Thursday, June 18, 2009


It has been a while since I have last wrote in my blog. The reason is that I simply have not felt the need to write in my journal because life has been, the best word would be, manageable. Resulting emotions have simply been that, okay, but nothing great, nothing good. Sometimes I live my life and it feels like that I am merley skimming the surface of what this world has to offer because I am held back by this depression. Deceiving times of glimpse happiness make me believe that I am over this disease, that the shackles are free and I will never return to the dark, gloomy, prison of my mind that I know far too well. The thought is a fallacy. It is untrue, and always will be. Then I question how much happiness does a person exactly feel in their days? Is happiness rare to experience? Or is it a constant baseline of backround emotion, never in full prominence but not absent. My blog, and its writings, make me think I should be a psychology student, rather than a science one. Thats the problem, though, I do not know what I want. This emotion to desire experiences, events, achievements is lost. Pictures of it should be on the side of milk cartons "HAVE YOU SEEN ******'S DESIRE?" The simplest decisions to conclude are a tedious and bothersome task. The line of thought leads me down a path of cognitive pursuit that makes me ponder whether this all stems my lack of confidence, or, if this lack is caused by the depression. Do I hate my self because of the depression, or is it simply because of the person I chose to be.

I hate my self at times. Validating facts that oppose negative thoughts, beliefs and incapabilities, offer little relief. For example, I feel that I am unattractive, ugly, but women seem to challenge this opinion. I'm cute. I'm hot. It does not cool this damaging belief of mine. I am incredibly unintelligent. I get good grades, but that's just because the professor marks easily, and gives simple exams/tests. These contradicting outcomes, these that oppose my negative views, are temporary. It seems that the negative beliefs are constantly fueled, never ceasing. They are powered by an infinite source.

As I have dated a number of women recently, I am begining to fear that I am unable to feel attraction that exists on a psychological plain. The conversation shared is great, enlightening and comical, but I feel no spark. It is quite difficult to explain that, but I feel no real charge. To me, it only seems like it would be logical to like them, that it would be the correct course of action because they fufill what I apparently perceive to be attractive qualities and features in a mate. I simply feel that I am going through the steps because I should. The attraction, the emotion, it never seems to be the same as I once remembered it. I had a date a few nights ago. She enjoyed it. I, on the other hand, felt quite apathetic for the whole outing. Words parted from her lips and I could not find the energy to concentrate on them. My mind began to wander at all the other many things I would rather be doing at that time. The date then proceeded at my house, where we watched a movie. I sat slumped against my wall, as she laid on my bed. Thoughts began to race intently. I havent finished replaying mass effect. I would rather be on the computer, researching medical schools and course requirements. I would rather be perfecting my schedule for school in Septemeber. I would rather be laying alone and reading. I would rather be going for ice cream by my self. I would rather be at the gym. I would rather be downloading new sets. I would rather be looking for new movies to download. I would rather be with my friends. Later in the night, her body language was quite suggestive but visibly subtle. I guess all those books, ebooks and message boards, about deducing a woman's desires upon her body language were acurate. As we laid across from one another, she became quite forward; her body language became more pronounced. A tug of war in my mind started. Should I kiss her? It makes sense that I should. She is funny, cute, and I have a good time with her, but this weighting notion of there not being a deeper emotional 'spark', 'feeling', whatever you want to call it, pulls forcibly against my logical manner. I sighed, as she peered into my eyes, laughing, smiling. An overwhelming urge to cry struck me down. This is what I wanted, or at least I thought I did. This cute, gorgeous, girl in my bedroom, laying across from me, who seems truly interested in on me on a romantic level. It doesn't fill the void. It does not feel all that great. It seems its as unchallenging to dismiss as a simple shrug of the shoulders. More intuition is learned about my emotions, and my functioning on a psychological level. The areas that in my life that appear to be lacking are focused and dwelled upon. These insuffiences are what hold me back, are what make me think is the key, is the answer, is the cure, but they're not. I have what I wanted, and I am still depressed. I am still unhappyy. I am still depressed. It is an unending defeating cycle. What am I suppose to say? I should like you, but I don't. I'm not sure if it because of the depression, or youre just not what I'm lookng for.

