to come out victorious. A soldier is (generally) recognized for his or her sacrifice and contribution. A soldier gets paid (though I think we could all agree: not nearly enough). And most importantly a soldier can physically leave the battlefield.

I cannot point to a calendar and say, "If I survive until August 1st I'll be happy again!" I do not know if it will be weeks, months, years, or decades until I feel okay. I may even experience severe Depression for the rest of my life, even if I follow every suggestion I've ever gotten to emerge victorious.

I do not have a clear enemy. Sometimes, sure, I can point to a certain person and say, "Her choices are directly responsible for the significant portion of my Depression," at other times it seems like the world is against me, and at times I wonder if God himself thinks I'm his play toy. I'd love to have a single, well defined enemy, I'd fucking punch him in the face and break his damn nose!!!

Here's the catch-22. Depressed people are often Depressed as a result of being alone, feeling unwanted, and needing the social support (like just one or two friends and family) that most people take for granted. To overcome Depression Depressed people need to not feel alone, to be wanted, and to have social support. See the problem???

No one grows up learning how to survive Depression. Indeed we're taught to dream big, taught we can do anything we put our minds to, and in this culture it's generally believed that if we fail it's because we weren't trying hard enough (a belief generally held by the more conservative of those in our culture, a belief I believe to be generally ignorant and worse, the cause of enormous suffering both by those who have "failed" as well as those who blame them for those "failures"). Those of us who survive learn to do so on our own with few to no real support systems and usually no one who really understands and sadly there are groups out there, such as the more radical religious institutions, that are all too happy to take advantage of those suffering from intense experiences such as Depression instead of just providing their support, which is the ethical and HUMAN thing to do.

Nearly no one is ever recognized for surviving Depression. There are no rewards, no medals. Our reward is generally our life and if we do share the struggles we've survived with someone they don't generally understand the full reality of what we're saying. Do you understand this: I would not be writing this today if I had not survived. The Temple WOULD NOT exist. Get it? Do you really get that?

I don't get paid and unless I enter some psychological study of chronically Depressed losers I never will. On the other hand, and I can tell you this from experience, Depression is financially, emotionally, psychologically, socially, and spiritually expensive (my god is it expensive!!!).

The one thing I wish I could do, the one ability a soldier has, is to leave the battle field. Sure, I could get up at a decent time tomorrow, head to church, then get in the car and drive to Ohio to see my best friend, but I'd still be horribly Depressed. The battlefield, like it or not, is in my mind. That's something Buddha understood thousands of years before the first psychologist was even born! And even though I know that in theory, it's easier said than done bringing happiness into my life, I can't simply flip a switch and be happy or feel a sense of meaning in my life.

And that's the biggest difficulty. We all find meaning in certain things. Work. God. Art. Social connections. Sex. I think one of the things that makes the world so beautiful is that there are so many ways people find meaning in their lives. Snow flakes. I've had my own, things that have given me meaning since my first memory. Friendship was one. A belief in and connection to a higher power was another. Making a positive contribution to others' lives was yet another. I could probably count all the things that are truly important, that make life worth living, on both my hands...but almost none of them have been ingredients in my life since 2008...and in the last few months the last few of those were gently removed or violently ripped from my fingertips.

One area of meaning, one that I share with all other human beings, is that of friendship, relationship, and family. In the past three months I have received a record number of letters I refer to simply as "Dear John" letters. These letters have a similar form:
1. An introduction including some nicely worded description of the respect and love they have for me and that the decision to write the letter was not an easy one.
2. The body of the letter is a long and detailed list of explanations or excuses (however one might choose to look at it) for their decision.
3. That they've decided to end whatever relationship they have with me.
4. The letter always ends with a litany of compliments and reassurances that I will find happiness (somewhere else and with someone else).
At last count I have at least six Dear John letters, and that just in the last few months. Definitely an all time record in my life. It's ironic and shocking to me in a way. When I was suicidally depressed, when I lashed out at people in anger, loneliness, and frustration, I rarely received such a letter. Sure, I've been pretty down this year, but overall I've kept my head on straight and tried to treat people respectfully even when I'm at my lowest, and no, I've not always been successful in that endeavor, but comparatively I've been able to show a strength and a resolve easily surpassing my past as well as most others in similar situations and yet...

