Out of the Wilderness.

Hello again.  I’ve been preoccupied and distracted.  Busy.  I wish I could tell you that my life was improving.  Well, on paper it is… I’m going back to college and I’m doing okay.  Alas, on the psychosocial front I am dissolving.  It has been a foray into the wilderness of humanity.  Dating unsuccessfully, meeting loads of new people and not making any friends.  I have been chemically prevented from anything like serious disdain or regret but lately… I’ve been more circumspect.  As I think about my experiences I am reminded of “As Good As It Gets” with Jack Nicholson.  Wherein his character, who has psychosocial issues comes to the realization that maybe “this is as good as it gets”.  The more I think about that, the less hopeful I become.

I feel lonely so I reach out.  It starts out fine.  Then a joke is told, usually followed by some confusion or misunderstanding and it all goes south rather quickly.  What was supposed to be funny becomes a serious discussion and then degenerates into an argument.  You can’t say anything nice about yourself without people getting extremely precious about it.  Whether it is true and you are simply stating a virtue or it is a joke and you don’t actually mean it at all.  It just turns into a tragedy and every bit of hope that you had for having a nice easy happy social life goes completely to shit.

I like people less and less.  I like myself less and less.  I become introspective about the entire thing and the suicidal ideation that hasn’t been a part of my life for so long starts creeping back in.  COmpletely welcomed like an old friend.  Why bother?  You try to be nice, it starts a fight, you try to be defensive and keep people at arm’s length and it becomes an argument.  Dating is a mixed bag of solipsistic and shallow women and meaningless encounters that range from indifference to casual sex.  Nothing lasting or progressive.  I’m an odd virus in a petri dish.  Nothing else can exist in this space without corruption by or with me.  I either devour it, or it is so hallow that I simply spread right through it, obliterate it completely.

So, without love… Without support or close ties, friendships or lovers, what exactly is the point?  If this is as good as it gets, why carry on?  I cannot be cured, I cannot live a healthy balanced and normal productive life, so why live?  I’m not feeling sorry for myself.  I genuinely want to know.  How can I find meaning in this wilderness.  What is my purpose?  To continually attempt to have a better life that I am utterly incapable of maintaining, only to fail repeatedly and simply be frustrated…?

I don’t want that.  Every single street has a one way sign…

The Bitter Poisonous End

So everyone is clear on the definition of love, love is when two people see everything about the other, the nasty parts as well as the good parts and instead of running the other way they think, we can work with one another on those nasty parts.  We can work together to sort those out and in so doing we can become one whole perfect unit.  This only works if both parties consistently show up and get to work.

The woman with whom I was most recently involved, Kali was my soulmate.  We saw one another for exactly what we both were.  Both flawed, both bipolar.  It was a beautiful union.  I am still very in love with her, I always will be.  She is physically, intellectually and socially perfect for me in every way.  Emotionally she is so damaged that she can’t allow herself to be loved properly.

Before the Christmas holidays of 2015 she would send me cute messages of her own volition, send me pictures, cute and sexy.  She would tell me how handsome I was and how excited she was to see me, how much she missed me and couldn’t wait to see me and talk to me.  During the holidays I had difficulty making contact with her though I dismissed this with her excuses that the holidays are a busy time.  She texted rarely with apologies and maybe a picture.  Perhaps a promise that she would try to call later.

She returned after two weeks of this and I thought okay, things will get back to normal.  She loves me so much she will try to call me on the phone just to hear my voice.  She will still send me pictures everyday.  Without me having to text her first she will surprise me with texts just to tell me how great I am and how much she loves me.  This might have happened about three times tops.  I started putting in all of the work.  She would reply positively, but fewer pictures if any and no uninitiated texts at all.

At this point it is very evident that you are clearly and totally not on someones mind.  She claimed to be upset and depressed which I accepted and was concerned about alas, there is only so much anyone can do through texts to legitimately help in these situations.  So I began to probe around the idea that she call me.  After our phone calls she always felt so much better for having heard my voice and knowing that she wasn’t alone.  I would say sweet and wonderful things with a voice and tone that she normally loved and it would all be a little better at least.  Except she now resisted this.  Despite admitting that this might help she flat out did not accept taking any part in trying to make it actually happen in any way.  FUCK NO, was she going to try to do this even in the slightest.

