How Can This Mean Anything to Me…

… if I really don’t feel anything at all?

It’ll be a couple of months before I see my psychiatrist again. I’m wondering if I should make an appointment because as of late I’ve just been having this overwhelming feeling of apathy. I looked up what I was feeling and it seems that I’m struggling with what is called “anhedonia.” Most people think depression is just moping around, feeling like Eeyore, but this is something different. It’s just a complete and total lack of enjoyment.

As I may have mentioned or hinted at in my last post, I have always loved reading, but right now I can’t sit still long enough to read. I used to love going for walks. I’ve mentioned that I can’t drive anymore, but I would still enjoy going for rides to town or taking a trip to a friend’s house. Not anymore. I just want to feel some kind of pleasure. Hell, if I’m being totally honest, masturbation isn’t even fun anymore.

Life has just become banal. I hate waking up. I hate getting online and checking in with friends. I hate going out to try to meet new friends. I used to go to the bar to chit-chat with the bartenders and others, but I don’t want to do that anymore, either. On top of the depression I don’t feel anything but boredom and ennui.

I wake up and step outside and see the world around me and just think “Fuck. There’s absolutely nothing to look forward to today. I’m going to do absolutely nothing except go back inside, maybe eat something, and I’m going right back to bed.” I feel bad for my dogs, honestly. I know they want to go and do and go for a walk and I have to muster up enough energy to take them for their walk. That’s one thing that bothers me the most. I’m unable to take my dogs for their walk so I know they’re getting bored, but they also don’t understand that I’m just not feeling up to it.

I’d let them run loose if I could, but one doesn’t get along with other dogs and I fear she’s going to attack someone’s dog as they are taking it for a walk. I pretty much just walk mine to keep one of them under control so there’s no lawsuit involved. I get awakened by them in the morning and I just think, “Leave me alone. You don’t understand. I don’t want to walk. I don’t want to leave this bed. Just let me sleep until tomorrow, let me sleep until the day after tomorrow and the day after that.”

All I want is sleep. My dreams are more fun than my reality. I had a dream last night that I was flying. That dream was interrupted by the dogs wanting to go out, but it was too dark for me to walk them and I didn’t want to let them roam free because who knows when they would come back? I feel like I’ve posted about this before, but I can’t keep track of anything. I’m having deja vu right now. I guess that happens when every day is exactly the same as the last.

Sometimes showering is a chore. It sounds gross, but I go for a few days without showering and have to muster up enough energy to turn the fucking shower on in the first place. Things that used to make me laugh no longer do: funny movies, stand-up comedians, memes, etc. None of them do me any good and I hate it.

Music doesn’t even hold the same effect as it once did. I’m tired of listening to music. I’ve heard it all before. I have a couple of concerts coming up that I’ll be attending and I’m worried that I’m going to feel this way when the concert date arrives.

Fuck it. I’m going to go smoke pot to escape what I’m feeling (or in this case not feeling) right now.

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Boredom’s Not a Burden Anyone Should Bear

I wake up every day just like everyone else does that hasn’t passed away the night before, but here recently I’ve done nothing but wake up stressed and anxious. I go to bed stressed and anxious. I have had to take my anxiety meds more and more as of late, which I don’t like. I feel like my skin is crawling most days. I feel like crawling out of my skin. I can’t sit still, I toss and turn in bed, trying to find the most comfortable position. When I do find a position that’s comfortable it doesn’t last long. I have to switch from my left side to my right and then I’m on my back once again with my hands over my chest, fingers interlocked. I was told by a friend of mine when we shared a hotel room together one night that I look like a corpse when I sleep. At least the dead sleep soundly.

New Year’s Eve was an enjoyable night for me. I got to spend it with friends I don’t get to see very often. However, I’m unable to stay up as late as I once was. I think I finally crashed on my friends’ couch around two in the morning. I remember the times before when I was able to stay awake, drink, smoke pot, and talk about virtually anything until nearly six in the morning. Two in the morning is late for me now. I find myself going to bed around 8pm or so these days, sometimes even sooner than that. I’m not even tired when I go to bed. I just have nothing else to do.

I have new books to read to keep me busy right now. I am able to get through several pages some days and others I can’t finish a paragraph before that feeling of wanting to break out of my skin happens once more. I don’t want to be dependent on meds, but they’re the only way I’m able to feel some sense of normalcy. I’m stuck between wanting to do something and wanting to do nothing at all.