Monday, June 1, 2009


Sometimes makes it all worthwhile


Some days I question the validity of being honest, and how important it really is in my daily life. Being depressed sometimes forces a person to focus entirely on themselves, eluding all others from your thoughts. Thoughts being solely devoted to why am I this way, why do I feel so broken, why do I want to kill my self. All of it, and all of the energy you invest into your self, causes you to forget about others, the people who are around you or the support group I would have if I just opened up. It is my disease, but I know that is does affect the people around me; I know they suffer needlessly because I do as well, because I cant swallow the fact that I suffer from a mental illness. I still denie to this day that I am 'depressed'. I am not depressed; I'm just growing up. Depressed people take SSRI's, they have been hosptailized, they don't lead normal and functioning lives, like I apparently do. They have pysychaitrists, they have treatment plans. They have a support group, or so it seems. To me, none of these things exist in my life. Therefore, I can't be depressed. It just might be my ego, praying to maintain a sense of dignity and strength, or it might that my emotions are so volatile I can't even recognize what I reguarly feel.

I feel like I lead a normal life. I go to the gym. I eat well. I'm not poor. I regularly date. I have possessions. I have goals. I just have no desire to attain them. I guess 'normal' people do not feel like killing themselves, or imagine ditching their car doing 160KM/h on the highway into a centre median. The resultant picture of my dead body smeared across the pavement is comforting, knowing that this pain will cease, that it will end, is comforting. It makes me happy to imagine that I will be dead one day because it means, simply, this pain will stop. My life will stop. I do not have the courage to 'pull the trigger' though.

Am I a deceitful person because I hide this from the people I love, the people I know? Does that make me a liar? Or does it just not make me honest? Am I expected to tell my family these things? I hardly believe that any parent wants to hear their son speak about their suicide ideation, and their plans to end their life. No one wants to hear anything like that.
Lately I have been dating a lot of women, meeting them off the net and trying to share an experience. I have met 4 so far, and this will I am supposed to meet another 2, bringing the count to 6, but I simply do not feel like meeting these two next girls because of one reason, rejection or what I believe is rejection that has not happened yet. On saturday, I met a girl, whose company I really enjoyed. She was really cute, funny, and everything I thought she wouldn't be; accordingly, I went into the date being a skeptic, since she was from the net. The date went well, at least I thought so. That is exactly what I thought about ******* and she flat out rejected me. I sent her an email, saying I had a good time and we should get together again. She has not responded, but I have seen she has been checking her mail on the site we met on. She has not been on msn either. It did take her some time to respond to the last email, but the logistics for our plans depended on it. I'm so unsure.
This is the point of it all, though. It did not matter to me saturday night, why? Saturday night I had a date with a different girl. We had a good time. I sent her a text afterwards, also saying that I enjoyed the date and we should get together once again. She never responded. I panicked. My world was turned upside down. Later that night, I was hanging out with a friend and he said he sent me a text earlier, but I never received it. It turns out my phone was malfunctioning. The girl also replied to my text message, but I thought she had rejected me. I remember anxiously checking my phone every so often, just incase the audible warning stopped working for some unfeasible reason. My mind racked with panic, worry, fear. My emotions depending on this outcome, this sign indication that I was not rejected. The same shit occurs all the time. I thought another girl had rejected me, but she didnt. I still turned my world upside down with negativity.
When I reflect upon this date on saturday, the first one, I remember feelings of doubt, feelings of uncertainity about how I felt. The spark was not there, but it certaintly seemed to be. This sounds a bit difficult to interpret, but, please, let me clarify. I remember such behavior in earlier years would have definitely signified my brain to scream attraction, chemistry, connection, but this behavior, this time, did not. All the other dates I have went on have not produced this feelings either, but I'm starved of it. I want to believe its there so bad, I'll reproduce the feeling by exaggerated memories and images and ideas of things that happened on the dates that do, indeed, promote it. It is all uncertainty. The girl I went out with saturday night, I am suppose to see again sometime this weekend, but I'm not even sure if I like her. The one I'm afraid currently rejected me, I'm not sure if I like her either, but I really want to because she seems to fit the mold of what I tell my self I like in a woman. I question whether or not I can truly feel anything anymore because of the depression, if I'm just numb to everything and everyone because of it.
The next question I have to ask is what do I do now? Do I see this girl? I obviously find her attracted, and that pretty much means I would not mind having sex with her, but at what emotional cost will she have to endure from this decision. She finds me attractive. All I have to do is push, and wait. Sex will happen eventually, if not with her, then someone else, but, like any other man or person, I am impatient and I resort to focusing solely on my self and my needs. Should I tell her how I feel, even though I am truly uncertain about how I feel towards her or anyone else. Should I tell her I think I am incapable of feeling any emotion towards a person that denote a sense of connectivity between each other. People around me tell me that I am a man and it is my duty to have sex. I should be getting laid, and as with as many women as possible. I have been hurt before; I'm pretty much hurt all the time. This creates caution in my actions and my thoughts. It makes me wonder. It makes me second guess things. I know even if this girl responds to my email, sure, it will help me feel better temporarily, but it will just be on to the next one who does not seem to find me attractive, or who takes too long to respond to a text, or a email, for me to just think shes rejecting me and I'll be solely focused on her. OMG. Someone does not like me? Nooooooooo. I'm so self centred and self invovled; it makes me fucking sick. I only want someone when they do not want me. I only want something when it seems I can not get it. I am never ever content with the way things are. Nor do I think I ever will be.

