The Year I Give Up

So far, 2018 sucks a sewage pipe.

First, work sucks for new and different reason than usual.
One of my office girls walked off the job, which was bad enough because the other was set to go on maternity leave at the end of January, but then the pregnant gal had her baby a month early. She’s fine, and it’s a lovely baby (named Ainsley), but that means I have NO billers and we’re in year-end. So, my boss and I had to do bill out, and salesman’s pay, and everything else, plus our own jobs… and we’re still not done. So… that’s been bullshit.

Second, until today, I was suffering from severe food poisoning. (It’s actually norovirus, I will later find out after googling it when Mothership contracts it later this month.) I dunno where it came from, but it was incredibly painful, and gave me vertigo, and it got so bad when we were working on Sunday in a mad-dash to try and get the fucking year billed out, that I nearly passed out. I had to very quickly get on the floor of the fucking bathroom at work. Fortunately, it hadn’t seen much use since we’re closed Sundays, but I did realize that the last place I want my mother/boss to find my dead body is on the bathroom floor at work.

ALSO, I emailed my new doctor at Kaiser, who I’ve never actually gone to see, and asked her about medication for severe stomach cramps that I’ve been getting since I was a kid, because I have IBS. She said no to my dicyclomine script, even though there’s absolutely nothing recreational I can do with it, and stated that since Kaiser didn’t make the diagnosis I could come in for testing. I’m not fucking going in for testing when I already have an EXCLUSIONARY diagnosis from two other doctors I saw for YEARS. So, instead of giving me my dicyclomine, she recommended the FODMAP diet for IBS, since I’m being a stubborn bitch about it.

Here’s what you need to know about the FODMAP diet… I’m not fucking doing it.


No onion. No garlic. No tea. No ripe bananas. No black beans. No black eyed peas. No beans at all, really. No cauliflower. No celery longer than 5cm, which is not enough celery to diet on. Nothing fermented. No mixed vegetables. No mushrooms. No peas. Nothing pickled. No apples. No apricots. No black berries. No cherries. No mangos. No nectarines. No peaches. No pears. No dried fruits. No pomegranate. No watermelon. No wheat. No gluten. No almond meal, either. Or amaranth flour. Or barley flour. Or bran cereals. Nothing normal people would consider bread. No cashews. No rye. No baked goods. No cous cous. No gnocchi. No granola. No agave. No gravy. No honey. No jam. Nothing with high fructose corn syrup. No corn products at all. No pesto. No relish. no stock cubes. No sugar free sweets. No artificial sweeteners. No tahini. No tzatziki. No more than one beer a day. No coconut water. No fruit juice. No kombucha, not that I’d drink that stuff anyways. No rum. No soda. No soy. No more than one glass of wine a day. No whey protein. No dairy. No carob powder, either… whatever that is.

The first three offend me most. I can’t imagine a life sans onion, garlic, and tea.

On top of that, all the fruit and veg I eat is supposed to be organic, which I can’t afford. Also like half the fruit and veg listed are things I’ve never heard of, such as callaloo, marrow, swede, and whatever the fuck a bilberry is.

The meat preferred is fish and seafood… and I live in Colorado, so I can’t afford that, either. For some reason I can have deli meats, which seems suspect AF, and MOTHERFUCKING KANGAROO IS LISTED AS MEAT I’M ALLOWED TO EAT. Really? Kangaroo? I’m not an Aussie expert, but I’m unsure that people in the AU are eating enough Kangaroo that it needs to be listed next to turkey on this list.

I can have espresso, too. Now, I hate to break it to a doctor who spent a lot of time and money learning to be a doctor, but if I ingest espresso, my ass is going to explode within 6 minutes afterward… and it’s gonna hurt… for like… two hours. Also, I have no idea what Kvass is, but unless it tastes like my darling Earl Grey Tea, it’s not an acceptable substitute to one of my precious drinking staples.

This diet won’t work for me for the same reason I can’t be a vegan: you have to make too much of the food yourself, or you’re going to be eating a lot of watercress.

It’s not like I thought 2018 was going to be MY year… I thought maybe 2017 might be, but it wasn’t. I just didn’t think that on day three I’d having imaginary conversations with shrinks about how if I killed myself it would be good for my mom AND me, because she only sticks around for me, and we are both miserable.

