I Like the Way You Work It. No Dignity.

Everything is testing my patience today. For one thing the two dogs are restless and I just want them to settle down for the night, but that’s not my main issue. That’s just a minor inconvenience at the moment. They’ll eventually calm down. The main problem I’m having is family related. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it before, but my grandmother has dementia. I’ve been helping my mother take care of her for the past five years. My grandfather had it as well, but he passed three years ago (or maybe it was two years ago. I can’t remember.)

The rest of my family lives in their own little world of denial and seem to think that she’s going to get better. There’s no cure for dementia. It gradually gets worse until the person’s brain pretty much just withers away and they die. No one but my mom, my sister, and I see this for some reason.

At one point it was mentioned by one of my mom’s sisters that I do more to help with my grandmother and that triggered an “Excuse the merry fuck out of me!” response considering I do more to take care of the old bat than my aunt had ever done. I am someone who constantly says how much I do not want children and stand quite firm when it comes to that. I don’t want to take care of a child, much less a 90-year-old woman who acts like a child. If you don’t believe me then spend an afternoon with the woman and see. She pouts, throws tantrums, can’t wipe her ass (and I’m sure as fuck not going to wipe it for her. I leave that for my mom and aunts.)

I’m dealing with my own mental illness and on my particularly bad days it takes all I have to crawl out of bed. I do what I can because my mom asks me to do it and I want to help my mom since she’s done so much for me all these years. I know my mom doesn’t fully understand my mental illness, but that’s my fault for not really opening up about it like I should. She does understand a bit of it, though. She has also informed her sisters about it and that I’m not capable of taking care of someone else with a mental illness like dementia.

It seems like a game of catch when it comes to my grandmother, just tossing her around from one family member to the other. In all honesty, I wish they’d just put her in a home. That may sound cruel to some of you out there reading this, but I think it’d be the best thing for her. She can get constant care. My mom and one of her sisters both work full-time jobs, which is why I’ve stepped in over the past five years to help out. My mom’s other sister is retired and who the fuck knows why she doesn’t just take her? She’s too worried about it cutting into her vacations she takes with her husband, I suppose.

I’ve been stressed ever since my grandmother returned and I’ve been avoiding her in order to avoid a fight. I used to never swear around her, but there was a time a few months back where she was fighting me as far as taking her medication and I had to yell at her, “Take your fucking pills!” Do I sound like the kind of person suited for this fucking job? I didn’t think so, either.

I don’t know why living into old age is something people strive for. If you’re going to lose your mind then you might as well take yourself out because it’s not pretty. Fuck dying with dignity. There’s no such thing.

Dead Before 40

I don’t know how to describe what I feel. I’ve been told that I write well, but when it comes to writing what I feel and how I react to certain situations I’m not sure how they come across to other people. I’m bipolar. My manic episodes aren’t what you think of as manic. I don’t go on these huge spending sprees or let loose and go crazy. I’m kind of simplistic manic. I’m calm and collected. It’s “hypomania.” I’m not full on manic at all. My sister is full on manic. My dad was full on manic. I don’t get those symptoms. I just feel a little better than usual. My mood is elevated more than normal. I’m not sure how to describe it.

I’m up for doing adventurous things, but nothing too risky. If someone says “Hey, want to climb a mountain today?” Fuck yeah! Let’s do that! I can carry on with my daily life when the hypomania comes along. It’s when the depression comes along that I don’t feel like myself. The depression is what gets to me. I’m just now coming out of a depressive episode which has lasted for about two months now.

I explained my moods to my psychiatrist. I go from feeling normal, which is like getting to the top of the rollercoaster, but then it plummets tremendously and I don’t know what to do with myself. I relate it back to my dog, Denver. Denver was my best friend. I had him for 14 years. He was a puppy when I first got him. I’d take him for walks every single day, twice a day. I enjoyed my walks with him. However long he wanted to walk, that’s how long we walked. I’d let him sniff whatever he wanted and just let him go about his merry way. That was me when I was feeling normal. When my depression crept in I knew things were different. I’d try to pull him back toward the house. I’d get impatient. I wanted him to do his business and let’s get back so I could just go back to bed.

Now that Denver is dead I don’t feel the need to get up for anything anymore. I sleep all day. I look at my phone and see messages from friends and I just have no desire to reply to them. There’s nothing I have to say and nothing they can say that can make things any better. I want life to just stop. I want a pause. I want an end. I want an out. I truly don’t know how to describe what I feel. I think the best way to put it is that I don’t want to feel anything at all. I don’t want to hurt. I don’t want to feel like shit about shit that I can’t control.

