Monthly Archives: October 2004

O.K. not really, but it’s not a good ideal to be trapped in a parking lots with thousands of them scrambling for parking in order to get in line to get a flu shot.
Anyway, just spending my time being depressed and stressed out at work. Business as usual for me. I should really think about making a work only journal. I thought that I had one before on Livejournal; I’ll have to look around.
Medication isn’t working, so I am going to double dose. Also got a prescription for sleeping pills, so now I have my chance to end it if I so choose. Yay! Hopefully, it’ll help me get some sleep.
Been beta testing World of Warcraft, def. a way to zone out of the world. Been reading, but not really into the reading. Michael Moore is kind of an asshole. Been looking at the Bible again on my bookshelf. I want to start reading it again, but maybe this time, I’ll skip the Old Testament and jump directly into the New Testament. That’s where all the salvation stuff is at, right?
Been thinking about why I even bother to keep this thing. I mean all I write about is how depressed I am. I don’t know, maybe I think that I’m going to get well and look back at this has a dark period of my life; make a Lifetime movie out of it or something.
Guess I need to get back to this mess at work…

If anything, I am getting worse than better. Went and saw my new psychologist on Thursday. Nothing accomplished except that I’ll be in group theropy starting Nov 3rd. Yay…or something like that. I have decided that I hate going to see psychologists. They just shell out the same things that I could have read in a book and for the questions that I want/need an answer too, they give me the, “only you can answer that” spiel. If I knew the answers, then I wouldn’t be in your office wasting your time and my money. I so want to give up on the theropy and move on to planning on ending my life; I feel like I would be more productive that way. However, I ave given myself a vague one year time line to see if this will really help me out, the theropy and drugs. Tuesday, I see my psycharitist and she’ll probably bump my doasage of Paxil since it’s not doing anything. If anything, it’s brought me back to the place I was at before I started theropy or worse. It is so hard for me to goto sleep at night, I toss and turn and have wierd dreams, I wake up early and yet it is almost impossible for me to get out of bed. Like today, I woke up at 7am, stayed in bed until 11am and had to roll myself off of the bed just to get out of it. And then I stayed on the floor for another hour before I was able to pick myself off of the floor. I have been late for work for the last two weeks, the only thing that has saved me is that I’ve had to work on the weekend. But since I didn’t this weekend (the painter canceled), I’ll have to say late at work all next week
The question that the docs love to ask me is “What is your definition of happy/happiness?” And I usually give them the smart ass answer of the sun is shinning, birds are landing on my finger and singing to me, flowers are in chourus; a typical Disney scene. But this is yet another one of those questions that I’m sitting on their chairs for waiting for them to answer for me. It’s been so long since I’ve truly been happy that I’m not even sure I know what happiness is. I guess that I have had moments of happiness; laughing at the Daily Show, leveling up on the Warcraft Beta, eating a Krispy Creme doughnut, sexual pleasure (Talk about another thing that is fucked up, thanks to the drugs that I’m taking, but this is already TMI and is probably due it’s own post…). But those seem like they are hollow or fake happiness. That kind of happiness isn’t fulfilling. My soul isn’t happy; these happinesses don’t fulfiill my soul. I look back at the pictures that I am in with others, and I see that I’m smiling and happy. But was I really happy in those pictures; or was I just faking the happiness so that I wouldn’t bring others down and ruin the mood for everyone. I just don’t know anymore. The psych’s suggest that I pretend to be happy and just fake it. Yes, this is the best answer that a doctor with a degree can come up with; just fake it. Maybe they do have a point though. I’ll just fake the happiness and pretend to be happy while I hurt and cry on the inside. And I’ll just hold on to that pain and hold on to it tightly until it finally drives me mad and kills me. Well, I’ve already let it drive me mad, I just need it to finish the job.
Truly, the only time that I can clearly remember being happy is when I was with Suzanne. It’s those memories and thoughts that I hold on to. They are the basis of the fantasies that I have in the morning and the dreams that lure me to sleep. It’s the ghost of her that tries to get me out of bed in the morning has I try to pukk her back into bed for 5 more minutes. It’s the ghost that I pull my arms over and spoon with at night. Is her ghost the reason that I’m still living, or am I still living because of her ghost?
**sigh** From one twisted circle to another. I wanted to break one downward cycle and just ended up in another downward cycle. I assume that most of my friends have turned their back on me and have washed their hands clean of me. And the ones that still try to reach out to me, I continue to push away, and I don’t know why. I do know why, because I feel that getting over my depression is something that I have to do by myself. And so I break my promises to my friends and refuse their offers of help and support. But I know that they can’t help me, or I assume that they can’t help me. But really, they can’t help me. Whose going to take time out of their lives to do it? Who’s going to drive down, pick me up, dry my tears, dust me off, and help me to my feet. No one, that’s who. I’ve had 30 years to learn how to pick myself up, and now it’s sink or swim time. Except, I’m like some kind of rubber ball, just floating on the surface, not really swimming or sinking.
No, all I can do is lock myself in my room and aimlessly surf the net, aimlessly watch TV, aimlessly read, aimlessly play games, aimlessly sleep. I’ve thought about aimlessly becoming an alcoholic or drug addict. It would help me on my way to killing myself if I did it right. And since the dreprssion drugs have shot my alcohol tolerance to hell, I could be a cheap drunk. I’m not sure if I could afford to be a coke head, but I think that meth and crack are cheap. If nothing else, I could be a pot head. Like Dave says,”The day is gone; I’m on my back, staring up at the ceiling. I take a drink, sit back, relax, smoke my mind; make me feel better for a small time…”