That brings me to another need I also believe all people have, the need for the universe to make sense. Throw a ball up in the air and it will surely come down. Similarly when we smile at someone we expect them to generally smile back. What happens to the psyche when it seems nothing one does, no matter how thoughtfully decided, no matter how much energy put into it, no matter...fuck, I've just come to believe my efforts will always come to naught. It is an absolutely helpless feeling which I would immediately fail in any and all attempts to explain. Unless you've gone through something similar I fear you will not understand my meaning.

Then there's the need for spiritual meaning. When I was young, and I'm talking ten and younger, that was accomplished through a community life in Our Savior's Lutheran Church in Prineville, Oregon. When I was less young (ten to fifteen) it was because I was beginning to establish my own thoughts, feelings, and beliefs, about the universe. When I was in my late teens it was due to a personal relationship with my personal lord and savior Jesus Christ. And then it was the exploration of myself as a non-Christian. And finally, for the last ten years or so, it's been a deeper understanding I could hardly describe that includes a belief in the supernatural including but not limited to psychic abilities.

I am a psychic. There, I said it. Funny. Until now I've always said, "I'm psychic," meaning I have some psychic abilities. This is the first time I have ever written or said that I am "a" psychic. Still, while I've had so many hundreds upon hundreds of experiences to prove to myself (and a few others) that this is true, I find myself cringing at it. Just one more reason I'm different, just one more reason for people to look at me funny, just one more reason to not fit in unless I join the community of psychics who read tarot or talk to the dead for money--and frankly that's just not a group I'd feel comfortable including myself in if for no other reason than the complete lack of critical thinking within the community.

Over the last year I've noticed my psychic abilities go into overdrive and it's not something I would have expected. Most professional psychics will tell you that the more balanced your life is, the more clear your head, the stronger your sixth sense will be. Think about it this way, suppose each of our senses has a volume control setting and for those of us without perceptual impediments the volume control for each is at 7 (on a scale of 1 to 10) while our sixth sense is set, for most of us at least, at 2. Do you think you'll be able to hear it unless you learn to turn the others down and it up?

Why has this happened? I absolutely have no clue. It just is as surely as the air I breath. And it's been frustrating. Generally I pick up either one, things I don't feel ready to for (i.e. overwhelming), bee, things that serve no purpose but to upset me, or lastly, things that seem to serve absolutely no (fucking) purpose at all. Oh yeah, and things that help others but not me--which seems to bloody well be everything--what I'd give to pick up things that help me.

Examples.

One: Knowing that someone is in the process of writing a Dear John letter and seeing the contents of it before getting it. The only positive I feel about this is I'm not shocked by yet another kick to the balls goodbye.

Bee: Knowing that although things seem quiet at work that at least three high priority escalations will hit by 3pm and force me to work late from home that evening (sure, I could better prepare, but the knowledge usually just ends up making me anxious and worsening my overall fatigue).

Lastly: Why the hell do I care that the person scanning my groceries today is going to say, word for word, "Hi there, how are you today? . . . I'm off in ten minutes, I can't wait! . . . I hope you have a super afternoon, hun. Bye bye!"? What purpose does that serve me in knowing that piece of absolutely irrelevant information but to be slightly more prepared for a conversation that simply doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things.

Oh Yeah: Messages from someone who's passed to a good friend. This is something I've only been learning to pick up on recently, i.e. in the past few years, and is admittedly my weakest ability, but when it comes through it comes through loud and clear (though randomly: I can't do it on a whim). I'm fine passing along the messages, but there isn't anything in it for me as no one I'm close to has passed in the last twenty or so years (besides my grandmothers, who I wasn't close to in the end and they'd been going for awhile by their passing--yes, I loved them both, though!!!).

Anyway...so that's that.

Right now It's 12:16am. I'll probably be up all night. Not tired. I'm eating some peas and corn. Just heated it up. They were frozen. I don't care. It's food.