I think about things from my past that have been said and done and I ruminate over them and obsess over them, wishing I could take shit back. Do people that I hurt remember that I hurt them? I’ve said some stupid shit in my 32 years on this planet to people. Do people think back on stupid shit I said to them and have a good laugh about it? We all like to think that we don’t care what others think about us, but deep down I think we really do. I know I do and I have no reason to give a shit. Why should I give a fuck what I said to some asshole in kindergarten? I do, though. I give a fuck and I wonder if they think back on what I said and have a good laugh about it.

I like to think there’s an unspoken rule that things that happen or things that are said when we’re drunk don’t get mentioned when we’re all sober the next day. I know that’s not true, though. Friends of mine subtly bring up shit that I said or did years ago when I was hammered and I quickly change the subject. I don’t want to be reminded of what happened back then. It just brings up bad memories that I’d much rather forget.

I think I’ve gone off topic as I tend to do. I just know that I beat myself up when it comes to what I’ve said and done in the past and I wish there was some way I could fix that, but I don’t think that I can. I think that’s why I try so many drugs – legal and otherwise – to try to fix myself. I don’t want to remember a lot of what I’ve said and done in the past. The only solace I find is in the fact that I’m going to be dead before I reach the age of 40 and none of this is going to matter in the slightest.

A Guide to Driving Yourself Crazy

I don’t know if you know what it’s like to be aware of what tomorrow is going to bring for the most part and still be terrified of it. I know what I’m going to do every day. There are no surprises and I prefer it that way. Surprises aren’t always good. A part of me prefers the monotony of my life. It’s safer. I think I’ve mentioned that I’ve become more and more of a shut-in as of late. I would rather not go anywhere and risk getting injured or worse. What a contradiction coming from someone who wishes they’d never been born in the first place. Just because I wish for non-existence doesn’t mean I want to die at the moment.

I’ve mentioned before how death never bothered me until recently. Now it’s all I can think about. It’s why I stay in the house. It’s why I don’t venture out more. I’m terrified of trying anything new. I hate going new places, unfamiliar places. I hate that I’ve gotten this way and I don’t know what to do about it.

I dread when friends ask me if I want to do something because that means I’m going to have to step out of the comfort of my own home where I feel safe. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I leave. Any number of things can go wrong and I start playing these scenarios out in my head over and over again. We could get in a wreck. We could get robbed. We could get shot by some asshole that wants to be famous by killing a few dozen people. See? Any number of things can go wrong out there.

I don’t think I can truly convey how real this fear is of mine. Any time I do manage to work up the courage (and believe me, it takes a lot for me) to go out somewhere I’m looking for the nearest exits in the event something goes horribly wrong. I have friends in other countries that I’d love to visit, but I’m afraid I never will because all I can think about is the plane crashing into the ocean and myself drowning even though someone assured me I’d be dead before I’d actually drown, but still … given my recent paranoia that something terrible is going to happen to me or a loved one, I don’t want to risk anything.

This all leads to such a boring life for me now. I dread when people want to play catch up with me. “What have you been up to as of late?”

“Me? Oh, nothing. I sit at home in constant fear, afraid to go out into the world because I don’t know what’s going to happen from one day to the next. I could get shot, stabbed, run over by a car. I also drive myself crazy because I have no control over what happens in the lives of those I care about, and I have to live with the knowledge that at any moment someone I love can be snatched away from me, but enough about me. How about you? How have you been? I hear you’re doing quite well for yourself while I’ve been having nervous breakdowns for the past three or four months. What’s it like to live a normal life and not dread what’s coming tomorrow?”

The Happiness of Non-Existence: Anti-Natalism Chronicles XIII

Picture a non-existent person if you can. It’s not a person because it doesn’t exist. You can’t give something that doesn’t exist a name. It’s nothing. There’s a void that exists before we come into the world. It’s where we all start. Two people get together and fuck and if they’re unlucky one of them (I’m referring to the woman in case you don’t know already) conceives a fetus. I call the thing a fetus because it is not a child. You are not a child until you are born. You are not sentient. A child, a baby, a newborn is sentient; it feels.

