after christmas, on the 26th, we went to target and apparently so did everyone else.

just thought it was pretty.

my cat always looks at me like he hates me.

then lies on me like this.

or on mom’s face, like this.

the shrink’s office where i get my brain fixed.

downtown washington’s graffiti is less about art and more about statements. i guess.

later that day. joe really wanted a beer. guinness specifically, but no bars that served them were open.

one of the shirts i bought from shirt.woot. wearing it right now, actually.

bunnies!

so my mom teaches this program where if the kids meet their goal, they get to go up in a small personal aircraft with a pilot, and actually take control of the plane for 20-30 minutes. one of the pilots invited mom to fly, and i went with her.

wal-mart from the air.

this is our town’s new highway to nowhere.

whichard’s beach, where the river splits to the pamlico on the left, chocowinity bay on the right.

chocowinity bay.

cypress landing. upscale homes on chocowinity bay. mom used to sell land here.

the river. chocowinity bay is up in the upper right.

my house!

more of my house/neighborhood.

this is joe’s house.

mom took control of the plane for all of 10 seconds - it was apparently too bumpy for her tastes.

lastly, layla playing with our new wii fit board.

and that’s it for this round. december to april.

beginning of february, i had a nice little breakdown to the point where i’m back on antidepressants and anti-anxiety medicine. every morning i have a routine.

08:00 wake up
08:10 take a xanax
08:20 eat a poptart
12:00 finish work, stoned
12:05 make lunch
12:30 sit on couch
22:45 get off couch
23:00 get in bed
23:30 turn off chelsea lately
23:45 sleep

and this is how it’s been since mid february. my job fucking sucks, but i’m in no position educationally or professionally to get a better job, and even if i was, what job could i get out there now?

i have suicidal friends who i beg to visit the doctor. i’ve felt it myself, especially lately, but i have to believe in the medication. i have to believe that i will get better because the alternative is no alternative. it is weakness, and i refuse. i may think it, i will never do it. though many times i have considered my cigarette smoking a slow suicide that’s not a sin.

in my state, anything is better: i see my job now, and anything is better. it’s what happens to me every two to three years ranging back.. ten years now. dropped out of school, got a ged, started college classes at a community college. couldn’t take that. moved to charlotte to get a job. got a job. couldn’t take that, went to community college in charlotte. couldn’t take that, moved back to washington and got a job. couldn’t take that, attended university of phoenix. another breakdown, floated around, got a job.

and here i am. ten years later and i am still here. i am existing, surely, and i have thought about suicide, surely, but my family seems to think that i have never been truly cured of anxiety/depression. my on again off again zoloft was either enough to keep me stable but not happy. i’d become happy and not see the need for the medicine anymore. so i’d stop. and i’d still be okay. but eventually, eventually, i’d come back down with some news or event that would break me in two. normal people would be able to handle this. it would suck, but they would work through it, they would deal. but the same event would leave me a wreck of a man.

i have a job. it is a job. i have to tell myself it is a job, not a career. at one point, from october to february specifically, it was a great job. it was an easy job. i loved it. part of me still loves it now, i love helping people. but now with what they’ve done, how they’ve changed it, i will only see it as a way to get by. pay the bills, pays for health insurance but not enough for an office visit or prescription so i have to rely on family for that - but it pays the bills until i am better. until i can move on.

i have to see it as temporary. temporary. temporary.

the way i feel is temporary. temporary. temporary.

i wish i had a talent. drawing. i wish i could draw. i have friends that can and i’m envious of their ability. they shrug it off, but the ability to put pencil to paper and move it around in coherent lines is incredible. some say its work. some say it’s natural. i wish i had their talent. i wish i thought with my right brain. but outside of some photography, which i barely do anymore, i am left only. logical. strict. deductive. which is why i break down everything before i even start it and see the wrongs, see the horrible parts before i even try to see the good possibilities.

but i am not talented. i know computers. i know how to build them, i know how to work them, i don’t know it all, but that’s not a talent. that’s something anyone can do with trial and error. and it’s not a talent. and i have no talent.

i’m tired. i’m so, so tired. tired of being alone. tired of being nobody. tired of being mediocre. tired of being scared.

i’m tired of being scared of everything. so i have to believe. i pray to god nightly. i pray to god in normal prayers before i sleep, and i pray to god for strength to make it through the day. i pray that something will change. something will help me change.

something like that.

click it, thumbnails are gay. that’s the damn MOON.

edit: i didn’t get any more of it cos i just noticed, my camera wasn’t ready, and it was cold as fuck outside. GET OFF MY BACK.

somehow, i had been transported back in time to when my family lived in richmond. back to when my mom and dad were still together, katy hadn’t gone off to college. i’d say i was middle school. part of me has always wanted, no, pined to go back and try and fix my life from there, stay and graduate from james river, go to college, do the normal life thing. and there in my dream, i had the ability.

but i was miserable.

in my dream, i was miserable, i wandered around the house, looking at all these things, with the knowledge of what happens, with the knowledge of being 26, and i couldn’t stand it. i’d look at my twin beds in my room, the desk i never used, my closet, and it was terrifying. i knew i had a chance to change it, but if i did, i’d never know my life the way it is now, with the friends i have now, joe, paul, mark, sure i knew them around middle school, but our friendship was nowhere as close. by then they were in gastonia, i think, anyway.

and dad was there. don’t get me wrong, i love my dad, i do, but let me give you an example from back in the real world: when i moved to charlotte to live with him, mom and katy came to help me move in. that night, we all went out to dinner, all of us. and sat in the same booth. like it was before they divorced. and the look, and the feel of it was so alien and strange to me, that i had to excuse myself to go outside and take myself out of the situation.

in the dream, i took the opportunity to tell mom which companies to invest in, google, for one, and that i would come up with more when they came to me, but beyond that, what could i possibly do to fix my life from there? aside from gaming time travel to get rich, or finding a way to keep myself in school then, what would be the point?

and i woke up, feeling miserable, just as miserable as i was in the dream. so, as it turns out, my dreams are more revealing than anything. what you crave might not always be what you end up wanting.

i still feel terrible. today’s gonna be a shitty day.