Her love for me was dying, obviously.  When a woman’s heart goes it’s gone.  This I have learned.  You can do nothing to prevent it, though you try like a desperate fool in vain because as a man, you are bound to fight for a love you have in so short a time learned not to live without.  Women truly do not need men.  Men desperately need women.  So I fought, which only made matters worse.  I tried all the soothing things I possibly could and made myself a door mat for her.  This obviously didn’t work.  Why would it?  Why would having an attractive, capable, kind, loving, caring, intelligent, thoughtful, considerate, sexually perfect for you and completely smitten man at your disposal please you?  It wouldn’t.

I tried all the nice things I could and then I challenged her.  I started being a little bit vicious on those points that I knew that she was being weak.  Which, rather than motivating her only made her flat-out hate me.  I have always suspected that there are things that she has withheld from me, not outright lies per se, more like lies of omission.  I challenged her on this which upset her worse.  I challenged her on her unwillingness and fear to put her foot down and take control of her own life in the face of her oppressor, calling her a coward in the process.  I feel terrible about this though the goal was to motivate her to actually DO ANYTHING about it she only decided to turn it back on me as rage and hatred.

None of the above matters.  Not a bit.  There are really only a few points that actually matter.  She stopped loving me some time around Christmas and I have been fighting desperately for us, but seeing as I am the only one fighting there really is no us.

I don’t blame her for not loving me, I blame her for continuing to say the words, for claiming still that she loves me when it is plain to see that through her actions and behaviour there is no love left in her.  She is only herself with no space nor interest in anyone else.  I feel sorry for her.  I genuinely pity the fuck out of her because from here in her life she will have to find someone else who isn’t nearly as good as me or stay with the clown she lives with who is abusive.  Who she also shares no love with.  She had a perfectly good lily pad to leap to and instead she shat all over it and is now totally uncertain of her future.  All she had to do was keep loving the man who loves her more than life itself.

You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink as they say.  I can’t make her love me and I can see that she clearly has no intention of pretending even for her own sake, which is actually for the best.  I don’t want to get suckered into it now.  The good news is now I am fully aware and free to move on.  No guilt and no urge to turn back.  She had her chance, if she were to have a change in heart now I know that I couldn’t possibly trust it after months of neglect.  It really bothers me though, that act of burning a bridge while you are standing on it… Her love was so great and wonderful while it lasted, I was certain we would be together forever and then she just shot it in the face.  For no reason.  I’m going to have a Kali shaped hole in my heart for the rest of my life over a few months that were mostly unrequited… It’s a horrible monstrosity. A tragedy.  Part of me wants to die and another just desperately hopes I can find anything like her anywhere else…

Dead Inside

My emotions have taken a beating in the last little while.  The woman I love has become an uncertainty in my life and this simply destroys me.  I genuinely love her.  More than anything.  I want nothing else in this world than to be with her always.  Yet, after months of receding texts and pictures, no visits nor phone calls of any kind… she seems to have turtled completely.

I’m not saying that it’s over, but it doesn’t look good and I am distraught.  I don’t have what it takes right now to deal with something like this.  I don’t know if I will recover from this.  I don’t know if after all of this neglect I will be able to see her the same.  I feel like you can’t care about someone and treat them this way.  So, this is causing me harm.  It is doing damage.  Damage from which I’m afraid there is no healing.

I don’t want the woman of my dreams to become something I resent because she has totally failed to provide me with any kind of relationship.  I don’t want to look at her as selfish and cruel.  I don’t want these to be the surviving traits that come through this storm.  Because if they are then there was no sense in weathering it to begin with.  I want to girl who genuinely thought about me.  I want the girl who loves my everything.  Who sends me cute pictures.  Who doesn’t withhold things from me or flat out lie to me.  Alas, this woman is slowly disappearing and I am left with nothing but the dream of her.

