Ok, so I need to express my emoness

If only for a little bit tonight.

I feel like my life has very little meaning right now. Nothing is playing into some great plan, some master scheme. Sure, I'm saving money for a big trip, which I guess is a grand plan. But I get very little fufillment out of it. At least I got some fufillment from school, I got regular days off, and I was learning how to live life, and how to prepare for college. Now? I don't know.

I feel very adrift, might be a better way of putting it. Not grounded at all. What I spend the vast majority of my time doing is very incidental to my life as a whole. I do nothing but work these days, and yet I could care less about my work. I cared about school, about my social life, hell, about my computer games. I don't care one bit about my jobs. I just want to get their money and go. In two or three months I'm gone. Bouncing around from one thing to the next, trying hard to keep myself busy in order to forget, I having nothing that matters to me in my life.

I would give the world to go back to the Ned Lamont campaign, though that's a whole post and a half in itself. At least there I went to bed at night knowing I had done something that day. Today, I go to bed longing for Shayne, for the past. Occasionally for Europe or Asia. But never feeling satisfied from a good day's work.

I wish I could do something about this. I wish I knew how to begin to do something like this. Maybe try to find meaning in what I do? I tried, but my coworkers' cynical attitude has ruined that for me.

I just want to get better. I wish I had the help for me to do so.

On my way to the White House

You know, alot of shitty shit went down this year, but at least I can say this: I'm glad I quit the Edwards campaign. I went up to NH today to volunteer, and while it was fun, and while I'm glad I did it (if only to fulfill the promise I made to my co-workers that I'd be back), I would have hated staying there. It's mind numbing work, tiring, dull, with little compensation and little moral reward until the very end. There's high expectations, and you work for months with no evidence of your labors until the very end. Even then, most of the time all your work ends up for naught.

Man that campaign fucked me over. When I got back I felt like I would never have a job as enjoyable as the Ned Lamont campaign, like that was the highlight of my life. I still believe that to a certain extent, but at least now I know that there are tolerable jobs out there. The campaign was Shayne's final straw, it put me behind in my savings, it drained me of cheer, of my political excitement, of two months of my life.

Hitting the pavement was initially exciting, but quickly became tiring and dull. Nobody was home, though those that were were quite friendly. I doubt I convinced anyone, though I did pass out a few policy booklets.

One lady in particular was hilariously bitchy. I ring her doorbell, and no answer. I know she's there, because I had seen a Hillary staffer put a flyer in her door which was now gone, and her car was in the driveway. I looked through the window, and I see her literally peeking around the refrigerator at me, almost frightened. When she realized I was looking at her, she quickly scurried behind the refrigerator. I sighed, put a flyer in her door, and marked her as "Refused". My car was parked in front of her house, and once I was inside, ready to head back, she quickly opened the door, picked up the flyer, and brought it inside. Three seconds later she opened the door and tossed it out. Just threw it on her lawn! Apparently her trash isn't good enough for John Edwards.

All the paid staff there is dead tired. Nobody could muster up the energy to converse, it was just phones phones phones. Kate told me, "I just keep telling myself: Nine more days. Just nine more days." If I had broken up with Shayne to stay on the campaign, I would be kicking myself right now. So thank god.

So there you go. A non-emo post about what I did today. Didn't think it could happen? Neither did I, but there it is.

Random Acts of Sadness

The weirdest thing about being depressed is how suddenly it can take hold of you. Coming home from work today, I was fine. Not great, but not too bad. Just wanting to get home, mostly. Then I got in the car, started off, and this sinking black feeling just spread, from my heart, through my arteries and throughout my body. The corners of my mouth slid downwards. Vague notions of Shayne and longing went through my head, but only in the vaguest sense.

This is why my first psychiatrist failed. His whole approach was that I need to start thinking positively, that if I stopped thinking about how single I am and turned that into how liberated I am, then I'd stop being depressed. Except I don't have to think about anything at all. I can think wonderful thoughts, but I won't believe them. I can think very differently from how I feel.

But I digress. I thought about driving a screwdriver through my skull, and twisting and turning until I dropped. This all comes about uncontrollably, like a blast of cold air, or the shivers of a haunting song. And then slowly the cold recedes, and I begin to pay attention to what's on the radio, or think about going up to New Hampshire to volunteer. But during that time my thoughts are solely focused inwards. I can barely pay attention to the road ahead of me. It is an all-consuming thing. Mysterious, without reason.

I don't know how to make it go away except ever so briefly. I need to spend time with friends. I just want whatever is wrong with me to right itself, for something to 'click' and for me to feel better. Because I don't know how else it could happen. I'm clearly missing something. Give me answers! I miss Shayne.

Night.

PS - I really appreciated the comment a few nights ago. If anybody ever feels like writing a few sentences of encouragement, they really do make me smile. Please don't hesitate. Really.

Shrinkage

So I left my laptop at work yesterday, and was just a little too lazy to write a post on my desktop. It was odd, I had this sudden realization: "Oh my god, I didn't write tonight... jesus." I'm not sure how to put into words this feeling of sudden loss. I felt an attachment break. It was bizarre. I'm glad I'm writing tonight, though there isn't much to write about.

I don't think my shrink likes me very much. Ugh. I realize I'm fairly repetitive, and not exactly an interesting case, and I'm late all the time, but come on. You're being paid to fake it, at least.

He never has any real advice. Just that Shayne's something I'll get over, I'll feel better once I go on my trip, keep taking the pills, keep seeing him. In the beginning he was great, in a generalized way. He told me to find something I can take meaning from, that I put all my self worth into what the opposite sex thinks of me, instead of what I think of me. That because my parents haven't been in love since as long as I can remember, I have no real model relationship to see what two people in love do. I've had to take off of TV, where everything's perfect and romantic, and life isn't that way. He helped me see that I don't connect with my friends very well because I talk to my mom about everything, and so I don't know how to talk with guys about my problems, and as far as my female friends go, I worry about dumping too much on them. Only a girlfriend does the trick.

Great stuff, right? Well, this blog has been the only good thing he's suggested in the past few sessions. I'm really starting to wonder if he's just getting annoyed and bored with my lack of progress. I know I am.

