some dirty lesbian told me to update my blog, so here we go.

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.