Why aren’t we able to just sit and be bored? Why can’t I just lie in bed and be happy that there’s nothing to do, nowhere to go, no obligations to meet? It’s hard for me to go out anymore. I just can’t bring myself to be around other people. New Year’s Eve was an exception. I had a great time with my friends, but there was still that part of me beforehand that was wondering if I was going to change my mind and just stay home and ring in the new year in a slumber. I’m wondering if my meds need to be changed again, but my psychiatrist said she doesn’t like to switch or alter meds during the holiday season. Who knows? Maybe if she went against what she likes doing with her patients then I’d be OK right now.

Then again, maybe I’ll never be OK. The suicidal thoughts aren’t as bad as they once were, but they’re still there. They happen mostly at night, but not always. Sometimes during the day since it’s just me here with nothing to occupy my time and the anxiety that hits me out of nowhere that I just want an out. Yet I press on. I think I’ll press on right now by taking a nap.

Fuck. I’ve only been awake for four hours and I’m already wanting a nap and fantasizing even more about tonight when I get to sleep for 10-12 long hours only to repeat the entire routine all over again the next day.

Anti-Natalism Chronicles XIV: A Return

It’s going to be hard to type this since I’m on a different computer since my Mac is being serviced at the moment so sorry for any mistakes. It’s a bitch getting used to a different keyboard when you’ve used the same one for three years now. I wanted to talk once again about anti-natalism since that’s mostly what my blog is about and one of my main beliefs as a person.

I was sitting outside just now, having my morning coffee when I started thinking about my last relationship and how it ended because she brought up the fact that she wanted children one day. We had known each other for seven years. We dated for two of those seven years. She knew how I felt about having children and at one point said she didn’t want any, either. Out of the blue one night as we were lying in bed together she said she thinks she may want them one day. “Well, you know how I feel about that. Besides, you know I’ve gotten a vasectomy so it’s kind of a done deal for me.”

No harsh words were spoken or exchanged. We didn’t argue. We just kind of decided that this was one area where we weren’t going to be able to reach a compromise. There is no compromising when it comes to children. You either want them or you don’t and I don’t.

I had always joked that every girl from my hometown was born pregnant because they either had a baby by high school (middle school in some cases) or it was the first thing that happened after high school. Practically everyone I know now has at least one child so that sucks for me as far as dating is concerned. It’s just one of those things that’s a definitive “no” for me. Kind of like anal is a definitive “no” for a lot of women. Hey, you don’t do butt stuff. I don’t like kids. I respect your decision to not do butt stuff. Respect my decision to not have children.

I don’t think I’d make a good dad anyway. It’s not like I had a positive influence in the dad department growing up so who’s to say I wouldn’t be an asshole just like my father was? I’ve also got the mental and physical health issues going on so why would I risk bringing a child into the world with said issues? That’s something I’ve never understood about people who have mental issues, emotional issues, health issues, etc. that are genetic.  If they’re genetic and you know you risk passing them onto your offspring then why do you go ahead with having your own offspring? Kind of a dick move on your part.

Maybe I have more compassion than others or I give myself credit for. I don’t want to bring any children into a world such as this one; a world plagued by violence, climate change, disease, and a number of other things that could go wrong and do go wrong on a daily basis. I see commercials for hospitals for children with cancer and just think to myself if only their parents didn’t have them at all then those children wouldn’t be going through what they’re going through right now.

We all want suffering to end so shouldn’t we be stopping it before it begins? There’s no suffering in non-existence. I’ve never once met a person who didn’t exist that had cancer. I’ve never once met a person who didn’t exist that got murdered for no reason at all. Call it a coincidence if you want, but I think there’s something more to my theory here.

If you already have children then by all means, love them with every fiber of your being and take care of them to the best of your ability.

If you don’t have children then do what’s best for the children you don’t have and leave them be in whatever dimension there is before birth. All that comes with existence is suffering and eventual death and heartbreak.

Drinking Bourbon that Isn’t Mine

Technically it’s mine since I bought it, but I bought it for my cousin’s kid. He’s 20, which is not the legal drinking age here. It’s 21. I hold the belief though that if you’re able to go and die in a war that you don’t believe in then you should be able to get plastered (even while going to die in the war you don’t believe in.) So I bought the kid a bottle of Wild Turkey.

We had every intention of partaking tonight, but I wasn’t feeling it today for the most part. I woke up in a shit mood, just one of my moods that I have. I had a doctor’s appointment with my neurologist and we discussed my migraines and seizures. I had had a migraine the night before and informed her of this so I’m switching meds again. The medication she is putting me on comes with some serious side effects so I’m a bit concerned about that, but we’ll see how it turns out.