There are three piles of cat vomit downstairs. One under the couch, another just inside the front door, and another by the door to the downstairs bathroom. I haven't done a thing about them in days besides memorizing where they are so I don't step in them (again). Besides, it'll probably be June 30th before the next person visits my house (i.e. my parents), no real reason to do anything about it if no one's ever going to visit. I just don't care.

I've made another You Tube film which you can view at the 2009 Videos page. I'm calling it A Day in the Life of a Chronically Depressed American. This is exactly what my weekends look like and what they've looked like for months now. Sure, I do other things, force myself to get out, do this, do that, and what have you, but this is what it looks like when I'm at my worst. Before you judge just recognize that it's better than getting in the tub and slitting my wrists; before you judge it's a lot worse than it appears to be.

The battle field is on the inside, buddy.

The picture on this page is a self portrait I just took. I haven't looked in the mirror to see what I look like. Didn't shave or comb my hair. Haven't modified my facial expression to get the best one. Haven't taken ten pictures so I could choose the one that makes me look best. This is an objective record and snap shot in time of A Day in the Life of a Chronically Depressed American.

Finally I am going to record my second audio podcast journal tonight. In fact, sometime tomorrow I'm going to attempt and convert the video so it can be downloaded as a podcast instead of forcing you to watch it through a web page or YouTube (I don't like being tied to either, though the first retains the look & feel of The Temple). I don't know why I started the audio podcast as I'm not a terribly verbal person: I feel more comfortable behind a keyboard. Maybe I was trying to challenge myself. Maybe I wanted to do something new. Maybe I wanted to hear what my voice sounded like. Maybe I didn't like the ten minute limitation of YouTube or maybe I didn't like the way I looked. Maybe I thought video blogs are too bloody boring, visually speaking, and thought an audio version would solve that problem. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

If you're new to podcast visit my podcasting help page. I haven't gone into complete detail but I will describe how to use a few podcasting aggregators, iTunes and ZENCast Organizer, to subscribe to Aslynn's Audio Journal which will allow you to automatically download, copy it to your MP3 player (if applicable), and listen to it whenever it's new.

So that's it, folks, today you get all four, this written journal, the audio journal, the video journal, AND the self-portrait, all yours for this single one time low price of $19.95! Visa, Mastercard, Discover, and Debit, all accepted. And for a limited time you'll also get free access into my every waking thought, feeling, and belief.

Order now.

Friday June 12th, 2009

My daughter recently opened a Yahoo! chat client account. Since Yahoo! is one of the Instant Messenging programs I use we've been able to chat much more often. It's been nice.

If you hold the mouse over her Avatar it says: "Weed + skating + crazy friends = one H@$$ of a day!"

I love my daughter so seeing things like that worries me. And why shouldn't it? She's fourteen years old and in the past year, since moving from my house, has been having more and more panic attacks, has been to the ER once for them, and is now on some heavy duty and addictive psychotropic drugs. Most if not all of her friends smoke pot and shoplift. When I ask her about this she says, "I don't fit in with any other group. Beside, they're fun", "fun" being the operative word. And then today when I picked her up I was nearly shocked to see that she's nearly doubled her body weight in the last year. It's disheartening and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Last but not least she dropped out of school--though they'll tell you she did this educational computer program to make up for it, but she admitted she gave up on that and went down to about an hour of studies a day.

I don't have a lot of power in my "daughters" life. I haven't for a very long time. Her mother makes a decision and all I can do is sit back and watch my daughter crash even further. It's been saddening to watch. And so, in what little time I've been given to see her, I talk with her about the problems in her life, bring up similar problems I have or had, and try to discuss solutions. And contrary to popular opinion I'm not a jerk about it, I don't say, "Hey you're fat, get moving!" Instead I asked, "How's your diet going?" and "Are you getting enough fruit in?" She might say well I'm excercising so I might say, "How much and what are you doing?" She might tell me she drinks energy drinks every day and I tell her, "Do you know that caffiene is one of the worst things you can drink if you're prone to having panic attacks? You really need to give that up, k?" (What frightens me now is that she says it'll be fine, she's using her prescription drugs to level out her moods so she doesn't have to change her lifestyle). Anyway, from what I hear me asking about her life and helping her make better choices is a form of emotional abuse whereas allowing a 14 year old to hang out with dope heads actively engaging in unprotected sex is just sound parenting.