I have been very depressed and I think she has been as well.  Yet this is no excuse to treat one another poorly.  I am always kind to her, I always think of her.  She never thinks of me, never texts unless I have first.  I feel more and more that this relationship is one sided and as I do despite the love that I feel I am angry.  Not so much with her but myself because I know I deserve better.  She wanted me because I was so considerate, yet totally fails to earn that.  She takes me for granted and neglects me completely.

So.  I guess I have to pull the trigger on another one.  My heart really can’t take it.  I can’t help but feel like this was the goal all along.  I just wish she had been a better person about it and had simply let me go rather than waste my time, my hopes and emotions.  Now I’m going to be hurt for a good long while and I won’t be able to be with anyone.  At this point even if it could get better, if an improved version was offered I don’t know that I could take it… I love her more than anything but I doubt that it will get better and even if it was it will always go back to shitty.  Now that I know she genuinely doesn’t give a shit I will always know that.  It will always end up right back here.  So why fucking bother?

I don’t know why I do this to myself.  I meet women who seem so great and then they just abuse the shit out of my good nature.  Which is why I’m a total asshole most of the time because I don’t want anyone to get close like this and do shit like this to me.  To exploit my empathy and care and then just fucking ditch me.  I’ve gotten nothing from this relationship.  Nothing.  I can’t even get her to call me!!!  If you love someone this isn’t even a thought.  This isn’t something that you ever consider NOT doing.  So yeah, the more I write about how so totally fucking horribly shitty this whole fucked up deal has been for me, the more angry I get.  I don’t want to hate her completely so I have to stop writing.

The question is, when I go do I fucking torch the shit out of the bridge or not…?

 

Dark Side of the Moon.

I’ve made references to being on the “dark side of the moon” in the past.  It comes full circle.  For me it almost always does.  It is a place only the mentally infirm will know.  I know many do not view bipolar as “insanity” in the traditional sense.  Talking to ourselves, being paranoid or distrustful.  Making delusion assertions or hysteria.  No, for the most part we bipolar types fly under the radar.  We are primarily acceptable.  Until we aren’t.  In those moments when we are not it isn’t evident that we are suffering from an illness.  I’ve said things of this nature in the past but I will reiterate: our mood disorder and the behaviours that accompany it are attributed by onlookers as personality traits.  Even when they are aware of your disorder.  Sometimes they become hostile especially because of it.  Like, don’t you know any better?  As though mid-episode you can snap out of it merely by focusing on the fact that it is happening…

Human beings are small.  Despite having the largest brains and being the most intelligent species we are on average super-stupid.  My estimated IQ is half again what is considered average.  This is no boast, it is actually a curse.  Things that are mundane to me are super challenging or do not even register for the average person.  Even in attempting to explain it to them in very carefully chosen, simplified language I still think that most of the time I am misunderstood.  People who believe that in marching for equality that property damage is in some way acceptable or will not in any way hinder or override their cause…  Protesting in general.  Pointless.  A show of force is only good for one thing.  War.  If you are not prepared to fight, the side that is will win.  People still do not get this.  I digress.

Between ignorance, emotions and plain stupidity I find myself in a very unique place.  A kind of loneliness that few will ever comprehend.  For unless you have a mood disorder or have dealt with one long enough to truly understand it, are of above average intelligence and will not take anything I say as an immediate affront, you and I will probably not get along.  I know, it seems like I pity myself.  There are times where I do.  There are times where I miss being the center of attention.  I used to have hypomanic episodes that placed me in party mode and made me indispensable.  Now there is a part of me that no longer really tries because I recognize the value in my separation from everyone else.  Social media is still an issue…

Back to the Dark Side of the Moon.  This is the place that I reside.  Like many of my ilk.  I knew the song “Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd off of the album “Dark Side of the Moon” since before I could talk.  Only recently did it enter my thoughts due to my current mind state.  I went over the lyrics as I recalled them.  Sure enough it struck me… the song was about Syd Barrett.  It has themes of loss of sanity, well clearly the word “lunatic” is used frequently.  Moreover however is the lyric: “I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon” which is Roger Waters essentially admitting that he feels that sooner or later he is bound to join Barrett in his psychological state.

