Regular Repetition of the Unrequited

These people.

These people, I see them all the time.

If not every day (which I do with most of them), then at least several times a week.

A lot of them I'd dearly love to be good friends with.

A lot, though most decidedly far from all.

I'm not sure if this is because they are deserving, because I don't have many friends in the area, have very few who share our quite specific interests and desires, because they are the people I see so frequently or simply because I've previously been accustomed to being so popular in an environment such as this.

Nonetheless, that desire for friendship is most unequivocally unrequited.

And, as I guess is normal with those who don't find their desire for friendship reciprocated, I'm unfortunately growing to quite despise them. That kind of spite that could so easily be uprooted and quashed in an instant if one iota of genuine friendship were demonstrated, but none ever is.

After so much time, a sensible individual would leave the unhappy environment and pursue pastures of a greener nature. But a depression such as mine is want for such masochism. Desirous of such quotidian, self-inflicted internal pain.

And so I return, while plethora alternative locations are available. A depression such as this is incapable of accepting that the acquisition of said individuals' friendship is an idiot's goal: Not only highly unlikely, but, though it be a possibility, an ill treasure to seek. A fool's gold, the alchemist's dross, an obviously august prize, undesirable to those with wit and health enough to see it.

I seem capable of setting their beauty. Either they are incapable of seeing mine or I have none.

Next Actions...

Have realised tonight that there are a few things I need to put down in words so that other people can read them and perhaps understand.

I've tried to explain some things before verbally but either my lack of eloquence or the our, often, shared inebriation has gotten the better of us.

If I put it down in writing I can refer others to it. They can read it the morning after. Sober. And if they doesn't get it the first time, read it again. Then ask me questions, and listen to my answers.

Only then can you criticise and/or doubt my view point. Only then do you have the right to do so ;)

A x

On Hitting Critical Mass

It's at times like this, right now, that I want to cut myself so badly. The emotions have built up for so long and I'm not sure how else to release them.

I've tried ignoring them. I've tried sorting them out. I've tried convincing myself of alternatives. I always do. It's all shit. I've not yet found a workable alternative.

It just builds up. And I'm at critical mass right now. Scarily soon after the last time in April. I'm sat here actually shaking right now, tingling, because I feel so full of unwanted emotions that I can't shake off. It needs to escape, it needs a release. I know that as soon as I let blood I'll feel that release, that calm, that knowledge that I'm still actually here, alive, and I'll fell better.

In all honesty I don't see the problem in cutting as long as it doesn't lead to suicide, which this obviously won't. Plus, fuck you, I like my scars - some people have tattoos, I have scars. And I think they look pretty. People always equate cutting with slashing your wrists and/or suicide which is only part of the reasoning, and only for some of people.

The only reason I try not to is because it upsets some people when they see new ones appear on my arms. I usually hide them until after the scabs go away but it's impractical to hide them for more than a week or two. And every now and then I cut my legs so it's easier to hide them but that doesn't provide the same release as my arms do. For some reason the closer proximity to my head triggers the release I require. As if it's more real.

They don't really care anyway. My various groups of friends (and what family I have) form a perfect example of social loafing - they all assume that I have closer friends that will be there for me. So they don't need to be. The result is that I'm always alone with no one to turn to when I'm feeling this way. And there are so many of those people who only 'care' when they notice something is out of place and when everything seems fine don't pay the slightest bit of attention. It doesn't work that way. It's not their fault, just the way things pan out.

I've written a longer post than intended because I thought I could defuse the urge to cut until later, or indeed not cut at all, by taking my mind off it. That has worked before. And I've tweeted my ass off tonight in a similar vain. But not this time. If I touch my arm, even a finger, I get a tingle because I'm ready to burst.

But frack it. To hell with the social norms that require me to hide the release I need. If I'm offered no other solution, accept the only one I have available to me. If that's the solution to the problem, however temporary, why not?