It doesn’t help that other people seem to be having a better time… Lindz is engaged and her fiancé bought her a a new car. Lovely 05 Subaru with purple rims. Mel is preggers. Bird is dating Dom for the umpteenth time in her life, but is planning on law school in the summer. D1 is dating a nice rabbi and has a badass job that earns him insane amounts of money. Billie just celebrated her 1st marriage anniversary.

The short list of good things happening for me is that this evening I upgraded my internet speed while also reducing how much I pay for internet… and my mom ordered me an exercise bike (because I’m fatter than I’ve ever been in my motherfucking life).

So I fucking give up.

Fine, doc, I’ll give up foods… but not onion, garlic, or tea. I give up on internet dating, and won’t do it this year. I give up on having a social life, because I don’t have time anyway, and mostly don’t even want to leave the house. I give up on my dream to make money via my art, cuz no one wants it. I give up most of my hobbies, because they’re just offshoots of the stupid art idea. I give up trying to make this house nice. I give up on trying to keep in touch with people. I give up Coca Cola… that’s a big one.

I just give up on trying to be happy anymore.

I try and I try, and maybe it’s because I’m an unmedicated bipolar, maybe it’s because I’m a god damn fat ass, maybe it’s because I’m too close to my mom, or because I’m a pet hoarder, or because I’m just an unmotivated waste of potential… but every time I try to be positive and do things I just get shot down. I not to let things bother me, but the things pile up until I’m drowning in them. I try to do things that make me happy and just end up realizing that nothing makes me happy anymore.

I’ve tried to drag myself out of my depression by the metaphorical hair, kicking and screaming… and all that’s happened is that I’m back in the fucking blue, drowning on my own sadness. So fine, self. You win. Life is terrible, and not worth living…

And that’s why we’re starting this year back at “I will live until my mother and my pets die… and then I’m probably just going to kill myself.”

Don’t worry… even my oldest pet is in good health, and mom will keep kicking as long as she can for fear of leaving me alone with no husband or reliable friend to take care of me… and I really shouldn’t feel so much despair about that.


Fake It Till You Make It

It’s a curiously well-known fact that the act of making yourself smile will cause your body to release endorphins and serotonin, even if you aren’t feeling happy at that moment. Because of this, it’s been speculated that if you smile when you feel stressed you can minimize the toll that stress takes on your body. The official jury is still out on how strong this reaction is and if it’s effected by whether you’re forcing a smile or genuinely smiling (called a Duchenne smile, which involves muscles from around the eyes), but nonetheless studies show that it seems to have an impact.

Shrinks will tell you think of thing, too. If you’re depressed and nothing makes you happy anymore, make yourself do things that used to make you happy until they make you happy again. Pretend you’re still happy. Make yourself do things happy you did. Eventually you’ll feel better again, they say.

It sounds so easy, like when I mine information and develop new interests in things when I meet new people… but it’s not that easy. I sit down to draw and can’t think of anything to draw, or worse, I think of something to draw and ruin it. I try to play a video game, and I can’t even get the game basics right. I go out to a show and end up sipping vodka in the back of the room alone instead of talking to anyone, and end up leaving feeling worse than when I dragged myself out.

Recently, D2 had a friend who was really tail spinning. Long story short, a girl fell for her best friend. He didn’t feel the same. So she was devastated, and he was angry. Her behavior spiraled out to the point she cut herself and contemplated suicide. So D2 went to her house and held her, called her parents, and I guess she’s doing better now. He also planted in her head that she might be bipolar, like he is.

Here’s why that all bothers me.

A, not everyone is a fucking bipolar. D2 is diagnosed. I am diagnosed. It does not mean that everyone who tries to kill themselves is bipolar. It means a lot of people can’t deal with life. For a number of reasons.

2, I, personally, wouldn’t have time for this bullshit… Spiraling out in to overwhelming depression because someone doesn’t love you back romantically is a dumbass reason to be suicidal. It’s mellow dramatic. It’s attention-seeking. It’s stupid. Being angry at someone for having feelings for you is a dumbass reaction. It just invalidates that person and leaves them open to some dumbass emotional response that will distance both you, and turn into some superfluous bullshit.

D, D2 tells me all of this, about people I barely know, who have pretty much replaced me and my function in his life… and meanwhile I’m at home looking at hoarded bottles of Xanax, Temazapam, and antipsychotics wondering if I have to put me to asleep forever.