There we are, standing off the path, on the grass.  When everyone else is happily strolling along on the path as intended.  You find yourself playing music, yet the people in the band are all playing a different song than you are.  You are the odd one out, you don’t know the melody and no matter how you try to play along your song isn’t the same.  Like Syd Barrett you stand on stage with a band you’ve been playing with for years and mid song you find yourself launching into a completely different one.  Eventually you simply wander away.  You are no longer a member of any band.  You fade away and you find yourself alone.  On the dark side of the moon, as nobody hears from you in years.  Moreover, nobody is really looking for you all that hard.  You do not get invitations.  Christmas cards are a laughable concept.

So you dig a well.  You sit at the bottom.  You die inside.  The few voices that break through into this void you have created tell you not to give up.  You have no clue why.  If there was any need of you the phone would ring.  Isn’t it simply easier in the long run?  Just to fill the well with water?  Or concrete?

February is the worst thing that can possibly happen to me.

That Guy.

Now that I find myself in my mid to late thirties without the ability to procreate I am at ever growing odds with those of my peers that still do.  Especially women.  Women in their thirties who are pregnant or have very young children are far crazier than I have ever been (including while on recreational drugs) and will ever yet be.  They completely lose their sense of humour.  I happen to be completely against overpopulation as an aside and I have always been fairly vocal about this both in person with my friends and on social media.  Though, I do have a sense of humour about things and like to cobble together little jokes and memes on facebook about not having children.  About how it saves money and stress.  I’m that guy.

I know that for the most part the average person looks at me and probably thinks that I’m a freak.  That I am unusual.  That I am a man in his late thirties dating a twenty-two year old, living an apparent bachelor life while spending his money on designer luxury items.  I’ll tell you this:  It’s really nice not to have a bunch of cheap, broken shit covered in dirt and snot.  It’s nice to have sex with someone with no stretchmarks who is utterly obsessed with me.  There’s another thing, my girlfriend is five foot eleven and weighs a hundred and thirty pounds.  She’s a very slender girl but genetically so.  I found myself becoming bored with her and now I feel guilty because truthfully she is a total blessing.  For all intents and purposes my life is perfect.  Except it isn’t.

Back to the original point, baby crazy thirty-something women.  I would put this on a scale of somewhere between dysphoric dementia and schizophrenia, or a cocktail of the two.  Pregnant women, specifically in their thirties are completely unreasonable, somewhere past the bridezilla level of berzerk.  I’m talking about women that I have known for a long time, that I have history with.  Women that I have trusted, who have trusted me (even though I was unusual).  So it comes as kind of a blow when interacting as per usual with them and joking as we would when suddenly things take a dramatic turn for the fucking psychotic and I wind up in never talking to you ever again territory.  I’m not totally surprised, hormones and such.  I just wish that this was a recognised thing.  I’m okay with never talking to them again as well.  If you can’t reign it in long enough not to make permanent decisions while you are on a constant PMS cycle I think never talking to you again is just peachy.

Back to how I’m that guy.  How my life should be perfect but isn’t.  I see my girlfriend only on the weekends because I live out in the middle of nowhere, which is where she originally is from.  Except she lives in the nearest major center for work which is two hours away.  Not that big a deal but not worth a daily commute.  I live with three other guys which would be alright seeing as we pay very little to live here except the original signer has his wife here on certain weekends and if I have sex in the house at those times she hears it.  Upon hearing this she freaks out and needs to drive back to her house which is also in the nearest major center… No joke.  At midnight, rather than knock on the door and say: “Hey, we can hear you.”  She makes her husband drive her two hours away without saying a word to me.  We are adults for fucks sake.  I pay rent for a room in a house.  A room that has walls and a door.  If you hear sex, either ignore it, turn on some light music or honestly just go fuck yourself because I really don’t care.  The rent is paid.  The young guy above me fucks in his room and I don’t complain.  If you are this sensitive I think that you probably shouldn’t be married.