I hope he reads this blog. Not necessarily this post, but all the others. Maybe he can think of a few good things to tell me, things that will actually help me see things in a new light, things that will help me move on.

Shayne will never forgive me for not listening to her about my depression. My refusing to take pills. My sticking with my first psychiatrist for two months, when his method wasn't working at all. I want this to work, but it's hard, because I don't know what good psychiatry is. Should I feel better? How soon? How much better can I expect? Should we be friends? Partners? Co-workers? What method works best for me? What should I talk about? Should I go from subject to subject, or explore in depth one particular subject? What does it mean to "explore" a subject? What is that supposed to do for me?

I don't know. I worry I'm just repeating the same mistakes from nine months ago.

Inferior Comebacks

Ok, so I'm actually going to try to tackle something today. Because I know a coworker of mine, Rui, might be reading this, this post is dedicated to him. He has inspired me to make this today's topic, and so the world shall revolve around him once more.

I'm a pussy. I'm a goddamn weak little pussy. I command zero respect from anyone. I have always failed in leadership positions because of this. People seem to think it's hilarious to make fun of me, and I've never really known why. Maybe it's because I don't fight back. I don't know, I've never been able to think on my feet like that. Many people (like Rui) enjoy going back and forth, topping each other's insults so that in the end both people end up feeling closer, laughing at eachother, knowing they've dealt as good as they got. Me, I've never been able to dish, only to awkwardly receive. Sometimes I don't know where the line is for people, and I'm afraid of crossing it. Other times, I'm just not in the mood to make fun of someone. Someone attacks me, and my reaction isn't to attack back, my reaction is first: What the hell? second: Fuck you, I'm just gonna get the hell outta here.

Maybe I am a bit effeminate. I don't know. I do know that in general, I feel unmanly way more than I feel manly. But I'm digressing slightly.

See, lets say someone decides to make fun of something awkward I said or did. Chances are good I realize that what just happened was embarrassing, and while you may think its all in good fun, I just want to get the hell past it. I've already kicked myself for doing the stupid thing, and you're just piling on. At the same time, you don't faze me at all, because chances are I've already thought the exact insult you just hurled.

So here's where it gets interesting. I just take it. I just sit there and say, yup, you're right, I'm a jackass, I'm a loser, I'm a pathetic single guy. Because while you may not mean it, I do. So I'll just sit there and say I'm sorry. God I hate that I say that so much. I'm sorry. But I don't know what else to say. I can't think of anything witty. I can't ignore it. If I try to say a comeback, chances are good I'll end up making a bigger fool of myself.

So I slowly get my self-esteem crushed. Or do I?

Is it the other way around? Is it my crushed self-esteem that leads to this? I think so. I think if I felt better about myself, people's words wouldn't affect me so much, and I'd be more willing to put myself out there and try to comeback. I wouldn't need to say I'm sorry so much, because I wouldn't feel like I did much of anything wrong. Right now there are times when my mere existence is something wrong that I want to apologize for. That wouldn't happen if I had more self-esteem.

So where did I get this idea that I'm so inferior to everybody? Why is it that everything I do needs apologizing for, that instead of fighting back I accept people's insults, even when made in jest? I wish I knew. I hate to say it started with Jackie's rejection, and actually come to think of it, while that greatly exacerbated things, this was a common thread throughout my life. I never hung out with the cooler kids. I have always felt inferior to others. There have always been people I've admired who have always been a whole universe away, people who's customs and traditions (like the whole comeback culture) seemed foreign and incomprehensible. In high school I never knew where the hung out, or what they did after school. In Jr. High and elementary school I barely talked to them, yet I wanted to be them. I know it's cliche, but it's true.

I think this is something I need to talk to my shrink about. I think this might be a bit much for the blog. I don't want to answer the question: Am I truly inferior? because I would probably have to say no, even if I feel otherwise. And I'm not sure how to start living my life acknowledging that fact. I know that I didn't feel inferior after Ned Lamont, and that I lost Shayne in large part because I slowly became meek and pathetic, slowly began to feel inferior.

So I guess the $64,000 question is: how do I go about not feeling so inferior? (BTW, I realize this is very close to asking how do I stop feeling depressed, but I almost feel like I can manage to stop feeling inferior, as opposed to just ending this depression.) (BTW, I think I've hit upon something very key to my depression, that it's all about a massive inferiority complex. The whole thing started when I got rejected from my top college choices, then had to listen to my friends talk about all the great colleges they got into while I had no idea what I was going to do, then Shayne and I started to unravel, then John Edwards went sour, then she broke up with me... it's all about feeling pathetic, a loser, inferior to others.)

The answer: I don't know. That's what I need to talk to my shrink about. Meds will help. But what I need to do is relearn how to assert myself. To stand up for myself. Instead of trying to sneak through each day, I need to seize each day.

I'm going to stop here. I've run out of real answers, at least ones I can express in words. I need to talk to my shrink about it. All I can say is that I've identified what aspect of my thought process is faulty, and I need to slowly change how I perceive myself, both individually and in comparison to others. It's a state of mind I need to achieve, and the first step is recognizing that I'm not inferior to others. Forget about feeling inferior because of Shayne for a bit, that's another subject to deal with that's just too difficult without alot of analysis. But as far as feeling inferior to everyone? You know, I used to worry alot about being too arrogant. Now I think I need to swing the other way. I went to a top notch prep school, I'm smart as hell, going to a great school next year, I've got a great computer repair gig, and yeah, my social life isn't great, but I have friends, and I just don't have time to see them much. I'm a damn hard worker, despite the fact that I call myself lazy all the time, and while this year may not have turned out how I wanted it to, I'm on track now and I'm gonna do some amazing things.

Like I said, I'll deal with the whole inferiority and women thing another time, but I need to begin to recognize that, while I'm not exactly pretty cool, I'm just fine, and there's nothing about others that makes them better than me. I do need to somehow integrate women into that, though. That'll be a major stumbling block otherwise.

I need to see my shrink soon.

Family

So I think I'll do something besides bitch about how tired I am when it's my own damn fault, or about how sad and lonely and pathetic and miserable I am.