I am such an idiot not to have recognized that! Must not have been included in Positive Discipline for your Teen. Pooh!

Maybe if I just bought her a new cell phone, iPod, or laptop, we wouldn't be in this situation. What situation, you ask? Well, slowly over the last year and a half her mom has been looking for reasons to slowly pull her away from me. She tells her that it's because I'm emotionally abusive, but what sane parent would let their child spend any time around an emotionally abusive adult? Such statements are either lies, irrational, or completely insane. Anyway, after she permanently moved out of my home I had to fight just to see her on my birthday and Christmas, and even then only for a few hours. It was pretty rediculous. And this year trying to get together has been like pulling teeth, and then once we do she continually gets text messages from her mom. "Come home @ 8" one says. Ten minutes later it's "Come home @ 6:30" followed by "Come home @ 5". When that happened today I just gave up. My time is valuable too, but of course that's not something someone who soaked up $60k over six or seven years would ever consider or the fact that healthy families don't ostrasize family members suffering from depression, they show their compassion, support, and love.

You know the worst of all this? Her mother forced her to write this Dear John letter to me. That's what she told me anyway. I'm not sure what I think yet, I just feel hurt, like I'm living in a surreal world where you can sacrifice years of your life, thousands of dollars of your money, and even your emotional stability, only to be blamed for everything under the sun. Well, I suppose one good thing will come of all this. Now that I'm permanently out of the picture (and lets be real, her mother has no interest in allowing me to be an active participant in her life now that she's finally found a sufficiently believable reason to split us up) they can't blame me anymore. I mean, the last six months it's been pretty rediculous, what with me only seeing my daughter maybe 3 hours a month, but after this it'll be pretty clear. Besides, I'm tired of being blamed by people without integrity; it gets old after awhile.

Up until now I've done what I could. I spent my time trying to encourage my daughter, talk with her about the difficulties in her life, examine issues and possible solutions from every angle, and begin learning how to make wise decisions but maybe I should have realized that was a waste of time and energy sooner. It's like she said today, "I don't always have to take your advice" (it came up because I said, "I don't feel like you ever take my advice or find it useful."). And then there's this, something I read on her YouTube page:

So well yeah, though I'm in shock I've been expecting this for two years now and like so many others in my past the easy target was Depression. You know what makes Depressed people? Those who judge, mistreat, and take advantage of their condition. Do you know what's caused 2/3rds of my depression this year? The hate filled actions of the mother of this child and the effects of that on both of us. Now the damage is complete and as predicted she has her daughter thinking it was in her best interest to do so.

I'm sorry, healthy families, healthy people, just don't do things like that.

P.S. Question: If you were limited as a parent to communicating with your child over text messages, instant messaging, and e-mail, would you feel able to parent?

Tuesday June 9th, 2009

(The following must be viewed in Windows Explorer to diplay correctly. It will not work in any other browsers--but you can download the text. In my defense I did this out of a sense of play and wanted to hand write today's journal.)