Sunday, May 31, 2009


My brother is a recovering alcoholic; he regularly attends AA meetings. Tonight, he asked me to join him. We were seeing a movie afterwards, so the logistics would have went much more smoothly if I went with him. The meetings follow a standard format. The beginnins usually cover annoucements, going over AA literature and celebrating people's sobriety. The last, and pretty much the bulk of the meeting, is a time where people share their stories of how alcoholism affected their lives, and why they are here today. Alcoholics Anoymous. I won't go into any specific details of their speeches, or experiences, because the anoymonity, but I will mention the emotion behind the speeches and how, in a way, I felt connected to these people.

Alcholism runs deep in my family, both on my mother's and father's side; it is in my blood to be an alcholic. During my younger years, between 14-17, I was running full tilt towards this life. I was drinking heavily on the weekends, and the alcohol was all I can remember looking forward to. Which, when I reflect on my life today, is strange because I don't believe that I truly look forward to anything tomorrow or in the future now. My brother fell first, and hit hard. He became an alcoholic almost overnight. At least, that is the way it felt. I was pretty much entirely numb during these years. The alcohol for me was an escape, from my dreary life, from my depression, from the problems that I faced at home. My mother was next to follow. She was an alcoholic for quite some time. I just believe we never realy recognized it till my brother became sober and shone attention upon her drinking habit. My brother and mother went away for treatment, not together. My mom was gone for 2 months, I believe? My brother was gone for close to 5. In a way, I used to believe that I was an alcoholic, I just didn't drink. When I did drink during the school year, I felt it just made me more depressed. Hence the belief now that I am not an alcoholic. I'm just severely depressed.

The people spoke about feelings and emotions that I knew so well. The words triggered chain reactions. Its as if I did not even need to think about the words. My brain just knew them and felt them. They seemed all so common to me. I looked around the room and I realized all these people felt like me in some way. Inferior, out of place, wanting to just seem normal and to them alcohol was the key. My brother even expressed the same feelings to me, the very same things that I feel, but, yet, I still feel so alone. I still feel so alienated. They spoke about their suicidial ideation and I wanted to cry because I knew it so well. I know what it is like to wake up everyday and wish you were dead, to wish you were no longer breathing, and to go to sleep the night before wishing you won't wake up. I know it all. I know it so well. I wanted to cry at that point, but refused to do so, like I always do. I'm too proud to cry, or to accept help, to admit that I have a problem that will probably kill me well before my time. This is all I know. This is my life as I live it, depression through and through out. No one will truly understand my feelings, ever. They are far too imperceivable. This idea is probably at the root of my isolation.