I went down to see my cousins in Philly today. God damn they're a nice bunch. Loving, as always. Aunt Patty probably thinks I'm going to hell, (they're born-agains), but god damn do they love me. Nicest homophobes you'll ever meet. It was so refreshing to have a sense of family, if only for a few hours. I have my mom, and kind of my dad, but one of the things I loved about being with Shayne was how I became part of her family. I could go to her mom with problems, I was always welcome at her house.

And I was so jealous of her family. True, she was constantly stressed out because of one family issue or another, but she had literally dozens of people who loved her unconditionally, and would never intentionally harm her. I have one. I know, I know, some people out there have none, but damn if I feel like hearing the same damn advice over and over again just isn't quite enough. Shayne had this circle of people to rely on, and I felt so alone once she left me.

So today was refreshing, in that sense. Dad was a little distant and buisness-like, as he has been lately. I'd guess it's a combo of Pearl's influence and that he's probably a little hurt I haven't made time to see him lately, but whatever. Honestly, I don't think about him too much. What did bother me was all the travelling. I really wish, for once, I could sit down and rest. I was really looking forward to doing that yesterday. Instead, I had to spend two days getting up and going everywhere. I wish I could just relax. But nope, gotta keep on working so I can travel.

That's what I'm really missing - some kind of social support, people I trust who see me, who are there for me. Everybody I trust is away, it's hard. I need to spend three days with a friend, I need to spend a few weeks with buddies and family, I need to know I'm not alone. The digital age is nice, but it doesn't compensate for a good hug and a smile from your uncle.

Now, I know I made a promise, but I just have to let it out: Goddamn. This BLOWS. I feel so awful. Just a sinking feeling, an meek feeling, sadness and helplessness. I like the meditation idea, but I don't really know how to go about it. Why won't this go away? It's been months, nine since the start, three since Shayne, and yet it won't end, and the thought of not having Shayne still makes me feel awful. The only improvement has been my getting better at not thinking about her, and how I'm now earning money. Great. I still feel like shit. I hope my doctor can help. Oh, right, I'm not seeing him for weeks, and he doesn't like me.

Night. Here's to feeling rested tomorrow (I can't hope for feeling better).

Merry Christmas

Hey, just wanted to say either this blog doesn't have any readers or y'all are jackasses. Probably the former, but still.

I'm tired, I was woken up this morning because I had to go to NYC to have Christmas dinner with Dad. He's such a fucking annoyance. I love him to death, but he's very needy. He always wants me over, always wants to see me. I do too, but it's such a hassle. I resent the fact that I need to travel to see my own father. That I have to go down to NYC all the time, or else I'm a bad son. That instead of being able to enjoy a nice Christmas with my family, sit and relax on my one day off in weeks, I have to get up early to ensure (yet again) that I am on time, that I make my train, that I sleep in a different bed, that I'm away from home on Christmas. Not cool.

Ugh. I gave him a bottle of sake. I was holding it in my hands an hour ago. I wanted to break it and slash my wrists. Or drink it all. Or smash it over my head and knock myself out. I was having a good Christmas two or three hours ago. I don't know what happened. I watched the Simpsons Movie with Dad. I doubt that did it. He played some music that reminded me of Shayne. I don't know. All I know is that I loved her, she's gone, I'm trying to move on, create meaning where there is none, and only finding that I'm helpless.

I don't know exactly why this depression has taken hold of me, but I have no control over it, and it makes me want to do awful things. I'm not myself, and I don't know if I can ever get back to being the old me. I don't want to live like this, but I don't know what to do. The psychologist's was good for a bit, but now it's just the same old. I'm working, I'm depressed, I don't know what to do. He doesn't have any answers. We've talked about all the relevant issues. He thinks mourning Shayne is just a phase, something that will pass. As for the rest, well, I'm employed, and feeling good about my employment, so that's not it. I'm just insecure. I DON'T KNOW!!! I don't have the slightest clue why I'm sad, and this guy can't do a damn thing. The pills aren't working. I'm approaching the end of my rope, so to speak. I know I've said this before, but if this trip doesn't do something for me, I don't know what I'll do.


FUCK!!!!


Merry Christmas everybody. Seriously, let me know you're reading this if you are.

It's Not Really a Wonderful Life

First of all, Merry Christmas. I've stopped thinking anybody's out there, but just in case someone stumbles on this later on.

So every year we watch It's a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve, a great film. This time the ending hit me differently. Seeing old George Bailey, and how he's affected so many lives, and how when he's down on his luck, when he's not feeling great, people are there to help him out, it wasn't heartwarming. All I could think about was how now that I'm in a similar position, there's no one there for me. Sure, there are people who think I'm a nice guy, who don't want to see me suffer. But, and tell me if I'm wrong, there's no one there who honestly cares about me. Aside from my parents, there's no wife and kids to come home to, nobody I'd miss desperately if I was dead, nobody who's life would be particularly altered if I wasn't around. I've been so tangential to so many lives, it's pointless.

I cried when I got to bed tonight. Great heaving sobs of desperation and defeatism. Hopelessness. Despair.

If there's anybody reading this, drop me a line. Just to say Merry Christmas. I wouldn't mind talking about this stuff too, in fact I'd really appreciate it, but if you're not comfortable, just saying hey, read that post, just wanted to say Merry Christmas would mean a hell of a lot to me right now. Even if you're name is Shayne. I just need to know there's someone, anyone out there. I'm tearing up right now as I'm reading this. I'm pretty fucking lonely, and pretty fucked up, and I don't know how or why, or when it will end. Or what to do afterwards to ensure it doesn't come back.

Just drop me a line. (crying) I'm begging you, I just need a caring voice right now. Text, IM, facebook, phone, whatever. Please.

Merry Christmas.

Writer's Block (aka HELP ME)

So I'm having a bit of writer's block tonight. I'm sure it'll clear up in a few minutes, and this will be another massive tome of a post, though. It's strange. I could never write when I was younger, yet here I'm writing posts that I could modify into decent college essays.

So here's what I'm feeling this second:
I'm down.
Not sad, exactly, just down.
I'm a fuck-up.
Lonely.
Not much going on in my life. Both in the sense of just always working, nothing else, and in the sense of nothing much positive right now.
I miss Shayne.
That's not true, I miss women.
No, I miss women, but Shayne in particular.
I want her to hold me, I want to go to sleep with her, I want to be spending Christmas with her.
These aren't healthy feelings.
Too bad, they're there and they're not going away.
I should check her facebook.
Fight the urge!...