<img src="../../Misc/Images/Sig.jpg" width="213" height="136"> <img src="../../Misc/Images/RoseSmall.jpg" width="33" height="31"><img src="../../Misc/Images/RoseSmall.jpg" width="33" height="31"><img src="../../Misc/Images/RoseSmall.jpg" width="33" height="31"> <h2><img src="June/5th.jpg" width="500" height="375" align="right">Friday June 5th, 2009</h2> I haven't been writing much anymore. Not online. Not in my personal journals. Not in my book. Not in my short stories. Not even very many e-mails. Compared to April and May, months where I was writing ad naseum nearly very day, I am now writing practically next to nothing. There is some irony to the fact that I am going through the most difficult time in my life and more people are visiting The Temple than ever before. Thirty unique computers hit the site a day, though I suspect most of those are search engines. An amazing day results in up to sixty. It would no doubt raise even this if I returned to writing. Of course it's a projection to say this, but I've come to the conclusion that most of the "real" hits from "real" people are from those checking up on me. How am I doing? Am I okay? Has another Emergency Room visit been required? Am I suicidal? The answers will be shared at the bottom of this entry. So today I'm going to write. There's no rule saying I can't write. And honestly, I'm not sure what else to do with myself at the moment. I don't feel well, emotionally speaking. I have slowly been weaning myself off of Oxycontin, a heavy duty pain killer that such notable personalities as Rush Limbaugh have been hooked on, and the process, while straight forward on paper, is excruciatingly painful in practice. I recently described it to a friend something like this: Imagine waking up in the morning with the morning with the knowledge that every person you love, every friend, relative, and co-worker you count on and have a bond with, died the night before in an explosive plane crash. Imagine for a moment opening your eyes to the day when it hits you. You have no more family. You have no more friends. Their bodies are ripped, incomplete, burned black. It's unreal, so unreal that even after you sit up and walk into the shower, you cannot tell whether or not you are awake or not. It's not simply a matter or telling yourself this isn't real, that you're just having a bad dream, a nightmare, if only you'll wake up--you actually feel like you're dreaming though you're conscious and aware of your surroundings. And yet everything seems so far away. You know you need to do something about it, you can't feel like this forever, you must accept the reality of things, and yet what can you do but accept what is, take time to breath from time to time, and continue living. Maybe you'll see a counselor, a psychologist, or a spiritual adviser, but deep down you know that paying to talk to another human being cannot possibly replace the tride and true support of a loved one. We didn't evolve thousands of years to connect with total strangers regarding the deepest issues in our lives. That's what friends and family are for. That's why we live in tribes. That's why we love and stand up for those we love and fight for those we love. But you woke up and the first thing you realize is that nobodies going to be fighting for you because they're all gone and they'll never, ever be back except in the slideshow of pictures on your desktop. That, my friend, is the start of my average morning. Melodrama, perhaps, but metaphors and analogies work better when describing things that aren't tangible. I can't describe what it's like to have made the commitments, sacrifices, promises, and so forth, over the last decade only to wake up alone, work until I'm dizzy, go home, spend the evening alone, and go to bed alone. Sure, we all understand "alone" but few have, fortunately, experienced that at great lengths, felt the biting curse of social isolation, or experienced the overwhelming reality that so many people unjustly have and continue to judge you. Me, I know all of these things all too well and I must say, if not for the Depression in my youth I wouldn't be around to write this today; I simply wouldn't have gotten this far. In regard to social isolation: If you've never spent a month of your life where you haven't had someone you trusted and felt close to to talk with at a time of need then you have never felt what it is to be socially isolated. Any attempts to understand it are pointless in a way. I have tried to explain this to several past friends who were, in my view, swimming in friends, so constantly busy that their difficulty was finding time alone. I tried sharing the details, how I was effected, and why it hurt me so much when they flaked or didn't read that short story they promised to read weeks back. It hurts because that connection is often the only one I had at the ime and while not their fault when the only thing you're looking forward to for weeks falls apart, it hits pretty hard. And when you're sad and you have nobody to call the mind starts to go a little loopy and the next night a little loopier and the next even more so until you just feel fuzzy and when you're around people it's like you're inside this glass bubble and you've gotta