I’ve always been a passionate person.  I’m not simply talking about love-making here.  I am talking about the things in which I believe and those things I defend.  The causes for which I fight.  There are times when I rant and go into diatribes, kick up a fuss over things.  I do this because I care about these things.  It makes me sad that people don’t see it this way.  They only see anger and vitriol.  What they don’t realize is that the worst place to be is failing miserably when the people who care the most are silent.  Because when the people who care for you are silent they have given up on you.  When I am ranting about women’s rights or marriage equality it’s because I haven’t given up.  I am a friend and an ally.  Yet I think that people genuinely just see the frustration and assume that I’m an angry asshole.  Which sometimes might actually be true.  Worse still is the glaring silence I receive from everyone else.  Good thing the medication works or I would be dead.  Guaranteed.

More toward ranting, I noticed that I am so in the habit of attaching myself to negative thoughts about things that I dislike that I won’t allow myself to stop.  I am perpetually bouncing from one subject to the other writing diatribes in my head.  Because of this and the way I function I am utterly cut off.  I am difficult to be around.  I am alone.  Some, maybe even most of the time I don’t care.  Except that when I do it matters more than anything in the world.  I have dug a moat around myself and made it impossible for anyone to be close to me.  Partially because I am so habitually negative from the former depression but also from the fear that they will discover that I am hollow.  This is somewhat revelatory for me.  Perhaps this is cliché?

I see the Internet exploding with ‪#‎semicolonproject‬ and at first it seems like a great idea. I would run out and get mine too except that it’s a little too much like eternally visibly branding yourself with a very detrimental psychological disorder. Which you might be trying to raise awareness for, though people are still going to be judgemental and distrustful of you. Especially seeing as you are saying out loud “at one time I very nearly killed myself”. That’s not really something one announces to people they don’t know.
I like the concept but I pity those who are putting it into practice. I commiserate, but this is a stigma magnet.  Seriously think it over before getting it done, you are turning an unidentified minority into a visible minority…

 

Alone.

So it ended yesterday. I won’t get into the why or how. I am only writing this for posterity. To lay out my feelings on the matter. It had come to a head last Friday and we had a blow up. After which we actually came to terms and things were nice. Our relationship was back to normal since then. I had missed it so much and I was very happy and looking forward to Christmas. I was very excited, giddy in fact. It was this state of capriciousness that lead ultimately to our downfall but I refuse to rake through the embers of that conflagration.

It ended yesterday and now I am left with nothing. No family. No Christmas. Nobody to share with. I will be alone throughout the holidays and in the back of my mind I will have vague plans of going places and doing things but I know that I won’t. I will sit here and play video games to distract myself and nobody will call me. Because nobody cares. You will think that I am being dramatic here but I assure you that this is the truth. I might get a text or two, but no offers of company, no genuine concern nor humanity. Just the bare minimum offerings of standard empty greetings that people hand out mindlessly. The freebies. They are hollow and meaningless.

It hurts. It hurts me worse than anything. To have been lifted so high only to be dropped. Discarded. Forgotten. Just two days ago I was going to have a warm, loving, caring Christmas with people who like me. Now I literally have less than nothing. I had a woman that loved me, with children who liked me. Now I have an empty room and medication. I don’t even have fellow gamers to socialize with. I haven’t even managed that.

I was looking forward to Christmas very much since the last two with my wife were actually rather disappointing. I didn’t really know her family and they were friendly enough but I didn’t know them well enough to get anyone anything. This time I had people to get gifts for. People I liked to get gifts for who reciprocated. My wife did very little for me, such as she was… I was excited to have items under a tree to open! How magical, I haven’t had that feeling since I was a child. Now in one fell swoop it has all been taken away from me. Is this what the good things in life are? Just taunting nightmares designed to make all the evil and darkness around me worse in contrast? I fucking hate my life. I don’t mean that in a passive way. I mean it in a very aggressive way. I loathe existence. Fuck this shitty life. Nothing good is worth the effort I put into it. I try so hard only to find myself worse off than where I was before. Life is a series of ever hotter frying pans. I’m completely sick of it.