I miss being cared for, I miss feeling loved.

It's so dull to have these feelings
So trite
It's so unhealthy to criticize your feelings
You have no control over them
And yet they're pathetic
And repetitive
And pointless
Like quite a bit of my life
Oh stop
It's true...
Just a bit...
Well, enough

You know why I'm so awkward? (PS: how in the hell did Steve get that label and not me? Maybe because I never hung around those guys. I never took advantage of the fact that there were people who enjoyed being around me until it was too late. But that's for another day)

Sorry for the digression. So you know why I'm so awkward? Because I'm constantly second guessing myself. I'm never surprised or upset about an insult because I've already thought it before. I'm only hurt when somebody says something about me I didn't realize. Like Rui, at work, calling me herpes face because of a scratch on my upper lip. I hadn't even thought of that angle. Fat? Lazy? Stupid? Awkward? I don't care, I know that. I didn't realize my lip looked like it had herpes. Damn.

It probably started with Jackie. After she rejected me, I began to criticize every single action or choice of mine, figuring I was doing something wrong, and that I could improve myself into becoming attractive. I guess I never stopped, really. It's why I'm paranoid -- those people, they're looking at me, they're laughing. What am I doing? Must be this. I'll change it.

The change, of course, ends up feeling weird, and boom, awkward Joe. Effeminete? I'll act manly. Fat? I'll flex my muscles, tuck in my stomach. Dress poorly? I'll just become so nervous next time I go clothes shopping I'll freeze as soon as I enter the store and end up just buying a bunch of stuff I don't need. In the mean time I'll stop wearing that shirt. I have a whole bunch of stuff in my closet I never wear specifically because I've decided it's not good enough. Not for me, but for others.

I'm always saying I'm sorry. All the time. It never stops. Because nearly every action I do requires an apology. My existence requires apology, at times. I have apologized for being present before.

Damn. With an attitude like that, no wonder I'm depressed. I hate myself. Adjectives I believe describe myself:
Intelligent
Cocky
Fat
Lazy
Awkward
Effeminate
Unattractive
Stubborn
Loud
Naive
Overconfident, at times (mostly to compensate)
low Self-Esteem
Sad
Pathetic
Mama's Boy
Helpless
Destined to have his dreams crushed
Alone
stereotypical "Nice guy"
always a best friend, never a boyfriend
Shitty Listener
Self-centered
Arrogant
Jackassy (at times)


All I want is some answers. All I've ever wanted is some answers.

Which of these are true? False? What do I need to change about myself? How do I do that?

What do I need to do to make you people like me? Respect me? Love me? Not want to vomit at the thought of touching me?

What do I need to do?

Because I would do anything. Even just to know, for certain, which of these is false.

God help me, I've even begun to look into religion.

Probably if I respected myself, if I liked myself, if I loved myself, you would to. I know in my head I'm worthy of these things, I just don't feel it, don't believe it.

I want guidance. I want help. I want it all to go away. I want to feel better. I didn't think these things after Ned Lamont. I thought I was the shit. Attractive enough, and dammit, I had just kicked Joe Lieberman's ass! Collecting my first paycheck felt great, and I was touring some damn fine schools to attend next year. I was gonna get into UChicago! Hell, I was well on my way.

That's why Shayne loved me then, and not now. I don't love myself like I did then. And if I don't have enough love for myself, I have none leftover for her.

So what do I do? How can I love myself when I'm like this? This isn't lovable. I have NO pride left.

It's been one looong downhill slide for me since Ned Lamont, and I'm back right where I started. Insecure, ashamed of myself, fat and ugly.

God help me, please. Something. Relieve me of this pain inside. Make me love myself again. Show me the way. Help me learn to love life again, to welcome and cherish each day. Help me. Anyone reading this, God, Jesus, Buddha, Shayne, Pat, Steve, Liz, somebody, someone, HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Note to reader: Consider the above a cry for help. By issuing said cry, Joe avoids giving himself a concussion or otherwise harming himself.

Note to reader: Like I said, I apologize to everything, so I want to apologize. I know it's been three months, I know your all sick of my bitching about the same shit each day, wanting help. But I need it. I need to know somebody loves me besides my mom, that I'm loveable, and I need to learn how to respect myself. HELP ME.

Overworked pt. 2

I promised I'd write every night, so here I am, but I have to get up real soon. I got home at midnight, and I have to be back at 7 AM, so I'm getting up at six. Man I have alot to say about Teavana... suffice it to say morale is very low, except for me, oddly enough. I still like the job, though the fact that everyone bitches about it and is quitting is bringing me down. Everybody makes excuses about why we aren't meeting our goals. It gets frustrating and old.

I want to write more, but I know I should sleep. I'm sorry, readers (if you're out there). I feel bad. Maybe I'll write lots tomorrow. I want to get back to more substantive posts. I really want to write about Shayne, for example, or what the Trip means to me. But I just don't have the time!

So in short: How am I doing? I'm tired, but ok. I'm still down alot, and I still think about Shayne way too much, but it's no longer overwhelming. I'm going to try to find time to see a psychiatrist, in addition to my psychologist. I wish you'd be with me, Shayne! I could use someone next to me right now. Ah well. Damn.

Night everybody.

Overworked

I can say this will be a quick one, that I'm exhausted, that I really should be sleeping right now. But then I'd be lying, wouldn't I? I will stay up until two writing, only because I made a promise that I'd write every night, and this whole writing thing is really helping me out.

So I nearly got fired from Teavana today. Apparently I hadn't moved my schedule around so I could have dinner with Dad last night. So I was in New Haven when I should have been at work, and ended up having today off.

And I missed my psychologist's appointment. I never knew psychologists could get upset with you, but he was pissed. I felt awful. I had to work, though! This damn job - fixing computers is slowly taking over my life. It's very difficult to manage my time with this job. I never know what my schedule's going to be until the day of, and even then between traffic and part mix-ups my day could be two hours long or ten. And somehow I have to make it to work at 5 pm each day. I don't know how I'm going to do it.