walk carefully, I mean, you can talk, you can interact, but if you're not careful the whole fucking thing breaks and you'll be standing there with tears running down your face scared as hell that these people will see just how lonely and scared you are. That's social isolation and if you've always got someone to call up for coffee, a movie, or just to get a hug, then you cannot know how devastating it is to one's ego, psyche, self-esteem, not to mention one's ability to get through the day in one peace. In a way I'm envious of the homeless. While they struggle for food and clothing, much of their focus is removed from these concerns as they're focused on physical survival. They don't have to worry so much about keeping up a good face and putting on an act so they can make the grade, get their check, and keep their house. And frankly, that's probably why so many people loose their homes and end up on the streets. They find themselves in a similar place to where I'm at, they begin to loose hope, loose themselves, loose connections, loose everything they value, and then they just can't keep up with the gravy train anymore and before you know it, boom, house is gone, they grab a back pack, hit the road. I sometimes wonder if that's the direction I'm headed and in some ways I just don't care anymore. I'll just spend, spend, spend, eat, eat, sleep, and then when the cards are all maxed out and the banks start calling I'll just grab a bag of shit, walk out the door, and never look back. The homeless often start out as people with homes and "lives", they become socially isolated, they get some medical condition that ruins them, they loose family members, and slowly they start to loose themselves until one day they finally ask themselves: What's the fucking point of all this? You get so numb that sometimes even when people do touch you you can't feel it because you're not there. Psychologists call it disassociation. It's troubling. But it is what it is and it's what ones psyche does to protect itself from the reality that you're on your own 99% of the time. Happens to women while they're being raped, to children while they're being molested, and to ordinary Joe's who's forgotten what it feels like to be touched, even briefly, even if by a total stranger. In regard to being judged (and even hated): In my life I have usually been on the outside, joining any given social group as the result of having a friendship with someone native to the group. It's their group and maybe it has been for years, if not decades. Drama hits. The friend has a point of view, different from mine but legitimate. They tell the group and the group quickly takes their side. Me? I may have known some of the people in the group for up to a year, even gotten pretty close, but I'm still an outsider, still lowest on the totem pole, and my opinion, my point of view, my side of the story never gets heard. Tribes make up their minds quickly, not on Truth or fairness, but on the strength of existing bonds; it's all about group cohesion, nothing more, nothing less. Sound cynical? Maybe. But as the defunct outsider having been temporarily adopted by a few dozen social circles over the last twenty years I have never once been asked the critical question: "So, what's your point of view?" This is one of the reasons I write here, for some vain hope that some day someone from inside one of these groups would read what I have to say, go "Wow, okay, that whole situation makes much more sense to me now," and then ask, "What else is going on? Is there anything I can do to make this right? Do you need anything from me?" I can't imagine what that would feel like. I cannot imagine what it would feel like to be the one whose story was heard, who's experience was part of the big picture. But that's not the way tribes work. It's how I work, yeah, but I'm a fucking freak, and we all know that. So here's the summary of my week. Every day is about the same. I wake up several times between 4am and 8:30am. Lots of things wake me up: Body pain, the cats, traffic, or being too hot or too cold (one of the frustrating side effects of Oxycontin is difficulty regulating body temperature, esp. at night). I regularly have nightmares. For instance last night I had one where an old friend of mine was doing something objectively terrible and hurtful towards me, something anyone would agree was terrible, and I just kept asking, "Why are you doing this?" (which reflects many situations in my waking life where I've flatly asked people that question). Finally I just walked up to them and hugged them tight and said, "You know what? I love you, ok?! I just want an apology, I don't want to judge you, all I fucking need is an honest apology!" More on apologies later. It's now 11:01pm and I'm far from tired. My neck hurts and I'm in dire need of a massage, but I'm going to have to live with getting in a good night's sleep. Tomorrow and Sunday won't be easy days. I'm going from 2 x 30mg Oxycontin a day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, to one per day. So I'll either be suffering plane crashes in the morning and afternoon, afternoon and evening, or morning and evening. Choices, choices, choices. So here's the plan. I've rearranged my