I hate my life, but I hate the person I am more than anything. My life is a result of the person I am. The choices I made in the past will produce the person I am today, and tomorrow. I want things to be okay, but I'm scared that I won't even know what it feels like for things to be okay because it has been so long since I have felt hope, happiness or anything that could be said to be a positive emotion. What further compounds this problem is the fact I know I will never ever be happy with anything in my life. The possessions I've wanted, the accomplishments I've achieved mean nothing. They are nothing to relish pride from. They simply mean nothing to me, which makes me question the point of living, waking up to tomorrow, if there is no resultant happiness from any of my actions. Life just drags. It creates this numb sensation that nothing truly matters, because it clearly doesn't. Nothing will ever be okay, because nothing has ever been okay.

I examine my will for life, why I am still here today and I realize it is for only one reason that I have not perished, my parents. I do not live for the possibilties of tomorrow, but to ensure my parents face no pain. They are great people; I love them dearly. They have provided me with great opportunities, many I can not seem to find the desire to appreciate, and they have always been there for me, but I face this alone. They know little of my depression or the want I battle with on a daily basis to end this all. I want to open up. I want to break down. I want to cry. I want to tell them everything, but I can't. I just can't. I've tried so many times, but stall, and stall again. I fail, yet again. The story of my life. I just want this to end. I want it all to stop.

Friday, May 22, 2009


I ask my self this question almost everyday.

Why am I alive?
Why did I wake up today?
Why do things seem so useless?
Why do I feel worthless?
Why do I hate my face?
Why do I hate my ears?
Why do I hate my hands?
Why do I hate everything about my self?
Why am I going to university when I don't even have the desire to get out of bed?
Why do the things I used to love doing now provide me with no emotional sastifaction?
Why am I depressed?
Why do I contenplate suicide on a daily basis, and frequently throughout the day?
Why do other people seem so happy?
Why do others take happiness in things I can not?
Why do I picture my body hanging, cold and dead, from a rope?
Why does the pain seem infinite?
Why is there no light at the end of this tunnel?
Why does death seem like the only way for this to end?
Why do I feel unhappy living a life that others wouldn't?
Why do materalistic goods not provide me with happiness?
Why does everyone and everything annoy me so much?
Why do I want to cut my self?
Why do I have to randomly pull my car over and cry?
Why do I feel anger that can only seemed to be expressed through physical violence?
Why am I constantly reminded of my painful past?
Why can't I get over things in the past?
Why do the memories that drag me down resurface everyday?
Why do I hate my life so much?
Why do I hate who I am so much?
Why do I feel so alone, so alienated?
Why do I choose to continue living?
Why am I different?
Why couldn't I just have been normal?
Why is the thought of my death comforting?
Why me

The Pull

We’re just belief machines, program however you like,

record the right programs, and just repeat, except I can’t, because I must compete,

be better than the last minute, my record will never be kept skipping,

I’m playing right through to the end, straight to oblivion,

got pain that remains through ibprovin, proof I need the token,

cannabis is the state trigger I’m holding, pull it so I can avoid the grim reaper,