I'm not sleeping nearly enough. My diet's all fucked up. But I'm finally making enough money, I think. I just gotta learn to keep this up for another three months and I'll be good. In the mean time, I'm stressed as shit. It's weird, but if I fall behind at all, and I'm struggling to make things on time, my muscles all tense up. The pills did this in the beginning on their own, so I think pills+stress=really really tense. Like, I need a massage tense.

Oh, and did I mention how I have pretty much no days off? Working seven days a week, eight+ hours a day. No time for friends. The reason I stay up until two each night is so that I have at least a couple hours free a night.

I went to the movies for the first time in a long time (I had actual unexpected free time due to the schedule snafu). Just my mom and I, so I didn't have to be social. Sweeney Todd was amazing, but what concerns this blog is when we waited at West Hartford's Friendly's to get warm. All I could think about was Shayne; I kept looking for her in there. I wish I could just fast forward to three months from now. I really hope I'm not putting too much hope in this trip. It's not going to be a panacea. I know I've talked about this before, but I really hope it does help.

There isn't really much of a theme to tonight's post. Too busy to really analyze anything, it's more a list of the day's events and immediate reactions to said events. I apologize, but come on. They can't all be good.

Note to self: good future post topic: personal lack of motivation/laziness/lack of standards.

Paranoia

A quick one. But related to the post below, more and more I find people seem to be holding things back from me. A coworker will just not talk to me, and I wonder what she's thinking. She's clearly biting her tongue about something, but she just says she's tired and wants to go home. My dad seems somewhere else during dinner, and I wonder just where that somewhere else could be, and why he just says he's tired.

Not everyone is so damn tired. Sometimes I just want to grab people, throw them up against the wall, and yell, "What the FUCK are you hiding? Why do you hate me?"

Obviously that's not socially acceptable. But I wonder whether this is a legitimate vibe I'm getting, or paranoia related to... the depression? the pills? just general mental illness?

What I do know is that this is an illness. I am NOT well. My thought processes are very askew, and my emotions rage, straining at whatever tether I can fashion from the ragged remains of my reasoning process. And so I can't trust my own thoughts. Maybe people aren't hiding things from me. But I know how much I hide. And the fact that I don't know drives me crazy.

What does he/she really think of me? Of how I treat them? Of my illness? Are they sick of me? Am I losing touch with them? Do they hate me?

Is it because I see so much to hate in myself that I think everybody hates me?

That's not healthy, is it?

I don't know anymore. I'm damn tired of always trying to figure it out though. Imagine these blog posts, but they're going through my head 24/7. For the past nine months. It's enough to drive anyone insane. And I think, slowly but surely, I'm losing my grip on reality. I don't know what to do.

So drink to my health! To my birthday! To Christmas! To the New Year! To my trip! To Macalester!

Because if none of those things make me happy, I don't know what I will do. Probably harm myself in some way. And so far the first three don't look good.

Remember? That whole depression thing?

So I seem to have a schedule now, and it involves staying up until two am every morning. Not healthy. I'm exhausted all the time now.

I miss having my friends around every day. I was talking with Jen tonight, and even Jen made me miss being at a school.

I miss having a girlfriend, or even someone to feel attractive around. I'm so goddamn fat, and I don't have the will to do anything about it. I've been thinking about Shayne alot lately, and about those girls I was flirting with at work. I wish I had put my number on their receipt or something. They wouldn't have called, but at least I would have tried. I wish more cute girls who seemed to enjoy being around me came by. I wish when the did I would stop trying to sell them stuff - selling is a mode, something you can't get out of.

I feel like I'm liked less and less at work. I don't know why. I'm late all the time, sometimes very late, and I work really hard. Lately I've been starting to get on people's cases about not working hard enough. Apparently some think I'm conceited too. Self-centered, maybe. I don't think I'm conceited though.

I miss being liked. I miss being loved. I feel so alone. I feel so damn sad. So... worthless.

It doesn't matter what I get for Christmas, none of the things I want are going to be under the tree.

God help me if this trip and/or Macalester doesn't fix any of this. If I find myself three months into Macalester feeling lonely, unliked, and unloved, I don't know what I'll do. I honestly don't know.

A tale of two jobs

This one will also be quick - this whole writing at 1 am thing has to stop. Today I was an hour and forty-five minutes late to Teavana because it took much longer than I expected to fix people's computers. Not to mention I'm pretty sure I screwed up both of them, and they're gonna have to have somebody sent out again. Not to mention my phone died, so I didn't get to close these calls, and I'm not sure what's going to happen. Not to mention I didn't even do one of the calls I was assigned.

This is going to be very little free time, and a whole lot of working. Hopefully I'll get it down so I'll have an hour or two in the afternoon to eat dinner. But that's not going to happen for a while, I think. In the mean time, I'm exhausted and lonely, and I'm too busy to hang out with my friends. I'm too poor, really. I wish I had the ability to move around days off. Especially weekend afternoons. Maybe I can do some schedule switching.

At least now that I'm working so hard I'm not moping so damn much. It's keeping me busy. I'm less introspective and analytical, and more just trying to live my life. Get through it, really. Only three more months!

As an aside, I've been missing Shayne alot the past few days. I really wish I could hold her, have her hold me. And for a while there it looked like I was past Shayne and was just wanting anybody's love, but not anymore. I specifically miss Shayne, and her touch, her caring, her loving. I know I can't have it, but Oh do I ache for it. I'm not as depressed (though I most certainly still am), but I sure am stressed, and she always calmed me down. God I miss her.

And PPS: Why is it that everything that could have gone wrong this year has? I nearly had a moment of belief earlier this month, and God decides to just shit on me. What the fuck did I ever do to you, huh?

Scared

I don't really feel like writing tonight. I got a call from the car insurance folks. I hit this jackass a few days ago, no damage done to either car, but apparently he's claiming injury. Bullshit. And then this lady I had hit a few days before that came back with a $3200 estimate for the damage. I had said I would pay for any damage instead of getting the insurance involved.

So I was freaking out that I would have to postpone/cancel my trip, and even though I've calmed down now, I'm still kinda on edge. I know now that my insurance will take care of it, and my premiums will go up but my parents will handle it, and while that may be a bit emasculating, it's better than paying for everything. But it's still a great example of the disconnect between my thoughts and my emotions.