bedroom for maximum comfort including a new cheap little TV hooked up to DTV over the airwaves, a Sony PlayStation 2, Nintendo Game Cube, and DVD player. There are piles of books to my left and to my right. The left side of the bed is ready for relaxation, gaming, tv, and reading, the right side has a pull over desk in order to do some work on the laptop. The plan is to sleep in a little, but not too much, take a shower, do some stretching. Then I'll do whatever I need to do to survive. That's the name of the game: physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual survival. I am not looking forward to it. But I will be so much better for having done it. So hitting the reverse button for a moment. My week. The first fifteen to thirty minutes of my regular week day are as described above in the plane wreck section. I somehow manage to feel better and better until finally I stumble into my car and cruise towards work. I get to work, check my e-mail, then skim the news headlines, local, national, and international over a cup of coffee. Take care of a few necessary items then go downstairs and have a smoke. After that work is just work. I go over the schedules. I rearrange priorities. I go through e-mail. I coordinate with developers, quality assurance engineers, managers. I document. I program. I test. Somewhere in there I have brunch which usually consists of yogurt, a banana, and an apple or pear. And all the while my left butt cheek hurts incredibly. I move left, I move right. I squirm. And then when it becomes unbearable I stand up. Now my knees and ankles hurt. Five minutes later it's too much so I sit back down. And so it goes. On worse days my back and shoulder and neck hurt too. Today was one of those days. All the while I look at the clock. When will it be time to go home? When will I get to lay down? When can I take the next round of pain killers? Why don't I have a roommate who'll massage my freakin' kneck?!? 5ish comes. I grab my things. I walk out to the car. I turn on NPR and listen to the news as I make my way home through rush hour traffic; fortunately I don't need to get on any of the freeways. Most days I back into the driveway, careful not to run into the tree, my parents car, which is here while they're in Australia, or the garage door. I grab my things. I check the mail. If there are Netflick's envelopes I'll check those out once I get inside. Inside I feed the cats. I get dinner ready. I head to the back porch and have a smoke. I may then sit down and watch a movie. Or maybe I'll do some things around the house. On a good day I'll have made a list of at least three things I want to do when I get home. Yesterday it was a) take out the garbage, b) vacuum my room, and c) perform some clean-up and organization on my main server machine. The day before it was move the server to the art room, setup, then rearrange furniture in my bedroom (that was a busy evening). Tonight it was clean the mess of wires, get everything ready for tomorrow, a few other cleaning odds and ends, and finally, finishing up this journal entry. I do these things to keep myself in motion. Often I don't feel emotionally attached; I'm just going through the motions. But I learned, long ago, that to survive and get through a severely difficult period in one's life it is necessary to continue a certain level of "normal" behavior. Sure, even if one doesn't feel into it most days, there will certainly (hopefully) come a time where the emotions follow. That day, I fear, is a long-long way off. And then around 9 or 10pm I take an ambien. Some nights it kicks in automatically. On other days it takes a few hours. I get in bed. I might fall right to sleep. It may take 30 minutes. Either way, I stare at the ceiling and feel empty, alone. I focus on my breath. I focus on my breath. Most days are just difficult. Sometimes, for no reason that I'm specifically aware of or able to put my finger on, they are absolutely terrible. Yesterday was such a day. It started around 2 or 3pm. Feeling of anxiety. And not just a "normal" sense of anxiety, like I might have during an anxiety attack, but a serious sense that I was close to becoming not just anxious, but dizzy, a little confused, and even worse. What's "worse", you ask? Somehow I managed to push my way through the day, but to be honest I wanted to literally run downstairs, get in my car, and drive home as fast as I could. When it was time to leave I left, got home, and was shocked by how I felt. I assumed it was just another OxyC low but I took that, it kicked in, and my mood continued to go downhill. Went out to smoke. Started to feel extremely suicidal. What's the point of life? Is it possible to have a worthless life? Are there some lives that are just a waste of space? I realized I was in a pretty good place, if that's the choice I wanted to make. Why get off the OxyC when I could take a handful, wait an hour, get in the car, find a brick wall, then ram it at 100mph. Wouldn't feel a thing and would probably be drugged up happy the entire time. No, I wouldn't do such a thing, but I've had some pretty difficult moments where I think wow, if there were any time in my life where I wanted to make this choice, where I had the means to do it easily