D2 thinks he knows what suicide looks like. He’s been there, tried that, and recovered. He knows what a spiral looks like. It’s big, it’s in your face, it’s trying to get people to hurt you, and getting blackout drunk, and causing a scene at work. It’s crying in public, and looking distraught, and not being able to keep it together. It’s cutting yourself, and screaming at your friends, and suddenly cancelling all your plans with people, and putting yourself in dangerous situations. Anyone can spot a spiral. Those are the people that end up getting help. Those are the people whose parents worry about them, and whose friends ask if they’re okay, and who end up in a shrink’s office on a script of Prozac. What D2 doesn’t know is what giving up looks like.

Giving up is a process. It’s quiet and gradual. It’s always cancelling plans last minute because you feel “sick,” but promising that you guys will do something together soon. It’s giving up your hobbies because you’re too tired after work, but promising yourself that you’ll get back to them. It’s not taking a shower for a week, because you wake up late every single day and don’t have time. It’s staring at a bottle of vodka in your freezer, and being too depressed to even drink your sorrows away. It’s coming home to people and pets that are super excited to see you, but being too tired to deal with their energy, so you yell at them or close yourself off in your room. It’s buying things you don’t need just because you think it might fill the hole in your life where your friends used to be. It’s eating too much. It’s not eating enough. It’s sitting in your car for an hour after you get home because you know that when you walk through the door your spouse/kids/pets will want attention, and you really should mop and vacuum and clean the bathroom and put your laundry away… and all you’re going to be able to do is sit down and waste the evening until it’s late enough to go to bed… and it all starts over in the morning. It’s the fakers, who still get up, and go to work, and smile when you see them who give up.

So I’m waiting for my dresses: bright colors and happiness. I’m working on perfecting that Duchenne smile: how to smile with your eyes. I stopped buying books so I can read what I have. I’m monitoring what I eat and when, trying to stick to lean meats, veg, and some chocolate. I’m trying not to look into mirrors too long, so I can’t see the cracks in the facade. I’m distracting myself with educational youtube channels and staring at blank paper until I decide I can try again the next day when it’s finally time to go to bed.

I’m faking it… and I don’t know that I feel better at all, but it’s pretty evident that no one is the wiser to what’s going on beneath the surface. No one’s come knocking on my door to check on me. No one blinks an eye when I cancel plans at the last second, no matter how many times in a row it happens. No one thinks twice about my overuse of the 😛 emoji, or how they haven’t seen me in real life in a while.

Sometimes, when I feel real low, I wonder what people would think if I were to kill myself. I mean, all the signs are there. It’s not like I’ve put real effort into hiding it. Just put on that fake smile and talk when you’re supposed to, and everything else can be ignored. Everyone always says they never see it coming when people kill themselves… but it’s because no one is looking, and even if they are, it’s easier to convince themselves that it’s not their business.

It’ lucky, or unlucky depending on how you look at it, that I have so many pets… I’m sad, yes. I think about killing myself a lot, yes. I am overwhelmingly responsible, though. I would never leave my pets, or my mom like that. Especially since my mother would just kill HERself, and we’d both be dead, and ten animals would end up in a shelter without us. It’s just a series of events that wouldn’t help anyone.

Still, sometimes I wish someone would ask if I’m okay and demand to just be there. What a hypocritical statement… it’s not like I bother checking on anyone… but they say suicide is selfish, so maybe that comes with the territory.

Update: I reached out to check on Bird. She’s been sad, and I wish someone would check on me, so I checked on her. And told her a cool Zelda hack about chickens. So… at least I did that.

Latuda Costs $1120.00

So… yesterday was awful.

It didn’t START awful. Like, I didn’t wake up already feeling like I should kill myself or blow up a medical building, but I ended the day debating both. I did neither, I promise.

So yesterday I went to see my old primary care doctor, because Kaiser is a piece of shit system that hasn’t afforded me the ability to see any kind of NEW primary care doctor, even though it’s April. I don’t know if I told you guys how hard getting this appointment was, so a brief recap was that I got accused of trying to commit insurance fraud. So, I already didn’t feel GREAT about going in, but I like my doctor and felt like she could throw me a metaphorical bone.

The appointment was as expected, except that the nurse that took my blood pressure and stuff also gave me a Peep… That was unexpectedly nice.

I had to field the normal questions, such as whether I’d lost interest in hobbies, if I still go out, etc. Every answer was, of course, overwhelmingly bleak, so I tossed in that I had a friend to help get me out of the house, and that mom also tried to get me to do things… seemed to make her feel better, even if it’s something of a mixed truth.