Yesterday night I felt like my life was back on track for the first time in months, and in a flash it seemed like it was all taken away. Suddenly everything was all wrong. I was so damn scared, I didn't know what to do. Today was supposed to be a day to celebrate -- my birthday, my life getting back on track. I was gonna go out to a nice dinner, then have some cake. Instead I shivered in the fetal position in my room, or did mindless shit like TV or computer games just to distract my mind.

It's days like today that I wish I had Shayne. One kiss from her and all this would go away. That's all I want. I just want It All to go away.

So this is the new year...

I'm pretty close to leaving for Europe. In nine months I'm going to meet all these excited new Mac kids that keep on writing on my wall. I've got a nice job situation, and while my social life may be dormant, with medication I'm ok with that. Hell, I was even flirting with some customers today.

A thought occurred to me on the way home tonight. It could just be the pills, but still.

Eighteen was a pretty sucky year. But nineteen will be better.

A short one for Mary Todd

So I can go back to enjoying my birthday. It's felt like just another day. I know all birthdays are like that, but today went by even more quickly than usual. Work was busy, I had an hour to myself. Tomorrow I only have my day job, no Teavana, so I think tomorrow will be better off. I'll go to a nice dinner, we'll grab the tree, all and all it'll be quite lovely. And I'm sure I'll be able to celebrate somehow once people get back. I don't know when or where, but we will. And if not? New year's will be enough. Hell, Steph will be there from what I understand. At least, she's coming home.

Mom got me a cook book, some Wallace and Gromit, and some stop-motion animated Christmas movies. The cook book is really cool, I can't wait to dig into it for Christmas dinner, and the Christmas movies will be good to put on while setting up the tree. I would have loved to have sat down with Shayne and watch the Wallace and Gromit, but I guess I can't. They'll be good college/travel fare, though.

Like I said, just a quick post tonight, I want to go to sleep, and I'm going to need to respond to all these facebook messages. No deep analysis tonight. So Happy Birthday to me. Woo.

Happy Birthday.

I'm going to keep this short, because I start my new lucrative computer job tomorrow, and this blog has been taking up many precious sleep hours. But between the lack of presents, or friends, or a party, or even some kind of dinner (mom and I were going to go tonight, but I got out of work too late), tomorrow is going to be a depressing day. I'm working non-stop. Your words of kindness are great, don't get me wrong. But they're going to be all I've got for my birthday.

I'm turning 19. Shit. I'm no longer in that prime demographic, the quote-unquote "prime" of my life. 18 is supposed to be this magical year, the point where everything is at it's peak. 18 started off well. I had just lost my virginity, had a great girlfriend, doing well in school, waiting to get into UChicago. It ended... well, let's say it's been a slow decline. 17 was my peak.


I really, really hope that statement isn't true.

The anti-depressants are the only things stopping me from just accepting that it is.


Not to mention in a year I'll be 20. It's a really scary thought. I'm very invested in my teenagehood, and while I know I'll still be in college, the idea that I'm so close to being on my own is just bizarre. I'm totally fine with supporting myself, I tried it out to a certain extent in New Hampshire just fine. But 20 is... old. I still feel 14.

That's not healthy, I think. It might also explain alot.

If it does explain alot, that's really pathetic. And depressing.

So you do exist!

As of half an hour ago, I have two readers. Hi! I guess people did see that link I put on facebook. I haven't told anyone else. Feel free to comment, by the way. Text messages and facebook messages are kind of antithetical to the whole idea of a blog. That's why the comment section is there.

That said, turns out Shayne is reading this thing. I'm saving a post on her for another day (and it will be a doozy, but in the meantime I don't know exactly how I feel about that. Well, that's not true. I'm ok with it -- hell, I'm a little flattered -- just so long as this doesn't promote dialogue. This blog serves just a few purposes.

Primarily, it is my diary. My personal diary. I am writing here in order to explore a few facets of my life without burdening you all, because whether or not you're too polite to say it, you know I am.

Secondarily, because I know I'm shitty at staying in touch with people, it is a way for people who care about me to see what I am up to. Obviously, that's mostly going to be how I'm handling my craziness, but if people want to know, "Hey, how's Joe doing? I know he wasn't feeling too good," they'll be able to find out whatever's been bothering me lately.

Lastly, if any of those people want to give me words of encouragement, or advice, even if it's a simple, "That sucks, man. Don't worry, things will turn around," they'd write it in the comments. I'd really appreciate it, actually. Right now I have to fight so hard for happiness, any little unexpected thing just brightens my mood, even if only for five minutes.

So back to Shayne (as always). I kinda like that she's reading the blog: it's a way for her/us to keep in touch while still allowing me to move on. But I hope she doesn't comment. I don't know how I'd react. Honestly, I'm trying so hard to get my mind in a place where she isn't so important to me, and the best way to do that is to pretend she doesn't exist. It's hard when I keep getting reminders that she does exist.

So apparently she's still checking my Facebook. I only do that when I'm pining for someone. Again, I'm going to go into us in more detail in the future, but I have rarely, if ever, considered this breakup from her point of view. Mostly because I get such mixed signals, I'm afraid I can't figure it out. My best guess, though, is that she feels like she has to do this, because she sees the person she fell in love with in me, but knows that I'm not that person anymore. I'm sadder, I'm depressed. And that it's hurt her as much (well, nearly) as it's hurt me, and that she wishes she could have the old me back. So she's still facebook stalking me, even though she refuses to give me another shot.

See, this is why I don't think about this so much. It's just such a miserable situation, where nobody's happy. I'm not happy. I just want the whole damn thing to go away. It's christmas, I would be thinking up some cool present. Hell, I even have one picked out (Paris, Je T'aime). But I've gotten better at not getting caught up in could-have-beens. Keeping myself busy with two jobs is wearing me down, but at least it's doing a good job of distracting me.

So to all my readers out there, I'm going to pretend like you don't exist, but write every now again. Unless you're Shayne. In which case, don't write. Truth be told Shayne, it's hard to pretend like you're not going to read this. I wouldn't have included the present otherwise. Don't worry, I know I can't give it to you, but it's the thought that counts, right? I don't know. At any rate, I promise to never write specifically to you, or anyone else in a post again, but it's too hard not to.