death’s door constantly lingers, so I reorganize my mind to think thicker,

and smoke bongs like a ninja loves smoke bombs, until the past is far gone,

then the artic man might finally thaw, if springtime can green shoot him off,

a bright future starts with a fresh plot, a new tune and an old cough

And I don’t have the answers, or know if this will work,

I just trust in my heart and continue to exist

Monday, May 18, 2009


Due to my idiocy, I left my blog open last night before I went to sleep. Being gone most of the day, accomplishing tasks which others would deem as productive, but to me feels useless. After waking up, I went to the gym. I then spent four hours cleaning my car, and just the exterior of it. Because of me being busy pretty much the whole day, my family did not have a chance to talk to me. When I was finally finished this mindless tasks, I came home to relax. My father approached me sometime after. He said he read my blog. I'm uncertain as to how much he read. A good guess would be only the last post. Embarrassment rushed over me. My privacy began to feel violated. These are my thoughts, thoughts I don't really want anyone to know. Well, it does not make much sense that my blog is public, but it ultimately boils down to my fear of judgment from my father. I'm afraid to disappoint him. If he read the rest of the blog, including the posts about my depression and suicide ideation, it would have severley hurt him. My depression should be out in the open. It shouldnt be hidden.

My father said that there is no shame in taking pride in materalistic things because, in a sense, it is what drives us. He stated that if we did not want anything, we wouldn't do anything. Its logical to me. It creates an image that life is one stepping stone to the next, each representing a goal, or a desire, to be fufilled. The equation is constant struggle equals constant happiness. What happens if you dont achieve your goals? You slip. You fall. You get wet. Getting up on that next stone is even more difficult, harder to find the motivation and desire. My life feels like the majority of the stones have been lost, sunken. I wonder what point I have reached. My desire and drive to do productive things is absent. The stones are lost. When I look around all I can see is the vast ocean in which there is no direction to follow. I'm lost.

I have no idea about my future. I have no idea what I want, or what I should do. I don't know why I wake up in the morning. I don't know what I look forward to. I don't know what makes living my life worthwhile. I'm without direction, without aim. The only thing that is known, that is with purpose, is the suffering that I feel.

Sunday, May 17, 2009


Lately, I have realized just how superficial of a person I am and I hate it. I hate how my drive for certain things come from the notion of looking better than another person. My goal of becoming a physician, which isnt fueled entirely by a superficial cause, but it does boil down to the fact that I want to be respected, and be seen as a professional. The fingers of this troubling way of thought reaches into other areas of my life.

Business for my father could not be better. I'm truly happy for him. It is nice to see my father begin to be visually happy again. Some time ago, he always said he was, but never acted in that fashion. Recently, his behavior shows this trend of happiness more and more. Like I said, I'm truly happy for him and it is comforting to know that there will be more money in the bank. The conclusive thought I reach is simply this, how will I benefit from it? Will I get a better car? Will I buy more expensive clothes? Will life be better because of a bigger income, one I had no part in earning. It makes me feel so spolied and so undeserving. I truly love my parents. I truly appreciate them for every opportunity they have given me, which have been more than enough. It frustrates me to know that my way of thinking is this. Me. Me. Me. My life is better because of my father, because of his generosity. It helps my life to be easier, and become increasingly easier as his good will grows and grows.

My dad, and brother, own a car for their business. It is a Mercedes E350 4Matic, made in 2007. It is a truly beautiful car. My dad today, on the way to the mall, mentioned that in three years the car would be paid off. He then asked if I would like to have it when the financing was done. I couldn't tell if he was kidding around, probably so, but, even the idea of it, made me happy. A smile appeared on my face as I imagined driving it, showing it off to my friends, taking dates out in it. All this emotion, from a piece of steele.

It is a difficult line to draw. Are you suppose to take pleasure in materalistic things, if so how much? When does it become that your total happiness relies on materialism, and when does it occur that you take no emotion from the things you own and have bought? Is it wrong to take such pleasure from an item like this? I always believed emotions should be derived from more substanial things. Like gathering happiness from accomplishing your goals, finding another person to be happy with. Who knows. I am just rambling on now

Friday, May 15, 2009

Almost Science - TIFOD

Tifod is a new term to coin the acronym of "the impending feeling of doom".

This term is a that nagging feeling of discomfort; normally accompanied by paranoia and worse if one does not have a ritual pattern to induce calmness accessible. It can also be a feeling of being overwhelmed by the implications of the scenarios in one's head; when the critic inside paints his dystopia. Even when its obviously just nonsense, the effect is mood altering. The loss of control is an uncomfortable reminder that requires will power to overcome. Eventually Tifod can wear one out as it is like a leviathan that keeps trying to consume more of the mind's resources.