If a fetus could feel, was sentient, had a consciousness, would it want to be born? I don’t think it would. Imagine it was able to perceive and take in the world outside of the womb. What would it think? Would it want to come into a world full of so much hate and despair? None of us would, but we have no say in the matter. Our own selfish desire to have sex leads to unplanned pregnancies with mothers having to make a difficult choice whether or not to go through with the pregnancy.

We’re brought into a world plagued by war, famine; some unsure if they’re going to make it to the next day. Will there be food on the table? Will the clothes on our backs be enough to last us through another season? These are things people do not consider when they make the decision to breed. They believe having a child is morally right.

I would argue that it’s immoral to have a child not knowing if you’re able to take care of it. If you’re unprepared, not ready, then why is it there are those out there telling you that you should have to take care of another living human? It’s only when the fetus is inside the womb that people care so much. After its birth no one cares if it lives or dies. There is a certain age where people stop caring about other people. I’m not sure when that happens, but it’s true.

After someone’s birth, years later, that person becomes a burden. You want medical coverage? Too bad. Are you unable to care for yourself? So sorry. No one gave you a blueprint nor a map. You don’t get any instructions as far as how to take care of yourself in a world you never asked to inhabit in the first place.

Things were so much better in the void. The plane of non-existence never hurt anyone. When existence comes into the picture is when all the pain and suffering starts; from the first scrape or broken bone you get as a child up to the cancer or heart disease you develop as an adult. None of this would cause us any worry, any harm, any pain if it all just ceased to exist in the first place. The right thing, the moral thing to do is to not be at all.

The Beauty of Non-Existence: Anti-Natalism Chronicles XII

Do any of us really know what happens after death? We all have our varying beliefs, but no one really knows until they’ve experienced it, and it’s not like any of them can come back and let us know if they’re having a good time or if the whole death thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m sure it has its ups and downs like anything else. You no longer have to worry about bills or your health, but you’re also missing out on shit that others are doing that maybe you would have enjoyed if you were still alive.

This is another argument for putting an end to procreation. None of us know what life was like before being brought into this world and none of us had a bad day because of it. I don’t remember anything about being a year old, being in the womb, and I most certainly don’t remember anything before that. Nothing bad happens when you don’t exist. It’s when you bring people into existence. That’s when problems start.

I’ve been struggling as of late. I’ve mentioned it a time or two. I’ve slipped into another depressive episode and can’t shake it. Another day has gone by and another one is going to come and go tomorrow. I don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring or what the next few months or few years are going to bring. I just know now more than ever that time is ticking away and there’s nothing I can do about it. I suppose I could kill myself, but that would leave others behind and I don’t want to do that, but the thought crosses my mind time and time again. I was doing so well with keeping the suicidal thoughts at bay, too.

I would never have had these problems had I never been born. I think we’ve seen a movie or a television show where an angel or ghost of some sort comes to a person and shows them what life would have been like had they never been born. These mediums always paint existence in a positive light because we all want to feel better at the end of the day. That’s why we turn to sitcoms and banal shit such as that. We want to feel better. When I lie in bed at night, I don’t feel better. I feel like things would be better without me here.

If it were up to me, I’m talking about being in the spirit realm or whatever came before I was conceived, I would have told my parents to think twice about deciding to have a child. If I got to have a look at everything that would happen to me and see how it all turns out for me in the end; the good, the bad, the ups and downs, I believe I’d choose not being born at all. It’s the constant worry of what’s going to happen from one day to the next. No one has to worry about that when they don’t exist.

No one has to worry at this moment. I’m not going to do anything drastic. I don’t even know how many of you out there still read the dribble I spill onto this fucking site. I’m not longing for death. I’m longing for never being born in the first place.

Forget It. It’s Sooze-Town.

I’ve noticed my social anxiety and depression have gotten worse as of late. I can’t listen to anyone because I’m too focused on all the shit going on in my head. I have kept it all bottled up for weeks now, and I realized that maybe I should just write everything down that’s going on so maybe I can have it all in one place as kind of a go-to if I need it when I see my psychiatrist in a few weeks.

I don’t know why it started. I was doing so well with my medication, but I started talking about things that don’t really matter with my psychiatrist in order to avoid what’s really bothering me. I do that more often than I’d like to admit. I’m prone to keeping things bottled up like I always have. I know that talking things through helps, but sometimes I can’t make myself do it. I feel like my problems are insignificant, like they don’t matter.