Depression

I wanted to take a second after that last post to talk about what it's like to be me lately. Because you have to understand, when you ask me "How are you? Are you ok?" and I say "Yeah, I'm just thinking about such and such..." or "Yeah, I'm just wishing Shayne were here," that's not exactly true.

So for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of going through a major depressive episode yet, let me fill you in on what its like to be me right now.

Truth is, I have no fucking clue why I'm sad. I can tell you what event probably triggered my latest bout of sadness, but that's not why I'm sad. At least, it's not like I'm legarthic and anti-social because I'm constantly thinking about Shayne. Maybe in the first few weeks after we broke up... but not anymore.

More often than not, I'm not thinking about anything.

The past three months, and less frequently for six months before that, I have lost all control over my emotions. It's a scary thing. I may be in a great school, with a girlfriend, surrounded by supporting friends who love me and looking forward to a gap year with much travelling, but I'll still feel hopeless and alone. That's why my first therapist was such a dud. He was all about cognitive therapy - change how you think, and you'll change how you feel.

It doesn't matter what I think. My emotions are raw, all consuming. If I'm sad, nothing will get me out of it. Oh sure, I'll start trying to figure out a reason, and I'll think about how happy I was with Shayne, or how happy I'd be if only this were different, or if I had gone to Macalester instead of taking a gap year, or if my friends were home... but I don't have to think about anything.

When I got near-suicidal a few weeks ago, what struck me was how far this had progressed. For a long time now, eight or nine months, I have fantasized about killing myself. I'd have this big funeral, everybody would come and feel sorry for me, I'd have proof of who cared about me and who didn't. Shayne would regret breaking up with me, others would regret not giving me a chance. Most importantly, the pain would be gone. Oftentimes my depression would express itself physically through a headache, and I'd imagine shooting a hole in my head to relieve the pressure. I'd be free. But I always stopped there. Because then I'm the guy in the casket. And being an athiest, I'm incredibly afraid of death. So I felt safe, knowing I'd always reach that conclusion in my thoughts, and so would never try to hurt myself.

Except a few weeks ago, I became so sad. I had no control over it; I could not will my way out of it, and didn't have the motivation or the strength to even want myself to be happy. And what I found was a feeling of extreme indifference moving over me. I still didn't want to die. But as I banged my head as hard as I could into the tile wall in the bathroom of Chili's, I didn't care. I never got that far. The only thought going through my head was surprise at how my skull bounced against the wall. I didn't feel the pain, I didn't feel ashamed. I only felt like I was finally acting on all this sadness. Emotion had taken over, and my rational self had lost all control.

That's why it's important to remember that this is a chemical imbalance. (I guess.) Because all-encompassing hopelessness is a powerful thing. I laid around for months (months!) after Shayne left me, feeling like I would never get work, never meet another girl, never get my life together. I probably could have gotten a job in three weeks, but why bother? What's the point? I knew I needed to look, but I felt so dead inside. And so it took me three months before I realized there were tons of jobs out there.

That's the main thing. I can put on a good show, make you think that, at least temporarily, everything's ok. But I'm just going through the motions. When people say, "It's just a woman, get over it," they need to realize how powerless I am here. I feel dead inside, nearly all the time, and nothing I can think or do, nothing you can do or say, can make me feel better. Nothing.

Now, this may be my emotion coloring things, but life has become one disappointment after another. Even my birthday is going to be another day at the store. My mom says she's got a good present for me. More than anything else, I need to be shown that there are good surprises left in store. Because it seems like it has just rained shit for months, with little end in sight. And so I've gone numb, bitter at all women, bitter at the world. And I know that's silly, I know I've got a great future ahead of me, that in three or four months I'm going to be out traveling the world. But the disconnect between what I know and what I believe in my heart is miles, and I'm dead tired of trying to get through each day. I just want it to end. I just for once need something that makes me feel good to happen. I want to feel normal! Ugh...

I'm exhausted

I had to go home early from a friend's party tonight. I had worked with Brendan on the Ned Lamont campaign, the highlight of my life. I didn't know a soul there outside of Brendan and a frequent Lamont volunteer. I couldn't drink, thanks to my antidepressants and my car, so all there was to enjoy was ham. It was good ham, but still. After a nine hour day, I could barely stand up straight, much less deal with a party. I spent only forty-five minutes there, most of the time in the bathroom. I couldn't deal... I mean, why bother? These people don't know me. They have no clue about my life. What am I supposed to talk to them about? How can I possibly relate to these people? Instead I seem boring and dull. I'm supposed to be having a good time, someone I respect and care about invited me with good will, and instead I'm sitting here wondering why I'm here and what I'm supposed to do.

So I went home.

The weird thing was, Shayne ruined it and she wasn't even there. I wasn't going to go. I was going to go home and lie down, like I had wanted to do since about four o'clock. But then Shayne texted me around seven. She wanted to let me know that she wasn't going to Brendan's party, so if I wanted to go, it would be ok. I decided, sure, I need to get out, see friendly faces. But even that innocuous text was enough to get me going. The entire rest of the night, my mood plunged. I felt awful. Not over anything in particular, mind you. If I had to pin it on something, I'd say the fact that I was feeling ok when I texted her back, and the normalcy of that brief conversation with her, reminded me of better times. And of course, combined with how I had thought of her all day, each time a girl walked by with a Victoria Secret's bag (the only girl I've ever seen sexy underwear on), or every time I saw a beautiful girl, or brushed against some sweet girl's hand when giving them a sample cup... each slightest bit of affection reminded me of her.

So I wish she'd stop talking to me. Maybe I would have kept a decent mood, gone home, and simply gone to bed. I'd certainly feel much better right now.

Update: Attention Whore

I haven't told anyone about this blog yet, aside from putting it on my facebook. But hell, nobody checks that anyway. Why not? Mostly because my previous post has become almost a dare to myself: How long can I go before I turn this diary into a sounding board? How long until I succumb to my attention whorishness?

I don't know how I feel about it. It would be nice if, say, Pat read this. Possibly even Shayne. Both of them could get a better sense of what I've been going through, and at least with Pat, give me feedback and words of encouragement. But I don't want to just text them, Hey, read my deepest personal thoughts!