She wrote me a script for Latuda, which is an antipsychotic currently being used to treat bipolar depression. It’s not unusual for a bipolar to take an antipsychotic, and I’ve taken one before that was supposed to help with my irritability (it didn’t help with that, but it gave me some wicked nightmares). The reason doctors give out things like antipsychotics to treat bipolar depression, is because if you give us something like an SSRI there’s a good chance we’ll be stuck in a manic state, and they say that can be really dangerous. I disagree, on the grounds that my mania is the best part of my life… but you can’t trust a manic bipolar… we’re impulsive and irrational… so they say.

So I went back to work, but this headache I’d been fighting all day got the best of me and I ended up going home early, before I reached a point where I couldn’t drive. I went home and changed, and then went to the Kaiser pharmacy by the house. I hate that pharmacy… it’s full of weird people, sick people, and Kaiser employees that seem about as happy to work there as I am to have Kaiser Insurance. Still, I was excited to finally get something that could bring some spark of relief. My life has been so heavy and dark recently, that the spark of hope was blinding.

All my hope was obliterated when the pharmacist, who was quite unpleasant to start with, loudly said that my medication cost $1120.00 and that my doctor should put me on something cheaper. People in the back of the pharmacy gasped, and I… didn’t know what to do. She continued on about how Kaiser’s formulary is available online and some other useless facts that didn’t help anyone and just further embarrassed me. So, I just left. I felt like someone had just run over my dog and then blamed me having the audacity to own a dog for why they killed it. I felt like nothing mattered anymore. I was completely devastated.

In my stupor, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I mean what do people do when they’ve lost literally all hope of life ever getting better? Oddly enough, as often as I’ve considered and mulled over suicide, in this moment of absolute wreckage I didn’t consider that at all. I just felt lost and hopeless and like I was drowning. I cried all the way home, which wasn’t really that far, and then decided I should just talk to my mom. She was at a vet appointment for Ava, so I sat on her doorstep and waited for her to come home.

There were tears and stuff, but essentially she just told me to call my doc and see if there was an alternative medication. I did that, but it’s almost 11am the next day and I haven’t heard from the office…

My mom convinced me to try and make a mental health appointment with Kaiser again, so I did that this morning. Kinda.

This part of Kaiser really adds insult to injury. I’m at a place where I need to see a mental health professional. I don’t know how low OTHER people have to be to see a mental health professional, but for me it’s pretty close to rock bottom. Well, since I “self-referred” myself Kaiser won’t schedule the appointment until I have a conversation with a psychiatric nurse and convince her that I’m sick enough to see a doctor. The idea is that she approves the self referral. It’s just insulting, though. I’ve never had to convince someone that I needed a shrink before, and it makes me want to slit my wrists in a Kaiser building and spell out AM I SICK ENOUGH NOW!? all over their walls. Like, this is a shitty way to treat people who are crazy.

Still, I’m sucking it up and I’ll do the fucking phone call… I’m not going to be happy about it. Every single fiber of my being wanted to tell the appointment guy that this is fucked up and I shouldn’t have to convince a nurse that I’m potentially suicidal in order to get an appointment with someone who can give me something for it. The thing about that is that I know that guy is just doing his job… so… I try not freak out on people who are just trying to live. Also, if you mention that this might be some kind of emergency, they just want you to go to an ER. I don’t need an ER right now… and actually if I did I still probably wouldn’t go to one… What’s the point of living if you’re just gonna rack up an incredible amount of medical debt to hang over your head for the rest of your life? Like… no… that doesn’t appeal to me.

We’ll see what happens.

The one thing about hitting a rock bottom, even if it’s not the lowest I can get, is that today doesn’t bother me so much. Work is still shitty, but why wouldn’t it be? I’m still fat, but I don’t care. My overwhelming sadness has been replaced with apathy. Somehow that’s still an improvement. I think when I get home I’m gonna spring and get my Adobe Creative Cloud… start reteaching myself how to make art with it. I can’t draw, but maybe I can restore some old photos or make a collage or something… just something. Cuz why not?

If yesterday didn’t end me, it just proves that it’s going to take something worse than losing all hope for life before I check out early.

Danny’s Memorial Show

The line for Danny’s Memorial Show.