Also a squirrel once told me that the root of the word comes from typhoid fever, but I quickly reminded him that he was just being an oppourtunist with rhetoric.

In a deeper sense though, one would be off beat with the average worldview because Tifod acts as a weight creating density in consciousness that obscures the truth. It can literally act as a black hole and distort in the light sucking everything into it.

The squirrel continued: if your thoughts were on a scale from concrete to abstract, with concrete thoughts represented by the planet earth and abstract ones by outer space, Depression would be when you were thinking somewhere out in space - exploring. And before you know it you're not grounded in the concrete, but the abstract - maybe you were not satisfied with the status quo and liked to dream. Being out there in the abstract, sometimes navigation can be hard and you get into a rut, before you know it the ebb and flow of the universe has you being pulled around by gravity! Do that long enough and you might just find that Tifod describes that point of Depression which would be when you find yourself hurling towards a black hole and watching your escape window get further away as you approach the event horizon.

So I busted a nut and gave it to him because food is life.

In the end, Tifod is a bitch.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

A Slow Drip

"Over time, repeated stressful experiences can literally, not just figuratively, alter the nervous systems of the temperamentally vulnerable. Animal research has shown that when a rat is given a small shock, it shows no marked reaction; when exposed to such stressors for five consecutive days, it shows signs of the stress response; when exposed for seven or eight days, the rat has a seizure, and thereafter this "kindled" animal will seize with little or no provocation. Experiments of this kind are of course not done with people, but Philip Gold and other neuroscientists now think that in human beings, too, by triggering a cascade of chemical reactions, serious chronic stress, particularly in early life, causes changes in the way genes within a brain cell function, permanently altering the neuron's biology. Because they require a particular type of input to turn on or off, only some of a neuron's thousands of genes, each of which is involved in some aspect of cellular structure or communication, are activated at any given moment. When a temperamentally vulnerable person is constantly bombarded with upsetting stimuli, Gold says, the genes that get turned on are those involved in the cellular components of the stress response. Over time the person's nervous system is configured accordingly, becoming a kind of two-way radio that specializes in receiving and transmitting unhappy signals. The concluding chapters in what Gold calls "the natural history of an affective disorder" chronicle the repeated struggles of such people with anxiety or what some call its chronic form, depression"

From the article:


Why do so many bad outcomes, emotions and events start with the letter D?

Doubt fills me. The best example I can use is that of a pool. When I first began my life, I was optimistic, cheerful, and excitable to the external enviornment. Then as I aged, doubt became existant in my life. I first entered the shallow end of a pool; the water was up to my knees. It never was an issue. It was always manageable, delt with by whatever coping resources I have. As the disease progresses, as I become more and more depressed, I slinked further into the pool, further to the deep end. Before I know it, the water is over my head. I'm drowning. I'm drowning in this doubt. Like water in my lungs, it incapacitates me. It renders me useless. The desire to do anything is absent, fueled by this undying doubt.

Since I can remember, I have wanted to be a physician. It is what I envision my future career to be. I don't believe I have the capacity to become one. Throughout elementary and high school, I was labeled as an idiot, a person who is unfit for higher post secondary education. The notion that I would become a professional by any one of my teachers was laughable to them. This image is branded deep into me. I'm still stupid. I'm still an idiot. I'll never be able to become a doctor. I'm simply not intelligent enough. In the last two years of my life, I discovered that becoming a physician isn't a whim; its a career that I KNOW is for me, and would be fitting to my personality. The future interview can be played in my head so readily. "Well, ****** why do you want to become a doctor?" My response would probably be "Suffering from bipolar, and being a manic depressive, I found the symptoms were alleivated and I felt truly happy when I was helping others, and making a noticable difference in their lives". It is the only reason I want to be one. It helps me to earn that piece of happiness I'm so starved for.