My family is dying, I’ve pushed all my friends away, and my love has left. Does that mean that I have nothing then?

I HATE the fact that I’m starting to relate to an Avril Lavigne song.

My Happy Ending
So much for my happy ending
Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh…
Let’s talk this over
It’s not like we’re dead
Was it something I did?
Was it something You said?
Don’t leave me hanging
In a city so dead
Held up so high
On such a breakable thread
You were all the things I thought I knew
And I thought we could be
[Chorus:]
You were everything, everything that I wanted
We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it
And all of the memories, so close to me, just fade away
All this time you were pretending
So much for my happy ending
Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh…
You’ve got your dumb friends
I know what they say
They tell you I’m difficult
But so are they
But they don’t know me
Do they even know you?
All the things you hide from me
All the shit that you do
You were all the things I thought I knew
And I thought we could be
[Chorus]
It’s nice to know that you were there
Thanks for acting like you cared
And making me feel like I was the only one
It’s nice to know we had it all
Thanks for watching as I fall
And letting me know we were done
[Chorus x2]
[x2]
Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh…
So much for my happy ending
Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh…

Didn’t remember too much of last night’s dream. I just remember it was a work dream. I got a message from Brian about some things that he wanted me to look into. And then, I think we were discussing Danny’s work performance. That’s all I really remember.
I just cannot get a good night’s sleep anymore. I am always tired and always have a hard time getting to sleep at night and getting up in the morning. I would do the Hutch foolproof way of going to sleep (jack-off has quick has you can and cum, then immediately jack-off again with out resting. Immediately after your done the second time, you should pass out) except my sex drive is absolutely zero. Going to ask for sleeping pills, but I don’t see the psychiatrist until next week.
O.K., I’ve taken my hour lunch/breaks, I should get back to work, or at least move around in front of the camreas so it looks like I’m working.

Saw this comic and instantly thought about Suzanne and her cats

Ok, so I’m in my room doing something on my computer, and there is all of this noise outside. So I go out and there are all these people waking up from their sleeping bags on the floor. So me and this girl start cooking breakfast for everyone, eggs and pancakes. Lesa and Kurt are there at different ends of the table. Kurt is telling a story about us (I think it was the Joe under the bed/Vacaville chase story). He can’t see me in the kitchen, and I’m pulling out knives and showing them to Lesa, trying to decide which one we are going to throw at Kurt. Anyway, breakfast is done and me and this raver girl start serving. There is this scroeboard in the corner with a list of all the acts at Cyberfest and their ranking. BT got a bad ranking, but I was still gushing over him. So the ravers start to wake up and eat breakfast and are getting louder and louder. I try to quiet them down because my parents are still sleeping. But they continue to get loud and finnaly, I get fed up and start kicking them out. I goto my rrom and look in my closet and kick out two stoners toking up there. And then I go into my parents room and sneak the partiers out of that room. There was some wierd scheme involving covering them with pillows and blankets and having them form a train and choo-choo themselves out while my dad telling my mom that she is dreaming (My parents were white BTW). So I finally get everyone out and start cleaning the kitchen when my dad (black now) comes in exhausted looking because of the ravers and ask me if I want a drink. I say it’s a little early, but sure. So he grabs a strawberry malt liquer bottle and mixes it with milk, while I drink a shot of it straight. The funny thing is that my brother is there and he is legal to drink, but we just pass right over him.
Then I woke up. I really need to make a dream category…