Somehow, within just a week, a good friend of Danny’s put together a show to celebrate his life. I honestly can’t think of a better way to celebrate a great musician and a great man. 

I’m here now, leaning up against a wall on the smoking patio, just watching. It’s a weird atmosphere. I dunno what I expected. I’m not good at emotions, and I’m definitely not good with death, so my reactions are mixed. Still it’s fascinating to see a packed venue full of people that a person touched and how they’re taking it. I’ve seen crying, which was expected, but I’ve seen laughing. There have been hugs and drinks, smiles and distant stares.

It’s amazing how many people are here, even people I haven’t seen at a show in years. It just makes me wonder if Danny knew how many people he managed to touch, how many people have great stories about him, how many people are going to miss him.

I find grief interesting in the sense that people don’t often cry for the lost. More often they cry for the piece of their lives they lost. That’s ok. It’s not an inappropriate emotion in times of crisis. You can’t always differentiate between the two, especially when that person was such a big part of your life. 

Danny was not a major part of my life, and I’m sad about that. He was such a good person, and I wish that I’d known him better. You can feel the way he touched every life and how important he was to some people here. 

My friend Hannah’s band is playing tonight, and she was close to Danny. In spite of how strong she can appear, she’s hurting a lot. A lot of people have turned to her for support, and it seems like it’s taking a toll on her a bit. I hope the show is therapeutic  for her. She and and her husband brought every piece of Danny’s discography that they had, going back years to his first demo. I wish they’d sell copies… I’d buy one. 

Danny’s best friend and band mate is here, along with the rest of the band. He seems okay, but I know better than to believe appearances. I haven’t spoken to him yet, and I don’t know if I will. I’m not good at what to say to the grieving. 

The Denver music scene lost a good friend last weekend. And all you need for proof of that is to ask anyone here. Laughing, crying, drinking, or blogging via phone, we all felt Danny’s passing. I can only hope that with this loss someone out there might realize they have touched more people than they could ever know, and that they are cared about.

Scarlet Canary – Hannah’s Band. Look up their song Blink. Tonight will be the last time they ever play it live… and it’s worth hearing.

My Friend Danny

I want to tell you about my friend Danny.

I met Danny a couple years back at a show my friends were playing. I love local concerts, and Danny’s band, Resonance, was awesome. My first impression of him was that he was very hot. My second impression of him was that he also very nice, very friendly, and probably a really good guy. That opinion of him has never changed.

Danny is the kind of person that could make you feel important, even if you most certainly are not, especially if he sees you at a show. Danny loves his fans. He keeps in touch with them personally, knows them by name and face, makes a point of telling them how much he appreciates them coming out to a show, and even goes out of his way to personally invite people to shows.

Resonance turned into My Own Iris not too long ago. I went to their album release show. The build up to the album release show was brutal. We were on perpetual countdown on Facebook, and I was so hyped to go. I was not disappointed. It was a great time. They put on a great show, as always, and I left tired but happy. Danny was so excited to see me there, just like always.

My favorite thing about Danny is how when he sees people he knows, whether he’s met you once or a hundred time, his face lights up. He has the best smile.

Over the weekend, Danny killed himself.

I’m not claiming to know Danny intimately.
I couldn’t tell you his favorite band, color, or coffee drink.
We weren’t close friends that told each other everything.
But Danny touched my life, as he did so many lives.

This Sunday is a memorial concert for him. His friends in the local music scene put together faster than I’ve ever seen someone put together a show. Donations are the only fee, to help the family, and prolly to pay the venue since that definitely isn’t free… although if a venue were to throw a free show, it would be Hermann’s.

I don’t know how I feel about it all. Yeah, I’m sad for Danny, because he was a good guy and no one knew that he was in pain, but like… he outran whatever he was running from. I like to think that means he found some peace, even if makes me sad.

Also, as someone that thinks about suicide SO REGULARLY it’s always weird to me when someone I know does it. Like… why didn’t I? What was worse for them? What’s supposedly better for me? I dunno, but it’s a weird feeling. Like regret, but not.

Danny will live on forever for me through his music. It always spoke to me.
If you’re interested, here are some links.

My Own Iris Facebook

My Own Iris Website

My Own Iris YouTube Channel

My Own Iris Twitter

I’ll Miss You Danny.
I hope you found your peace.