I find it hard to sleep at night because of all the thoughts that go racing through my head. I’m 32-years-old and I have nothing to show for it. I’m terrified of absolutely everything these days and I’ve become a shut-in basically. I can’t drive due to epilepsy, but I want to get out of the house so when the opportunity arrives to go for a drive with someone I always go, but I stay in the car. I can’t bring myself to get out and go inside anywhere. All the people make me nervous. I get nervous being surrounded by so many people and then realizing all those people making me nervous makes me even more nervous. I break out into a sweat. I start fidgeting. I pace back and forth.

I’m not getting any younger and the thought of death is always in the back of my mind. I know we’re all going to die and I used to be accepting of that fact, but as I get older and realize my time is running out I’m becoming less and less OK with it. I’ve always had a great relationship with my mom, and she has always been the one constant in my life; I fear something happening to her and never seeing her again. I don’t know how to shake these feelings. I dread the days she goes to work. I dread the times she has to fly to another state for work. I have this constant fear that something is going to happen to her and I’m not going to know how to handle it.

Then there’s the fear of something happening to me. I know when I’m dead it will all be over for me and I won’t know any different, but it’s just the thought of being dead and thinking about those I left behind and the impact it will have on them. My dad committed suicide fifteen years ago. My grandfather died three years ago. My mom’s boyfriend died almost two years ago. What’s my mom going to do if something happens to me?

It’s stupid, but I think about what happens after I’m dead. I think of things I’m going to miss out on when that happens, trivial things. I won’t be able to see my family or friends anymore. I won’t be able to read another book. I won’t be able to watch the shows that I enjoy. No more walks with my dog. No more sitting outside and enjoying the weather, watching the cars go by. Life goes on long after we’re gone. I want to leave something behind so that I can be remembered. I just don’t know what. I want to be remembered. I have this fear of being forgotten.

It’s like that one scene in “BoJack Horseman” where he says, “Is that life? You’re there, you do your thing, and then people forget.” That’s what I fear the most. I want my life to mean something. I don’t want to be forgotten. What do I have to do to make some sort of impact? I don’t want to just be another name on a tombstone. I see all those tombstones in the cemetery – names of people I never knew. I wonder if other people remember them. How many people go and visit those graves? After a while when the initial shock wears off that your loved one has passed, you visit the grave less and less. I guess I just have a fear of being forgotten. I want my life to have meaning and purpose, but I don’t know how to make that happen.

Relationship Advice From Yours Truly

My aforementioned friend Eric (again, not his real name) and I had a lengthy phone conversation over the weekend. I think he needed to vent to someone, and I didn’t mind listening. I don’t think he has many people to turn to so it was no problem for him to vent to me. He asked me a strange question: “How do you get so lucky with women?”

“Huh?” I replied. That’s all I could say. I’ve never been lucky with women. I’ve had two relationships in my entire life. I’ve only been intimate with three women. I don’t know anything about talking to women unless it’s online and as I get older I’m getting more and more rusty in that department. I had no clue what he meant by “lucky with women.” He mentioned my previous ex, which I’ve mentioned already. She and I ended things because she sprung it on me that she wanted children and that’s a definite “no” for me. He then brought up someone I’d forgotten about that came after my ex.

Nothing was really official with this girl. We talked, flirted, etc., but there was never any kind of definite relationship between the two of us. Things ended pretty badly between us if I’m being honest. Being honest is what ended whatever we may have had anyway. She asked my opinion on something, I was truthful, she got pissed and told me that she didn’t think we should speak anymore.

I don’t know if it’s my age or what, but I’ve gotten where I just don’t give a shit anymore. He may be looking for the love of his life, but I simply stopped giving a fuck. I obviously know fuck all about women. I have no idea how to approach them. Women and I have this kind of mutual understanding: they leave me alone and I leave them alone. It works out perfectly, really. I’ve never been married, therefore I’ve never been divorced. I can’t have children so I don’t have to pay child support to a woman. Overall this whole not-talking-to-or-getting-involved-with-women scheme I’ve got going on is working quite well for me. If it’s women you want then you’ve come to the wrong place as far as talking to me about them. I don’t know what to tell you.

Don’t be yourself because eventually they’re going to find something out about the real you that they don’t like and drop you like a bad habit.

Don’t lie to them because they’re going to find out.

Don’t be honest, either. Honesty is just going to make them hate and resent you.

So what advice did I offer Eric?