and painlessly, if I had all the reasons in the world to move forward with itfuck, I just don't know why I ended up there or why I do once a week or so. I'm not thinking about anything specific when it happens. Nothing specific happens that would cause it. It's not always at the same time of day. Sometimes it's affected by the pain killers, at other times it's not. Always, it is so incredibly intense that I cannot or can barely function and it doesn't go away until I get a good night's sleep. I have never felt this way before in my life, even when I struggled with a suicidal depression. I don't know what's going on. Sometimes it worries me. At other times I think, "What should you expect after all you've been through?" Really, what should I expect? I've been through the grinder. Again and again and again. I no longer know what the meaning of life is. I don't have any goals--I mean, I don't see the point if I can't achieve any excepting those that are related to me making some kind of purchase or making something with my own two hands, the moment I must rely on other people for an aspect of a goal I might as well fracking forget it, it just ain't going to happen. That has left me feeling pretty empty about life. Are my only successes to be found at the front of a BestBuy? AnywayI don't even know how to describe these "moments" (although they usually last half to a full day and I've now had about thirty of them over the year). The worst have been on the weekends. In fact, Memorial Day Weekend was the worst. Every day one plane crash after another followed by several punches to the gut of shitty followed by bad news followed by crap Monday and Tuesday. Just felt wiped. Broken. Spent. No point to life. No point to a life that feels like this. Who would want to live like this? Who would want to live? Who could get through this? Why am I getting through this? Is there anything on the other side? Is there anybody out there? You'd think I'd have a chemical imbalance. Truth is I was checked for that once. You know what they found out? I'm fine. My brain is fine. In fact, throw me in a situation with two or more people who accept me for who I am, give me touch from time to time, and show me respect, and I become extremely happy within 48 hours. Yes, it only takes two days for me to go from, "What's the point?" to "I love life!" All I need is what we all want, what we all need. A little friendship. A little support. A little touch. A little certainty. A little meaning. A little respect. A little hope. Boom. It's like this never happened. Indeed, when I've got my needs met, and most of them are fairly simple, I am an incredibly happy person, more so than most people I think, more so than most people are, but you wouldn't know that because I rarely have those basic needs met. ApologiesI will talk about them another day. It's too late and I'm too fucking tired. On a positive note I have made some progress building up my social network. It is far from stable, far from what most people take for granted, but there have been a few steps. A coworker and I get together every two-three weeks to watch BattleStar Galactica. And I met a girl on the internet who stumbled on my MySpace page. She's been very supportive of what I'm going through and can empathize being that she has Fibromyalsia as well and understand what it's like to live with chronic pain, have dealt with taking heavy duty pain meds, and so on and so forth. Haven't met in person and who knows when I'll be ready. Truth is, I feel incredibly scared of people and being behind a computer monitor makes me feel safe. Don't have to worry about people taking advantage of me, saying hurtful things to my face, and as an empath I don't have to worry about picking up on people's deeper emotions, especially when I'm not in a good place to handle such things. Finally, there's no chance of being hurt, disappointed, or abandoned, or at least, the final emotional tribulations aren't as dire and that's just something I know I cannot handle, not right now, and probably not for awhile. Some day I will be on my own two feet again. Until that day I will endure. As for the weekend, I will somehow manage. I have to. Got no other real choice, at least not if I want to live a fully healthy life some day and become an actualized human being. <img src="../../Misc/Images/Sig.jpg" width="213" height="136"> P.S. Answers: Not great. I honestly don't know anymore. Fortunately no. And more often than I'm willing to admit. <img src="../../Misc/Images/RoseSmall.jpg" width="33" height="31"><img src="../../Misc/Images/RoseSmall.jpg" width="33" height="31"><img src="../../Misc/Images/RoseSmall.jpg" width="33" height="31"> <h2>Monday June 1st, 2009</h2> Just wanted to share this film with those who care: <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1029120/" target="_blank">Henry Poole is Here</a>. That's all. </div> </blockquote> <blockquote> <div align="left"> <img src="../../Misc/Images/Sig.jpg" width="213" height="136"> <img src="../../Misc/Images/RoseSmall.jpg" width="33" height="31"><img src="../../Misc/Images/RoseSmall.jpg" width="33" height="31"><img src="../../Misc/Images/RoseSmall.jpg" width="33" height="31"> </div> </blockquote> </body> </html>