I’m Lonely

I went out with Cat last weekend. We just went to a 90s show. We invited an old coworker and we had a great time. Prior to that I had not gone out since I went to the ER back in December.  That would make sense if I were scared of going out after my ordeal, but that’s not the reason. The reason I haven’t been out is because I haven’t had anyone to go out with since then.

I used to have more friends; not a lot more, but more. I also used to not be afraid to go out alone. Even when I had more friends that I saw semi-regularly we didn’t often share interests, so I adopted the habit of going to things by myself. It was practical, because if I waited for someone to want to go to things WITH ME… I’d never go. I went to car shows, rock shows, museums, art shows, taverns, breweries, and even a club or two all by my lonesome. I would enjoy myself well enough. I liked it better when people went with me, but I didn’t let a lack of company stop me from doing anything that I wanted to do.

That was just a few years ago. Since then, I’ve stopped going places alone. I don’t know why. Somehow I grew uncomfortable with that and stopped doing things just for me.

Since my friends did not get better at going out to things and we still don’t actually share any interests, I just spend a lot of time alone, now. It’s kind of good, because I like spending time with the dogs, especially with Keagan being as old as he is and Kyrie having glaucoma and being as old as she is. Still, as much as I hate it, there are nights where the company of a dog just doesn’t seem to fill the social interaction void in my life.

I realized that I’ve been filling this space in my life with stuff… It only becomes apparent when I start impulsively buying everything I want on a whim… And when I start binging. No amount of Chipotle or comic books can fill the space. Trust me. I’ve tried. So I have a bunch of new comic books, a bunch of new video games, a Kindle Fire to replace my cracked iPad (which I totally didn’t need), and all the binging. It’s been bad, recently. It makes you notice… but what REALLY made me notice?


He was kidding. I know he was kidding.
We talk about this kind of thing a lot, because he lives on the other side of the world and he gets lonely, too. Still, he said it, and it dawned on me: that is EXACTLY what I am trying to do.

So what does it take to fill the hole of crippling loneliness? People? A best friend? A lover?
Maybe it just takes ENOUGH material things. Maybe once I get a Surface Pro 4 I’ll be so distracted by my hobbies that I’ll feel better…

Here’s my current hobbies:

  • painting
  • drawing
  • video games
  • handheld video games
  • writing
  • reading
  • comic books
  • computer games
  • remodeling the house
  • tv
  • collecting and watching old or banned movies
  • working crazy amounts of overtime

I really have enough hobbies that it SHOULD fill all the time. I shouldn’t have time to feel lonely between all the games I need to beat and the books I have to read and the art projects I’m planning. So how does it seep in?

In the weeks following my coworker’s suicide, things have been said. No one saw it coming. It didn’t make sense. It would have made more sense if it was that weird guy we all know has emotional problems. How does one get to that point? Why didn’t he just talk to someone? All those things are curious to me.

I’ve thought often about suicide for roughly 14 years, now. I remember the first time I thought about it I was 13, and it was long-term planning. I just wasn’t sure I could handle being an adult. I’ve managed. I surprised myself. Still, I’ve thought about it a lot. I think about it at least weekly. I assumed that everyone’s thought about it at some point. Maybe I think about it more often than others, but surely I’m not the only person that thinks about it semi-regularly… right? Guess not. So… I’ve gotten to the point where it’s an option… why don’t I talk to someone?

Well the people in my life I could talk to are… My mother, which would result in a lot of yelling about what an idiot I am for thinking about it and then a lot of crying and her wondering what she did wrong. I could talk about it to Cali BFF. but all he ever says are Nihilistic things about how life is meaningless anyways. If I ever DO kill myself, I’m gonna add a blurb in my letter about how he was right and life IS pointless and thus I opted out of it. Maybe I’ll thank him for the input. There’s the Oregon BFF. I think if she were around I’d feel less sad, but I still don’t think I could talk to her about something like killing myself.

I mean who can you talk about that with? Who isn’t going to be instantly concerned? Who’s not going to freak out? No one. Maybe a shrink. They’re significantly less prone to having you locked up than people think, but I really hate paying someone to listen to me, to be honest.

My aussie friend, crippling loneliness guy up there, thinks I need to find a group to be a part of, like a gaming group or something. My mother thinks I need to volunteer somewhere so I can maybe find a husband.

I dunno what I should do.

I know that I keep getting up. I know that as low as I get and how many time I might think of killing myself, I’ve never REALLY tried it… although, a few of my drinking escapes could prolly be racked up to suicide attempts, no matter how unintentional they might have been. I don’t know.