Just stick to porn. It’s there when you need it, and when you’re done you can turn it off and go about your day. It works out fine for me since I don’t have to do any talking and I’m not being awkward at all. It doesn’t judge me. It doesn’t have to see me naked. I also don’t particularly care for having sex since I don’t like other people touching me so masturbation is perfect for me.

That’s the only relationship advice I can give anyone: watch porn. You won’t get your heartbroken and once you’ve had your orgasm, you can sleep soundly at night.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to go have a wank and a cigarette.

You know that you tried to hide it Shouldn’t you have said what you meant? Oh…

I found out a dear friend of mine – one of my best friends since high school – tried to kill himself not too long ago. It was because of his wife. He discovered she was cheating on him. They hadn’t even been married a year (eight months.) Her reasoning? She told him that his depression and anxiety caused her to cheat. He gave me the whole story. I don’t know his wife. I’ve never met her in my life. I didn’t go to the wedding or anything for reasons I won’t get into. Eric (not his real name) has always been honest with me as far as I know. I know Eric has his issues. I have mine as well. I know Eric has always struggled with depression and anxiety just as I have. I’ve got something he has never really had though: a support system. I wish he had one so that he didn’t think he had to end his own life.

I’m thankful that he failed at killing himself, but I also feel like shit because I’m not exactly sure how to help, either. We’ve always both just joked about our mental illness. I remember one of the best jokes I ever heard — this is just his and my fucked up sense of humor — being when I hadn’t seen Eric in a while, me asking him how he’d been doing, and I asked what he’d been up to. He replied, “I go to work every day, come home and make myself some dinner; sometimes I’ll play a video game for a few hours; and occasionally I’ll stare at the noose I have hanging in my closet and say to myself, “Maybe tomorrow.” I laughed to the point where I could barely breathe.

This recent turn of events in Eric’s life got me thinking about honesty as well. People always claim they want honesty in their relationship, but do they really? Does a woman or man who has put on a few pounds really want their significant other to tell them? If someone in a relationship isn’t looking their best one day then do they want their significant other to tell them they look like shit (in a nicer way than that, of course)? If your spouse is cheating, do you really want to know?

I came to the conclusion a long time ago that people extol honesty until you’re honest with them. You can tell them all day long how you were honest with someone and they will tell you how you did the right thing, but as soon as they ask a question about themselves and demand an honest answer and you give it to them then you can consider that particular relationship or friendship finished. A husband or wife doesn’t want to know that their partner is being unfaithful. If they ask and their partner says, “No. I’m not cheating on you,” it’s better for both parties because no one gets hurt. However, if you’re caught then you might as well fess up because you know there’s no getting out of it.

I’ve never agreed with someone in a relationship cheating on their partner and just coming outright and telling their partner when their partner didn’t ask. I don’t agree with cheating, either; I want to make that perfectly clear. If your partner doesn’t ask then keep your mouth shut. If your partner asks then should you lie? I guess it depends on whether or not you’re a good liar.

Dr. Brad Blanton’s “radical honesty” isn’t going to win you any friends. Being honest with friends is going to make you lose them one day. My advice? Just stick to lying in order to save face. Read up on it if you have to in order to learn how to do it better.

Or you can just not be a piece of shit who feels the need to do shitty things to people.

My Dog: Not the Only Bitch on This Road

It’s ingrained in a dog’s DNA. Dogs chase shit: cars, bicycles, squirrels, rabbits, runners. It’s like Joker said in The Dark Knight though: “You know what I am? I’m a dog chasing a car. I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it.” That’s basically how my dog is. My dog is like any other dog on this road. I’ve been chased by dogs on this road. My way of dealing with it is to remain calm. By remaining calm and not panicking, the dog stops in its tracks and sniffs me out to realize, “Oh. OK. You’re cool. Now pet me, human.”

I understand that fear, though. Some people have bad experiences with dogs. They’ve been bitten by a dog before. I’ve been punched by humans before, but I don’t assume every human I come across is going to punch the shit out of me. There are cyclists that come down my road, knowing good and damned well that I have a dog. They’ve encountered my dog on multiple occasions and constantly act surprised and terrified every time they encounter my dog.