I feel so burned out. I love this woman more than anything and I would want her back but also, she has put me here. She has made me feel this. I don’t know anymore. She built me up only rob me of all of the good that I felt. Not that she orchestrated it. Not that she planned it, but it isn’t like she wouldn’t do it again. It isn’t as though she was on my side even a little. I tried desperately to explore every alternative solution to this and they were all equally shot down. So here I am. A bipolar depressed with abandonment issues because of his mother, alone on Christmas eve because of his (ex?)girlfriend.

A Second Date/Bonus Post

As the title would suggest I had my second rendez-vous with the woman I am now dating.  We have arranged for a third so that makes it officially a trend.  She is difficult to read and I am not entirely certain what her intentions of me are.  She has made it difficult for me to end both of these meetings with a kiss.  I can’t say as to why.  We met through a dating app, so she had seen pictures of me and selected me based on appearance and on this particular date admitted to finding me attractive.  I know that there is more to it than simply looks and I fathom that she is likely still feeling me out.  Yet, for the most part she hardly asks me questions.  It seems so unusual to me.  Again, she is more than happy to arrange to meet again for a later date, this time in swimwear as we will be engaging in paddle boarding.  Perhaps she is attempting to assess my physique?  I am in reasonably good shape especially given my age though I have one marginal issue…  I have a disproportionate abdominal muscle cluster.  I know… It sounds like I’m bragging and it would except that this ever so slightly makes it look as though I have a small potbelly.  Which I don’t.  It is pure muscle.  My friends tease me about it all the time, until I tell one of them to punch it and they nearly break their wrist.  My chest is a tad too small as well so this accentuates the appearance of this.  I refuse to do situps or core workouts and try desperately to work my upper body and chest as much as possible.  Ah well, I am not remotely obese and other than this slight thing I am a very attractive man.  All of my problems are in my skull…

Thus far from what I have learned of this woman I like her and she turns me on.  The entire time that I am with her my eyes scan her from head to toe and take in every little detail of her.  From the width of her chin and the way it’s recessed ever so slightly to her fine fingers.  She is very attractive though maybe not the most beautiful woman on the planet but she is ringing my every bell right now and it is quite frankly bothering me a little.  I keep thinking of the Weezer song “Why Bother?”  I feel like I am going to get myself worked up about her and it isn’t going to work out.  I want to warn you before you comment on this post that if you aren’t at least forty years of age and haven’t been through at least two marriages or a good twenty year successful relationship, or twenty plus relationships don’t offer me advice.  I know way the fuck more than you and I won’t be condescended to by children.  It’s patronizing and fucking annoying.  It is my biggest fucking pet peeve, I recently had a twenty five year old woman do this to me in public and I almost killed her.  No lady, no matter how much you think you’ve gotten around I definitely have more relationship experience than you, yes I might be bad at it, but you aren’t skilled yourself having just now gotten engaged.  You have no right to preach, shut your fucking pie hole.  End of.  I was instead polite and walked away for fear of being arrested.

Point is, I’m hypomanic and I overanalyze.  I know that it has the potential to ruin things.  It always has and always will.  I want this one, I like her.  Sometimes you just know and I want to know that she feels the same and I really don’t in her case.  I’m getting no readings off of her.  None, which is really strange but not definitive.  I’ve had a zero reading turn into a long term relationship before.  I’ve had an attempt to blow a woman off turn into a long term relationship before.  I’m not generally the hopeful sort but I think that my best bet on this one is to stay positive and ride it out.  See what happens.  I already have the feeling that I am going to be crushed if it doesn’t work out but fuck, if I’m in for a penny I’m in for a pound.  May as well go full hog and throw myself in completely at this point I have nothing to lose.

What follows is a post from many weeks ago that I wrote about half way and then for whatever reason never posted.  There are some things in here that I felt I wanted to share so I thought I would include it with this.  Enjoy.