After all, it is a diary first and foremost, and it is personal. Yet, I long for people to just understand me, so I don't get self-conscious. I worry when I tell people about myself that I slant the story to make me look better, and so I can't get accurate feedback. What if I acted like a douche? What if I am being a big baby? And yet, even when I do feel like I'm slanting it, I sometimes justify it by saying the broader truth is that while I might be exaggerating in order to make my feelings seem legitimate, if people knew where I was coming from I wouldn't have to exaggerate.

Like most of my dealings with the relationship between my feelings and my thoughts, it's complicated. But, I have digressed.

My main point is that perhaps, if my friends were reading this blog, where I somehow feel free to air all my anxieties, to give the unfiltered truth, I might be more confident in their opinions on my life. I would know they had a broader picture, that they knew where I was coming from. A girl dumping you doesn't seem like much, but instead of being forced to vilify her in order to justify my pain, I can explain more fully why I'm taking it so hard, and my friends can read and say, "Oh, I'm sorry." And I will know they truly are sorry, and that they know what I am going through, and instead of having to explain myself, I can simply say, "Thanks."

So maybe I'll show Pat next time I see her. Maybe I'll facebook message Shayne. (Maybe not.) Maybe I'll tell Steve and Spencer and Liz and everybody at New Year's. Make it causal. It would certainly be nice to get some feedback.

Blog rules

I will post every night, even if it's just a quick "I'm too tired to write, I'm headed to bed."

This is supposed to be therapeutic, and so I need to do be sure I don't drop this. Take my Celexa every day, write every day. Besides, good blogs put up new content daily, making sure you want to check in.

The writing's rarely good, and it's all very self-centered, but hey, it's not for you, now is it? Hell, right now there isn't even a you. This "you" is just a way to make the whole process of diary writing less awkward. I can't do diaries because it seems pointless. This is a bad time in my life - I don't want to go back and read these. But maybe you do, so I write anyway. You see?

And while I'm talking about you, you should know this: I've found myself thinking up blog posts nearly 24/7 now. All my self-reflection now takes the form of "title: Shayne. Content: Well, here's the big one...."

So I have tons to write. And it seems like something new comes up every five minutes. I always wondered how a person writing one of these stupid personal blogs can come up with so much inanities. But today, for instance, I can think of twenty different subjects to write about. All in good time...

Macalester

I started this Macalester Class of 2012 group because I felt left out last year. Everybody on the class of 2011 group was so excited to go, and I knew I was an impostor. I wasn't going to be class of 2011, and to top it off I wasn't even all that excited; obsessed, maybe, or somewhere in between anxious and disappointed. Macalester was my 5th or 6th choice school. It was a good fit, but too small, a little too hippie-granola for my tastes, and too international. Anyway, I thought maybe a Class of 2012 group would allow me to meet others who had deferred, or who were excited about applying. There were so many people so thrilled to go in the Class of 2011 group, maybe I could experience that with people who would be in my grade.

But no. For a long time the group was dead. It seemed there were no other deferrals who wanted to talk about their gap years, or wanted to talk about Macalester. I forgot about the group, dejected. Then a few days ago I decided to check in randomly, and lo and behold Macalester had released it's early admission letters a few days prior. There were ten members. Now I've got sixteen future classmates, with twenty wall posts, everybody thrilled to be going to Mac.

I've had many points over the past year when I wished I had taken an alternate path, when I've wished I had just said fuck it and gone to Macalester. To have broken it off early with Shayne, to not have to worry too much about money, to be around lots of people my own age, maybe even start a new relationship: it sounds ideal. But then I wouldn't get to go to Mongolia. This trip will be worth it, dammit. I will make it so. At least, it better be.

But now, for once, I'm feeling something resembling contentment: I'm ok with where I am. I can look forward to Macalester without regretting my decision to stay here. I may want to just get to Mongolia, get to Minnesota, just get the hell out of this life. But in the meantime, when I'm brooding over what could have been, I can facebook stalk a few of my future classmates, and daydream about snowy classes, friendly roomies, and maybe even a co-ed or two.

Real Quick

I have to go to bed, but I just want to get what's bothering me off my chest right now:

• I am such an attention whore. I'm going to be writing some very personal thoughts I might not want you all to know, but I know I'm going to tell everybody about this site.
  
• Women don't like me.
• I don't feel close to my friends.
• Shin Chan is actually funny.

Mostly the first one is bothering me. But I plan on going through all my insecurities in mind numbingly, masturbatory detail, in a way that I wish I could talk to people about, but feel guilty. I know no one wants to hear this shit, but whenever I begin to think about it, I just go numb, unable to think or feel. Maybe by writing about this stuff, I'll be able to think in detail about it, work some stuff out.

And yes, I am an attention whore. I'm totally fantasizing right now about some friend of mine reading this and talking to me about it, helping me out without my feeling guilty about dumping for pages and pages of texts.

I'm a pretty self-centered person, it's always been a quality I hate about myself. And lately I only really care about myself, I guess because I need so much work. So sorry in advance.

Add to the list: I say sorry way too much.

So here goes...

As those who know me have already heard I'm sure, I'm going on a round-the-world trip (can I just express how awesome that phrase makes me feel?) sometime in March. My plan to communicate with the outside world has been a blog all along -- I can communicate with everyone all at once, without having to deal with the complexities of buying a SIM card in each country. Plus, I can call myself a blogger, which is always sweet.

I was going to wait to create this, but my psychiatrist suggested I keep a diary as a therapeutic device. I kinda like the idea. Instead of bitching to all of you about how much I feel like my life sucks, I can just vent on this blog. Maybe some of you will even read it!

I like the name Lost Jolly - it'll apply well when I leave, and it also works well now; I feel lost, and I've lost my jolliness. It's got triple meaning!

So here goes. I spend all my time in session just talking talking talking anyways, maybe I can talk here and get it all out. Vent about all my insecurities in a format where I don't feel guilty at all. Maybe I can get at the truth that way. I don't know.

I feel better already.

PS - I just saw an ad for a syndicated online series from the guys who made that George Washington Youtube video. This makes me really happy.