So here I am at work once again on a Sat. What a dedicated worker I am. What an inspiration I am to my fellow employees; so self-sacrificing; giving one for the team.
Yeah, whatever…
Of course, I realize that the only reason that I am here is because I have nothing else to do with my life. O.K., scratch that. I am to scared/chicken-shit/depressed/looser to do anything with my life other than hide out in my room and away from society.
To be honest, I truly thought that I could beat whatever was wrong with me. Back in Feb/Mar, I thought that if I pushed away everything around me and just buckle down and focus, that I would be able to straighten everything out and figured out just before my birthday. Very delusional of me….
Hmmmm. This post was originally going to be about what I was thankful for. A somewhat happier post. Maybe later on in the day, I might be a little happier. I guess I should get some work done.

Really, I should be putting all of these dream entries in their own category, or use my Dreamjournal. Anyway…
Last night’s dream was a three part sequence. The first part was a conversation with Suzanne and I. Somehow Suzanne and I had found each other in “dream land” and I was telling her about what was going on with me for the past year. From the Ren Faire last October and my promise to Judy that I wouldn’t see Suzanne again to what happened at the Dickens Faire, the After New Years Eve fiasco in Sacramento, Valentines Day and my eventual breakdown, Tim’s wedding, and me going into theropy. Basicly, I told her how my life had broken down since we broke up (still hard to type that). So I’m telling her all of this, but I’m also holding back the rest of my dreams and thoughts by creating a kind of psychic bubble around us so I can focus on talking to her and not loosing her into the dreams/thoughts that are swirling around us. Eventually, the strain is too much and the bubble collapses and she goes away.
The second part is that I’m in my room, but it is a different room in a different house. There are two doors in my bedroom and it is a two story house. So I am getting ready to go out and I hit the dining room table on the way out. This sheet falls from the table and it was covering these newspapers. On the front cover of these newspapers are pictures and articles of Suzanne. One is of her at the Ren Faire, one is her playing softball. Another one is of her whole family with a picture of their house, that has been completely remodeled and is selling for $1 million dollars. But the biggest one is a picture of her and how she was in an accident. I don’t remember how she was injured, either by being run down or shot. She did survive and she was O.K. though. However, I get really upset that Barbara hid these newspapers from me. So I go up to my room and lock the doors and hid under the cover in my bed. The locks on the doors don’t wok that well and my roommate Mark comes barging in. I start throwing things at him and run him out of my room. Then I start barricading the doors with my dressers and my bookcases. I overheard Mark and Barbara talking outside, with Mark telling Barbara that I had snapped or something. So Barbara tried opening the door to talk to me (there was a hole in one of the doors where she could reach in and unlock the door. But the dresser was too heavy for her to move. And I started screaming at her, about how she hid the newspapers about Suzanne from me and why did she have them in the first place (Barbara has bad eyesight and doesn’t read the newspaper). She was trying to explain to me but I kept on yelling at her and told her that she just needed to mind her own business and leave me alone. Then my blanket started to move and Nutmeg, one of Barbara’s cats crawled out. She was agitated, but she let me pet her and stayed in the room.
Now the dream gets weird, because my parents came into the room and talked to me and calmed me down. I don’t remember what they said to me. Then I opened one of the doors and with some boxes, created a way to get to my other room on the next floor. I just remember that this room was darker than my first room, but had a window in it.
The last dream was the wierdest of all. I just remember bits and pieces of it, but I was at some kind of sports event, then it turned into a bridal parade. I was like the best man…actually I was the maid of honor because I was defending the bride against the best man for the groom. I just remember that I had some kind of polearm and me and the best man were poking each other and pissing each other off and that I really didn’t want the bride to marry the groom. Then I woke up.