Humble Offerings/Character Flaws:

I adore science fiction over fantasy because to me it is a place that we are yet to go.  It is still possible as opposed to simply a fluffy flight of the imagination.  Don’t take me wrong, I enjoy a fine departure from reality.  However, let us be perfectly reasonable, casting fireballs that launch from our bare hands isn’t likely to come to us by way of raw magic but rather technology and therefore science fiction will inspire minds to get us to that point.  Whereas fantasy is simply nonsense.  Beautiful nonsense, but silly gibberish all the same.  It is vacuous drivel that leads nowhere.  Science fiction has given us everything that we have today.  Cell phones, jets, rockets, satellites, helicopters, you name it.  Anything even remotely cool that you can think of technologically that exists science fiction described it first, perhaps only in some strange mutant, doppelganger version of what we have now but it did.  Fantasy describes things primarily that never were and more than likely will never be, which isn’t inspirational, it is disappointing and hope dashing.  Which is why I kind of dislike Disney.  Don’t get me wrong as a child I loved it and have warm memories of it.   It didn’t traumatize me to discover it was all a big sham.  Though, imagine a world where instead of hooking kids on imaginary garbage that never will be, we got them hooked on things they could yet help develop…

I liken myself in many regards to Data from Star Trek, The Next Generation.  Superior in many regards to most human beings, yet not really a real human.  I have skills that many will never develop nor care to.  Yet they can socialize comfortably in ways that I have serious problems with that are not readily obvious.  Now, obviously I am not superhuman like Data.  I mean, that character is vastly superior to me in so many ways, obviously.  I am not the same, I just feel similar in some regards.  Like how in some ways my emotions are not functional.  Though adversely, there are times when my emotions are far too intense (like in the episodes where they give him the emotion chip).   I guess what I mean is that I feel like an incomplete android.  I feel like I can relate to the struggle of looking around at humanoids in my proximity and having to construct my character and perpetually build upon myself based on their behaviours.

My medications have seemed to top out as it were.  Most of my old behaviours are back to some degree and I don’t feel particularly great.  Suicidal ideation has been sneaking back into my thoughts.  I recognize it so I can deal with it and I am in no threat so don’t worry.  However, I linger on the fantasy like an old familiar lover.  I don’t know why this is so comfortable for me, as well as so comforting.  Should it be?  I find myself anxious and fraught, tumultuous with racing thoughts and incapable of focusing on my writing.  When I finally do it feels like it comes out rough and lacks flow.  For my regular readers (I assume there are those who have visited here more than once, perhaps I am delusional) there must have been a few snippets here or there that you found enchanting to read.  Some prose here on my blog that was charming or had panache.  Not to sound arrogant (though I frequently do so to hell with it) but my literary writing is even more like that.  My blog is not what I would call stylish nor a fine example of my skills.  So what I mean by rough and lacks flow is that it begins to churn out as less perhaps even than blog style word making.  Not exactly the most pleasing to read, which of course can always be corrected later so long as the ideas are there.  It just takes the joy out of writing for me.  Then the racing thoughts wash away what I was trying to call to mind anyway and it doesn’t matter.

In addition to my conditions I have a particular living and working situation that I have mentioned before that exacerbates and possibly is of itself a depressive issue.  I live in a remote area for my job with little access to many things that I hold dear and enjoy, such as friends and family.  Very few of the things that I enjoy are present here.  I actually like the big city and I am in a deep woods, very rural situation out here.  I like having access to nice clothing stores.  This place doesn’t have an H&M for all my little staples and accessories… No Old Navy for men’s v-neck t-shirts…  No American Eagle for jeans that fit me (I have the proportions of a male model so I have to get teenager sizes, I know poor me right?!).  This is all really superficial shit, but I like being in the city.  Before I lost my therapists (rejected them for being substandard) I complained of lack of stimulus.  They suggested that if I wanted culture that the local symphony was playing at the theatre.  I’m sorry, I’ve seen a philharmonic live.  Seeing volunteer farmers play cello is about as exciting to me as watching them butcher cows.  Less actually.  The landscape out here is desolate to me, don’t get me wrong if you are the rural type and like all that Duck Dynasty, hillbilly, inbred nonsense, this place would probably be heaven.

Would the location matter?  My dark vision makes nearly every landscape look this way.