I got home and popped a couple of my anti-anxiety meds and smoked some weed just to see if it’d put me in a better mood. It did after a while, but it also made me tired. I fell asleep around 5 and woke up around 9. Now I’m awake and bored. My cousin nor his kid seem to be anywhere around so I just said, “Fuck it. I bought the booze so I’m drinking it.” Sorry, kid. You missed out. I’ll get him some more eventually, but tonight is my night to drink and forget whatever is ailing me.

I don’t even know why I’m blogging right now seeing as I have nothing to say. I jotted down a lot of my thoughts in my journal earlier and pretty much said everything that was going on in my head. I wonder about when I die and when someone is reading my journal what they’ll think. It’s not just a bunch of “woe is me” shit in there. I’ve written down parts of stories I want to complete. I’ve jotted down ideas for comics I want to start. Tonight I just wrote down a conversation I was having with myself in my head and wanted to put it on the record so to speak.

Right now I’m drinking this Wild Turkey and blogging, trying to make myself tired enough to go back to sleep because that’s the only relief I seem to get from the world around me, a world that I don’t think I belong to anymore; a world that I don’t think really wants me in it anymore. If there’s one thing I took away from the acid trip a couple of weeks ago it’s that this isn’t all there is to it. All the bullshit we have to go through on a daily basis, all the stress, all the worry, none of it is going to matter in the end. We’re all going to die and none of that shit goes with us (at least as far as I know. I’ve never been dead before.)

I had a friend that died the other day. He died for a minute or two and was revived. I asked him what happened. Is there a heaven? Did he see a bright light? No. He said he saw Randy Travis. So apparently Randy Travis is the afterlife and we’ll be sitting around and listening to “Digging Up Bones” for eternity. At least I enjoy that song.

Bullshit 2020

You never want to tell another person you’re feeling suicidal. You don’t know what that person is going to do. They may call emergency services, which I’ve had happen before. I’ve been honest with my psychiatrist and have told her the times I’ve felt suicidal. She understands that that comes with the territory of depression and bipolar disorder. I’m not actively seeking to kill myself. Today I’ve just felt a little off and not myself.

I hate how my moods fluctuate so much. It’s been this way for me for as long as I can remember. Right now I’m lying in bed and just wanting to not feel. I don’t want to be here anymore. This feeling may pass tomorrow, it may continue into next week. My brain’s just all fucked up. I just know that right here and right now that I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to face tomorrow. I don’t know what to do about it, either. I never know what to do about it.

I take that back. I sleep. I sleep as long as I possibly can. I slept for a total of 16 hours today and I’m still tired. I plan on turning in soon and I don’t plan on waking up to do anything tomorrow except let the dogs out when they start whining that they’re ready to go out. I remember when my dog, Denver, who passed away over a year ago now would let me know he was ready for his walk I’d get up with a grunt and go, “OK, boy. Hang on and let me get my shoes on and we’ll go.” Now with the two I have I just let them out the door and let them do whatever because I can’t muster up any energy. It seems like the older I get, the worse things get.

I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to socialize with others. When I agree to socialize with other people on a certain day and that day comes I start to wish and hope for them to cancel whatever plans we have already made.

Eyes closed, unconscious, dead to the world. That’s how I’d like to be right now. Instead I am in bed, typing this shit out, wishing for this life to be over because I’ve seen enough of it and what it has to offer (which isn’t much as far as I’ve been able to see.) Whatever happiness comes my way doesn’t stay for long and slips from my fingers within a short amount of time and it gets tiring. Happiness is such a tease.

People think that the new year is going to bring with it new opportunities, but it never does. It’s the same shit but with a different number attached to it. Bullshit 2019 will turn into Bullshit 2020 which will turn into Bullshit 2021 and so forth and so on. It’s ritualistic if you think about it. We all do the same thing over and over again and think nothing of it, and this is what we’re supposed to be happy about. Why?

What’s My Drug of Choice? Well, What Have You Got?

I remember reading a blog some time ago on another site by some old fuck that lives in her own little world and refuses to accept that the world changes, and she refuses to accept that sometimes people can’t help their situations. One particular blog of hers was about drug addiction, which was something she clearly knew nothing about. “People who use drugs have no one to blame but themselves. They had the choice to use drugs or not to use drugs and they chose to do it so they shouldn’t be helped.”

I was talking to my brother-in-law about this. We used the example of a party one time. No one goes to a party and just blurts out, “So who’s got heroin in this motherfucker?” A lot of the time heroin stems from an addiction to opiates, which are prescribed by doctors to manage pain. We as humans will find any way possible to eliminate the pain in our lives, whether it’s physical or emotional.

