I don’t really recognize myself anymore.  I spoke to Dr. Saint this last week about my mood swings and serious suicidal ideation and he said that I need to give my pristiq some time to balance out.  That I might be experiencing a shifting cycle.  However, my downturns are far more extreme than they ever were without medication and I no longer have any manic boosts.  Just misery and dysphoria.  Mediated by periods of neutrality.  I was never truly great at being a person but now I am utterly horrible.  I still do not have therapy.  I cannot cope with people who do not understand depression even slightly, worse still are people who claim to.  Beyond that are people who “have dealt with it” and throw some “tough love” on you.  Give you the “just get over it” or “be positive” routine… Like, do they not realize that this is what is most likely to cause someone in my position to kill myself?  I know that I am being sensitive right now and I am really doing my best to temper myself.  Though it is totally true.  The very last thing you want to do to anyone depressive, bipolar or unipolar or “regular” depressed is tell them to “toughen up” or “get over it”  or “suck it up”.  Fucking seriously.  You want me to toughen up?  How about shotgun in my mouth toughen up asshole? Is that tough enough for you?  How tough will you feel cleaning my brains off of your porch?  Fucker.

I had someone, actually I had the LAST someone do this to me recently and I felt the maximum amount of betrayal.  The very last person I cared about, other than my sister of course.  I’m still crying.  I don’t want to be.  I’m actually a very rugged and tough guy… I weigh a fair amount.  I would kill a man with my bare hands.  Yet… here I am crying because the very last person in my support network who much like my wife continued to stress that they understood depression.  Yet, they gave me the: “toughen up and get over it”.  Are you fucking kidding me?  I was very near in love with this woman.  She seemed like a damn dream.  I wanted to devote myself to her when I could get myself right and now?  Fuck that!  Why in hell would I support anything that would refuse to support me?  She started out so caring and understanding.  Then she just… I don’t know… Out of nowhere she just turned on me like I did something to her…

Maybe it has something to do with my dysphoric nature.  Maybe the perpetual negativity got to her.  I keep thinking about killing myself.  I don’t think I want to and I am fairly certain that it just the illness, maybe the meds are fucking with me.  But the fantasy is like an old comfortable friend and now that I have nothing else I can’t help it and the reality of it is getting more and more attractive.  Last week I pictured stabbing myself in the jugular multiple times throughout the week.  At one point I was holding a knife and I had to set it down because with manic fits of dysphoria one never knows when impulsivity will take it too far.  I think Not writing here has been a huge mistake.  I am totally aware that my problems sound like that of a teenage girl in a psyche ward and I sound like a total sissy but I don’t care.  It is way better than killing myself?  Maybe?  I am seriously beginning to doubt that.  What do i genuinely have to live for.  As a gifted individual I should be able to answer that question and I can’t.


Raging Disquiet.

I don’t really know any other way to put it. I am still on my meds however I don’t think they are doing what they are supposed to. I have been having really sharp downturns coupled with extreme and viscous suicidal ideation. Frankly I just don’t want to fucking live anymore and I really don’t care… I doubt I will carry out any kind of actual self-harm but I am currently feeling really shitty. I am on the verge of tears while writing this and there is no reason that I can think of to explain why. I hate my life. I hate everything about it. I hate everybody. I hate every person that I know. They are all either intentionally misunderstanding, willfully deluded idiots or they truly just do not give a fuck about me. Either way in this at least I have two things in common with them: I don’t care about me and I do not give a flying fuck about them. There is perhaps a single person on this planet that I love and I see her once every two years. She has just as many problems as I do so our relationship is strained at the best of times and honestly I see no way to make that any better. My sister is twice the person that I am, I just wish she could have some of my bullheaded, idiotic strength. With it she could be formidable. I can’t seem to get anywhere with it. I am a shambles as a human-being. I have nothing to offer anyone. I’ve been having vivid images of bleeding out from my neck in the shower. I am alone here. I have no love. I have no life. I have nothing to live for. What the fuck is the point?

There Are People


There are people.
There are people waiting for a bus.
There are people mired in self doubt.
There are people waving to their loved ones.
There are people giving advice.
There are people learning to cope with inadequacies.
There are people taking the train to Copenhagen.
There are people learning to ride a bicycle.
There are people who work two jobs and have two mortgages.
There are people adjusting to the emotional reaction of sexual activity.
There are people who take communication for granted.
There are people who have faith.
There are people who are making mistakes.
There are people who blame the government.
There are people who need more love.
There are people who are flying a kite.
There are people who forget which fork to use in the place setting.
There are people who use Verdana bold.
There are people who drink American beer.
There are people who waste time on things that don’t exist and spend none on those that do.
There are people who are late for work.
There are people with cancer.
There are people who laugh from their very soul.
There are people playing music all around you if you’ll only listen.
There are people stuck in traffic.
There are people desperately trying to save the lives of the impoverished, presumably so they can be miserable longer.
There are people who make food from dirt.
There are people who slide on sidewalks in the rain.
There are people who went to CBGB’s
There are people alone and lonely.
There are people in the great land of China.
There are people who have children accidentally on an overpopulated planet then fail to raise them.
There are people posing for pictures in pre-nuclear apocalyptic ignorance.
There are people.