I had the misfortune of talking to one of these people earlier in the week. I say “misfortune” because I hate talking to people. I especially hate talking to people early in the morning before I’ve had my first cup of coffee and smoke. I spotted the cyclists after my dog did and had to stand up and shout at them, “She’s not going to bite!” I had to shout this because 1. my dog was barking at them and 2. they were barking back at my dog. Yes, that’s the perfect way to keep a dog calm: antagonize them by barking back at them.

“Sir, can I talk to you for a minute?” Fuck!

“Ma’am?”

“You know there are leash laws in this county?”

“I was not aware of that, no.”

“You can’t just let your dog run around like you’re doing. See this here on my leg? It’s a scar from a dog bite. $35,000 settlement.”

I’m assuming you’re just looking for another lawsuit.

“Mmhmm.”

“I don’t mean to cause any trouble. I love dogs. You just never know when one is going to lash out and bite.”

“Well, I assure you that she’s not going to bite.”

“All it takes is one time.”

“I’ll make sure I take care of it.”

I got to thinking about the dogs up the street from me that sometimes come running toward me when I go for my walks. I freeze when they come running because if I take off running they may take that as a game of chase. It never crosses my mind to go knock on the owner’s door and say to them, “Your dog came running after me when I was walking, and I’d hate to talk about lawsuits, but…”

If it hadn’t been early in the morning and I wasn’t trying to enjoy my coffee and smoke, I should have suggested the woman take a different path on her bicycle if she was so concerned about my dog biting her. She said she and her friends come down my road at least once a week and always worry about my dog when they pass by my house. Then maybe you and your friends shouldn’t, you know, pass by my fucking house.

If I think I’m going to get attacked by going down a dark alley or down a certain street then I don’t walk down that dark alley or street. I don’t claim to be the most intelligent person on the planet, but when I meet people such as the woman I’m talking about in this blog, I think that I’m easily in the top ten.

I’m Fine. Everyone’s Fucked.

I had another appointment with my psychiatrist today to discuss how my meds are working out for me and how I’ve been doing overall. We talked about not just my mental health, but mental health in general. I used to do a blog every year where I’d pick and choose certain words and phrases that people use that irritate the piss out of me. A few of the recurring ones were: “random,” “literally,” “everything happens for a reason,” and “it is what it is.” If we one day saw the eradication of those words I’d be ebullient.

She and I agreed that one of the worst words in the English language is the word “fine.” It’s just so blasé and unenthusiastic. No one trusts you when you say that you’re fine, but we accept it anyway because we don’t really want to know how the other person is doing. I was reading an article some time ago that was written by a German who lived in America for a year. He was surprised when someone asked how he was doing and he proceeded to tell them about his day, but they wandered off to work on his order in the middle of him giving them the run down of how things were going. This isn’t what we do in America. We don’t care. The common exchange goes as follows:

“How are you doing today?”

“I’m fine, and you?”

“I’m doing alright.”

You can add your own little flavor to it if you’d like, but the trick is to never get too personal. You never tell a person that your dog just died or your mother’s cancer has resurfaced and you don’t know how to deal with it. We deal with other people on such an impersonal level. I think that’s the American way: get in, get out, leave me alone because I’ve got my own problems. I can’t speak for other countries and cultures because I’ve never been outside of the United States, but here in this country we care nothing about the goings on of other people’s lives. I’d be lying if I said I’m not guilty of it. I, too, expect just a quick exchange of words when I’m at the store and kind of tune people out when they start rambling about their day or what’s bothering them while I’m in the check-out line.

Maybe it’s just due to living in a society that’s so rushed and so focused on getting done what we need to get done that we don’t focus on those around us. As Americans we know not to open up to total strangers because total strangers don’t give two shits about us or our lives, but is that how we should be toward other people? The more I’ve grown, the more I don’t think so. I like to try to help people in any way that I can now because I know what it’s like to have a shit day, to have a shit week, to have shit going on in my head that I can’t seem to control.

Would it take a lot of time out of our day to pull someone aside that we overhear say they’ve had a horrible week and ask them if they’d like to talk about it for maybe five minutes? Is where you’re going or what you’re doing really that important? Do you really need to get to work thirty minutes early that you can’t take five minutes to maybe let someone unload for just a moment? In a country that’s so concerned about mental illness we don’t seem to care when it boils down to it. Actually listening to another human being could mean the difference between that person going home that night and resting peacefully and going home that night to stock up on ammunition for the next day when they go to the store to let the world know how they’re really feeling. “I’m fine” isn’t always just fine.

I am aware now how everything’s gonna be fine one day too late.