I just… know that I’m lonely, and that people dislike me. I’m abrasive, and I can be crass. I am either silent or I’m in your face. I always think I want friends, and then I end up trying to get rid of them. So… I dunno, guys.

I don’t… know.

Can I Just Sleep Until I Die?

I’m trying really hard not to let this whole thing get to me… but it does. You see, the problem with hope and happiness, is that both can be crushed beneath any stray boot. It’s better not to have them at all, than to have them just long enough to make losing them painful.

Until this past weekend, it had been a year since I was intimate with someone. More than that, it’s been three or four years since I was even interested in someone. I’d reached a point where I was okay with that. I’d pushed friends away, and avoided romantic situations, and aside from bad drunken sex I avoided human intimacy. Everything was fine; that’s just who I was now, and it was totally fine. Yeah, there’s always a hint of crippling loneliness. I get tired of going out alone all the time. I get sick of seeing couples in the street. Even romance in movies and TV made me feel uncomfortable and gross. It’s all so unrealistic, and yet it always looks so nice.

Of course you don’t know in three days if someone is worth your time, but apparently that’s all you need to want more human contact in your life. Sunday was such a lovely day, and it seemed so wonderful to have someone that I wasn’t trying to push away. I was just being me, and letting him see that. It was freeing and lovely and I wanted more, so much more. I’d rather I’d never felt that. Now, that feeling is gone and has been replaced by regret and loneliness. There’s a hole in the center of my body that I had learned to ignore for so long, and now it throbs.

Feeling badly, as I do, I thought I’d treat myself to a cheat day. I’ve been dieting, and the night before last I clock a total of 460 calories for the day, so I didn’t think it would be a big thing to hit 1700 yesterday. Today I’m back to dieting… and food no longer fills me with joy. I ate exactly what I wanted last night and it didn’t do anything. So, not only am I wallowing in my own misery, but the one thing that used to bring me joy no longer does anything. I just felt sick after cramming that much Chipotle into my face. Whatever is missing from my life apparently can no longer be placated with a burrito.

And maybe that’s good. I have a friend I text perpetually and always, and I realized how depressed I sound when I talk about this whole three day business, so I doubled back with the affirmation: “Well, if it doesn’t make shit better, then I don’t need to binge eat ever again! Silver lining!” Maybe that’s true. It doesn’t feel important though. Life just feels so meaningless that I don’t even want to be awake for it anymore.

My best friend lives 1091 miles away…. my secondary best friend just moved 1281 miles away…. my back up best friend wants to join the Navy and leave, not that I ever see her anyway. My mother is miserable. My job is currently being turned on its head and shaken. It’s going to be winter soon, and I’ll have to contend with snow. The only bright spots in my life are my pets, and unfortunately you can’t take them to dinner and a movie, or to a concert, or discuss movies with them. I feel lonely, and I hate everything right now… but mostly me… I hate me so much right now, for getting all tangled up in false hopes and fragile happiness, and for being genuinely surprised when it all fell apart. What am I? New? No. I know better.

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I was supposed to kill myself this year. When I was fourteen I made a plan. I was going to do my life better than my mom. I was going to be married at 24, and start having kids at 26. I wanted two kids, and to live somewhere with a beach. We’d both work so that we had enough money to have nice family vacations, and by the time the kids were done with college we’d have enough money to travel around a bit before we retired.
The backup plan to that was that if I wasn’t married and had no kids by 26, I was going to kill myself.

I didn’t. I’m still here, obviously. Life hadn’t been good up till then, but I thought that this year I might figure it out. I thought this would be the year I committed to weight loss, and got my house in order, and I’d make some new friends and just enjoy being me. None of that happened. I’m still fat. Down 13 lbs as of this morning and I have 127 left before I’m remotely happy. I actually have LESS friends now than this time last year. I finally got some work done on my house, but everyday I just debate getting rid of everything I own and living in my house with nothing. Still might.

Nothing got better. Nothing panned out.
I don’t think I’m going to kill myself… because I have to take care of the pets. I just… don’t wanna be awake for this part of my life anymore. Everything is meaningless, and all I want is to feel close to someone again… and I know it won’t be for a very long time.

Damn me for trying.
Damn me for not knowing better.
Damn me for getting so lost that I let myself hurt me.

I’m having a bad life.