Nothing But Ambient Energy

Sometimes I sit in my local and people watch, sometimes I talk to friends or acquaintances or strangers, sometimes I ignore the people around me and indulge my virtual self in an environment of ambient noise, music and a good pint.

Today there are no friends around and the people are not interesting enough for me to glean any enjoyment from observing them. What is noticeable however, regardless of how dull their activities may be, is how much energy so many of them have. A quick scan of the room shows that those sat down are gesticulating in passionate conversation, those stood up are either moving to the music, visibly enjoying the beat, or just out and out dancing.

There is something very fulfilling about being in a room with such a crowd. As long as I can maintain a comfortable distance from them.

I feel the energy, the potential, the enthusiasm oozing out of them. It fills the room, the air. And I am more than happy to soak it up, to store it for later use. I see raw energy exuding from other patrons, merging into one communal and flowing into me. I drink deep and I feel better than after a large meal.

After a large meal you can feel bloated, full. But there is no upper bound on the amount of energy you can absorb. No limit on potential.

So I drink deep, smile and feel just that little happier than I did before.

The Anchor

Was in a pretty chirpy mood. I'd managed very well for a month by ignoring the difficult things I knew had to do eventually: two large bills and a third on the horizon, some unpleasant work to do, a couple of things I need to quit doing.

I'd kept myself happy by ignoring them and then this evening I check my email and reality is suddenly brought to the foreground once more. Dragging my mood down like an anchor. Damned reality. Which idiot would ever choose to live there =D

So there it is, these things need to be sorted, and sort them I will. As a result the next two months are probably not going to be pleasant. But as I've known from the outset, as soon as they are sorted, I'll be free of them. Damned procrastination... I'll be able to progress and leave them in the past, history allowed to gather dust. I've known this for 6 months but have suppressed the knowledge...

And as I was about to delve further into depression, a random song comes on which always makes me break into a broad smile. Unexpected as it was, I'll ride the happy feeling for as long as it lasts, just as I intend to ride the wave throughout the difficult period ahead of me.

=] x

The Potential Ladder

So, after feeling terribly depressed for well over a week and a tad depressed for over 6 weeks, I had an impromptu folk session and felt a jump, a spring in my step, and that was only an hour...

While there isn't much non-Irish folk music over here, I need to make a concerted effort to play it as much as possible... It made me feel happy... =]

Watch this space... x

A Hopefully Temporary Impass

For years I've been on a 'quest' (overly grandiose word but the first I could think of...) to better myself. Such a thing is thankfully common place among the more self aware. For years I've yearned to improve myself, have made mistakes and bad decisions and, while they were very painful, taught me that the path I'd chosen was the wrong one. I'd backtrack and better the instruction going forward.

This time, I'm a little lost... I've always found that expression a somewhat amusing - "a little lost" - how quaint, how very English to underplay the fact that you don't know where the hell you are. The truth of the fact is that you can be 'a little unsure of where you are' , definitely, but "lost" is ungradable in my opinion - you're either lost, or you're not... So, when I say that "I'm a little lost", what I suppose I mean is that I'm lost, just lost.

I can't see any way to backtrack, from what I can see from my limited viewpoint I can only go forward, but am either too unsure of, or too afraid of, the direction to follow it. Or simply too incompetent to do so...

I can't remember having been as depressed in my life. I can remember being depressed, yes, struggling to get out of bed until the sun has gone down, yes, rendered helpless by a little thing like just missing a bus or my bottle of coke fizzing up, yes, but it seems as though there was always *something* in my life at the time. Music, close friends, even alcohol and getting sh1tfaced every evening, a passion of some description, something. A lifeline, *something* to cling to. I see no such buoy at the moment. Or rather I could see adopting something as a lifeline but am filled with too much apathy to engage it. So I plod on.

I can only hope that this is a temporary because for all the emo-ness, I can't hack this much longer.

No, I'm not going to kill myself, lol, I'm not that far gone, or that stupid, or selfish. But every time I've come close to feeling like this for such a long time, I've done something stupid and/or life changing...