The last two years of my life was spent at a college, studying to become a paramedic. I normally scored above average on tests, scenarios and exams. People who supervised me during my practicum noted me to be intelligent, competent, caring and having great potential. A lot of other people did not receive such great praise. One of the professors took a liking to me. He had a very high opinion of me. He stated that I was intelligent, competent and had great potential. Why am I mentioning this? It doesn't mean ANYTHING to me. I took no value from this, or emotional gratitude. It was valueless. Others would have took great pride in this, but I couldn't. Why did people tell me this? Maybe they were lying. Maybe the people just felt sorry for me. Maybe it was pity. It's doubt. Theres proof that I'm intelligent, to the point of having the ability to be a doctor, which would battle the life long belief that I'm simply 'not smart enough', but the proof is defeated. It means nothing. The belief that I'm stupid stands strong, and seems impenetrable.

The outcome of this goal, I can see ending in two different ways. One, I do gain acceptance to a medical school and I do become a doctor, but, like everything else in my life that I've accomplished, it will mean nothing to me. I will not be able to take pride or happiness in those letters behind my name, and the ability to practice medicine. That, or I will not get in. Either way I'll still be unhappy and lack any pride whatsoever.

Doubt is everywhere else in my life, but I'm tired of writing. I hate knowing how messed up I am. The writing is just a reiteration of it. It does help to get my thoughts, ideas, and emotions out, though.

I would like to welcome Silver to Isolation. He will be a contributing author.

This blog is now public.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009


A lot of the days I slug through in, what seems to be, my meaningless life, I welcome death. Wanting to die, and contenplating death well before one's time, is, by society's standards, needless.

Your days on this earth are numbered; they should be cherished. People know this, and people practice this idea by avoiding activities, like smoking, that causes illness, that causes a decrease in your life span. They wake up happy. They look forward to the opportunities the new day brings them and they function at a normal level. They welcome another day in their lives.

This all makes sense if you enjoy your life, like the majority of people do, but I don't. Society can not understand this because it is not the norm. How can you not enjoy life? I'm not sure. I think I may be wired incorrectly. Like, some people were programmed just to see the good in all situations but I seem to be the opposite. My life is dragged down with negativity created by own poor self esteem and self consciousness. The string that pull my life down, and down, seem to be tethered with past memories that only contribute to my negativity. I wake up expecting nothing positive will happen, and it is reinforced by my own self made negativity. It may stem from my self image, that I perceive to be nothing worthwhile, that crates this feeling that I don't deserve to be happy. I don't deserve to have the things I desire. I don't deserve to be happy.

So, I welcome death. The thought that my suffering one day will end is comforting. Of course, I would rather the day be sooner than later, which leads to contenplating the act of suicide. Knowing that I can stop all this pain, and make all this go away in a moment's time, makes me actually look forward to something. Your once formed preconceived notions of death come crashing down because all that matters are your emotions. Suddenly the word death does not embody fear, it creates a peace that spreads across you like wind on a flat plane. It is sad to say, that I actively look forward to my death, whatever way it comes.

Those who say it is a selfish act know nothing of the suffering. The majority of the people who dispense this idea have never been depressed. It is an unfair and uninformed statement. No one wants to feel bad. The death of a person, obviously, creates emotional insult and these people do not want to deal with it. They are scared of dealing with the outcomes that are associated with a death. They simply do not want to deal with the emotions that are produced. I think it is absurd to have a person ask you to slug through a life you hate, a life you despise, just so they can wake up the next morning and not have anything to feel bad about, just so things can be perfectly fine for them. Things have never ever been fine for me. Things have never even been even okay. If I want to exercise an option to stop the life I hate so much, I should be able to do so freely and without judgment from those who know nothing of my despair.

I simply do not feel like writing anymore tonight.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Death’s Door


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step


One more step

Friday, May 8, 2009


I wish my life was different; I wish I was a different person. My emotions are so volatile and rapidly shift from depression to happiness in mere minutes. Today, for 90 minutes, I believed ******* had cancelled on me. My senses could only focus on the resulting emotions from this prediction. Some time after, when these fears were shot down, I returned to my normal functioning state.