I started drinking and using pills when I was 19 or so. I’ve used coke, still smoke weed, drink occasionally (but have recently discovered that I can’t drink alone anymore. I won’t drink alone anymore.) Also, as I mentioned in my previous blog, I tripped on acid for the first time this past weekend. We’re all looking for ways to avoid, ignore, or eliminate pain. I don’t know too many people who become addicts because they’re happy. No one drinks alone because they’re entertaining happy thoughts. Those of us who use are trying to mask, hide, and again, eliminate pain. We’ll go through any lengths to do it.

I know what depression is like. I’ve struggled with it since my teens. It’s not something that’s easy to live with and it’s not something I’d wish on another person. Then again, maybe I would just so someone else could walk a day in my shoes to know what the pain is like. I commented on a friend of mine’s blog about depression, saying:

Sadness and depression are two very different things. I have felt sat before and I struggle with depression. Sadness is the loss of a job, the feeling you have after a fight with your partner, failing that test you studied so hard for.

Depression is wanting out. There is nothing to life and you go along every day and wonder why you still bother in the first place. It’s feeling that nothing is ever going to get better and dreading the days ahead. It’s sleeping the day away because you can’t bring yourself to face it. It’s just not wanting to play anymore as David Foster Wallace said in Infinite Jest. Nothing brings you joy but the nothingness of being unconscious somehow whether it’s from sleeping or being passed out from the night before.

It’s why we choose things that are bad for us to handle the pain. We drink, we do drugs, we try to numb the pain anyway we can because it’s physical and mental. You don’t feel anything when you’re on drugs. That’s the feeling we want … the feeling of not feeling at all.

It’s why so many who suffer from depression commit suicide. They want an out. They’re done with playing and have realized this life has nothing to give them.

I struggle every day with the feeling of not wanting to feel. I lie in bed and sleep for hours on end because I just don’t want to know what the day holds for me and I don’t care. I just want to be out of it. I want to be put into a coma so I won’t have to be dead, but I won’t have to deal with what’s going on in my mind anymore, either.

Knowing this, how could you say you don’t understand why people turn to drugs? It’s easier, faster, and sometimes cheaper than therapy.

You can’t understand a user’s mind
But try, with your books and degrees
If you let yourself go and opened your mind
I’ll bet you’d be doing like me and it isn’t so bad

Drinking, Drugs, and Skydiving

I’ve mentioned that my grandmother has Alzheimer’s. I’ve been helping my mom take care of her for the past five years. On Monday she had a stroke and was unable to communicate with my cousin or myself. She had fallen off her bed and was unable to get back up. We could tell she was in pain, but we didn’t want to move her because we didn’t want to further damage anything she may have broken. We sat there while I was on the phone with 9-1-1, waiting for the paramedics to arrive. None of us knew what to do. My cousin was a mess. She could do nothing but cry. I’ve never been good at comforting others. I can tell jokes and make smart ass remarks all day to make you laugh, but I’m not a hugger and never have been. The only thing I knew to do was to give my cousin one of my anti-anxiety meds to calm her down.

My grandmother is still in the hospital. It was determined she did indeed have a stroke and she has bleeding on the brain. We’ve been told it’s only a matter of time and that we should be thinking about hospice care for her at this point. I’ve made my peace with it. I think it will be a relief to myself as well as my mom. I don’t know what triggered it, but I had a breakdown tonight, just thinking that “So that’s what life has in store for me if I live that long?” I want know part of it. I was looking up states where it’s legal for assisted suicide and I believe that’s what I want to do. I’ll sign whatever papers I need to in order for someone somewhere to take me out of this world if I can’t do it on my own.

I don’t want to be trapped inside my own body that’s no longer working. I don’t want to be trapped inside my own mind half the time already. I mentally shut down tonight and could do nothing but let the tears flow. I guess I’m only human after all and I hate it. None of us are getting any younger. I try to ignore it and mask whatever pain I feel because of it with whatever drugs I have readily available, whether they’ve been prescribed to me or I’ve bought them from a friend or a friend of a friend.

I don’t know how normal people deal with life sucking so much, but I’ve found my way and it’s through substances; substances and sleep. I just want to drift off into darkness until the next day arrives and do it all over again. Is that what we all do? Does everyone just find ways of distracting themselves from the pain of reality and daily life? Do we all take whatever drug is thrown our way whether it’s pills, alcohol, sex, sleep, television, etc.? I even wonder about people who jump from airplanes and parachute and bungee jump. Are they just looking for some type of escape from the emptiness that consumes their lives?

How can we judge people who take drugs or drink when we’re all just looking for our own way to get by in life?