Later in the day, I met her. I am not too sure how it went. They were no extended awkward silences. I was pretty funny. She expressed this by laughing quite frequently. I had an okay time. She did drone on somewhat, though. When she left, she gave me a hug and mentioned she enjoyed the time we spent together. Smiling, ******* also said we should spend more time together in the near future. I left feeling unfufilled. The words didn't seem to hold any truth to me. I feel I performed terribly. Your own worst critic is your self, and this rings wholly true for me in this situation. All I can dwell on are the negatives. My attitude towards the situation is purely indolent. I hoped she would have texted me, but she hasn't. If she was interested, I imagined she would. These logical statements can be misleading, and downright harming to myself and whatever attempt at a relationship we have exists. The uncertainty is frustrating. I can not truly decide whether or not I will call her again. Simply because of the fact, that I am afraid of facing rejection. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was before our meeting had occurred, but afterwards when we meet it feels like she really does know more of me, and shes rejecting more of me as a person, not an imagined face behind a computer screen or telephone receiver.

Driving home alone made me wish we were spending more time together. I played imaginative scenarios of how the night would have unfolded. I wanted to kiss her; she is really cute. I wanted to tell her this. I wanted to text her as I was driving and tell her I had a good time and I thought she was really cute, but I felt too vulnerable even thinking about it. It's just a game isn't it. It all derives from my emotional instability. I should feel confident. I should assume she is interested. I shouldn't be thinking such romantic notions after the first date. It seems silly to say such affectionate things to a girl I hardly know. Even writing this shows that I'm quite uncertain. It is frustrating. Acting rather than thinking is so difficult for me. People tell me I should just push forward and do what I want. I'm far too critical. I'm far too conscious of my behavior. It just means I'm too worried about what she might think. I'm weak. I'm insecure. I'm unstable.

Thursday, May 7, 2009


This summer marks many changes in my life that are monumental. The paramedic program I have been enrolled in for the last two years has been completed. My brother is getting married. What university I will be attending to embark on my journey to become a physician will also be decided very shortly. These things seem like they should mean something. I know they would be significant to others, but, to me, they are not. All these decisions are just one big inconvenience after the next. One of the most difficult choices is whether or not I should attend my brother's wedding. There has been a mixed history between us. Days have gone by where we are quite fond of each other, but more of them pass that drives us apart. He frustrates me to an extent I can not clearly write. My decision to attend university, after going to college for two years to become a paramedic, is viewed quite critically by him. It was a waste; I learned nothing. This is not my brother's concern of utmost important, though. It is the fact that I drained my father for so much money during the experience that really irks him. Looking past it, I can see it is my brother's selfishness being portrayed by his words. A greater reservoir of money means a larger financial well for him to dig from. The depression could be ruling me when I say this, but I could care less about his wedding. I, like my family, have strong apprehensions towards his fiancee. We all feel she is superficial. It's not my decision to make. It's his life. And as much as he loves telling me how to live mine, I won't perform the same injustice towards him.

This, my decision, will no doubt hurt him. I will be the truly selfish one then, won't I? Life should be having true freedome in your choices, not making ones to please others. All this shit about people saying this line of thought is wrong because we all have to perform tasks we do not enjoy. It's shit. People, for the most part, say this about their job. Find a job you LIKE. Find a job you WANT to do. It is selfish for people to expect you to slug your way through something you have no desire to do so just so these people can spare themselves the emotional insult. The thought of the result this will inflict towards my brother should cause second thoughts, but it does not. I hurt people emotionally, quite a bit, especially women who I don't have respect for. They put themselves in such a position by sleeping with me so readily with the aim that it will please me and I'll think of them with a much higher status. It's not true. You're just a slut to me, like so many others. You desereve to be reformed of your ways. My brother has put himself into this position, as well, by treating me poorly for my entire life. I simply have a hard time respecting him lately.

I guess I'm just a hateful and hurtful person.