9/24/21

I’m so focused on doing what I want to do after writing that I can’t see anything else.
It’s a war to type these words, and it’s one I can fight for two sentences.

9/20/21

Soundtrack : Are You Bored - Retrofuture

I feel most lost when not my self, and I can’t find me without all of my help.
I know how to help others, but I can see them.
I don’t see myself.
I don’t accept myself?
I’m not authentic to myself, but I am to others.

I’m not running from who I am, I’m running from who I was?

I’m running back to who I was.

Who I was is who I isn’t.

The only person I can be is me, but ?I don’t know how to be.

I realized I don’t draw much because an art teacher said I’d never be an artist or actually drawing if I traced outlines.
That’s pretty shitty that I’ve held onto that, because I can do fine detail well, but prefer to trace the outline of the object exactly.
It saves me time but I don’t invest the effort, already holding the end product to Not Be Art.

Well, I don’t give a shit about that now, so I’m going to get my draw on.
I haven’t been living as me, and I don’t see the draw to Drew because

If I’m not drawing than I never Drew.

I’m going to have to look back at previous posts and I know I’ll see me making the same promises to myself that I end up breaking.

I’m making and breaking promises to myself because that’s the love I know.

I grew up sipping from a bitter mug of disappointment, and I’ve now acquired a taste.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll try to be the way the people are to me, to myself.

I’m going to set aside half an hour a day to write, start small and start chipping.

Keep on swimming, keep on swimming, keep on swimming, shit I need to breathe.

9/8/21

I had a dream last night, it’s one that re-occurs every so often.
The aggressors fluctuate, the reasons and seasons do as well, but the theme is always the same.

Someone drops a nuke on Seattle (and perhaps several others nearby)
I am not with the people I care about, and am frantically trying to get to them before the bomb turns everything to ash.
I wake up sweating and can’t fall back asleep. I toss and turn, mulling over all the things I didn’t say in the dream.

I don’t say the things in real life either, and it weighs on me.
These things need to be said, they do a disservice to those that I want to hear them if I keep them to myself.

To the people that have faded out of my life and left wispy wraiths behind in my heart.
To all the people who have a similar ghost that is shaped like me in their hearts.
To all the people that wondered.
To all the people with questions that beat at their ribcage and wail for answers.

I’m sorry you are gone.
I’m sorry that I’m gone.
I’m sorry I couldn’t open myself up to share exactly how much you matter.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to reach out my hand and hold yours, helping those questions come out and helping you deal with any of the emotions that come with them.
I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you, both directly and by proxy.

I have never intended to hurt anyone, but I have purposefully turned my head away from the obvious impact and pain I have created in my desperate attempt to avoid my own.

I’m sorry.

I loved you then, and I love you now.
You matter so much I can’t find the words to describe it, and I can’t put my finger on the flavor that lingers.
You mattered so much I didn’t think I deserved you.
The inverse is that I mattered so little I didn’t think I would be missed.

I’m sorry.

I have so many wonderful memories with so many wonderful people.
Prismatic splashes of color that dance on the walls of my heart.

Sitting on the roof and taking selfies at Twilight while everyone else worked.
Family functions that were bursting at the seams with humor and love.
Chasing conversations around a bonfire by the river, running away from smoke.
Folded over the fenders, elbows deep in engine.
LAN Parties all night, working as a team to crush the enemy.
2 Windows down, 60 MPH, and Marlboro Red cigarettes.
5 GOOOLDEN RIIIIIIIIINGS 4callingbirds3frenchhens2turtledovesANDAPARTRIDGEINAPEARTREEEEEE
The hustle and bustle of daily life
Sneaking out to go sit around with friends that did the same.
Running from the cops after inadvertently breaking into a church school.
Stealing shingles off the roof
Jumping off cliffs and bridges into freezing water
Flirting with girls across the aisle
Arguing over if I ought to date someone you thought was right for me.
Cutting out of church early to get to Taco Bell before the rush
Pulling all nighters to co-op the Halo series on Legendary
Jumping out of the trees onto the trampoline
Driving reckless as hell on the back roads
Learning how to drive clutch at 4 AM on the way back from sneaking out
Wednesday bake nights, severely underestimating how long Cinnamon rolls take to make.
Every get to and gathering, laughing and smoking until our chests hurt from too much of both.
Driving past the gravel lot and Fred Meyers, too shy to just show up, but wanting so badly to be included.
Helping cook and bake, your effortless maneuvering about the kitchen leaving the smell of butter, flour, and love.
Fighting over making Dad his pot of coffee when he got home from work
Burying myself in the fresh laundry out of the dryer and taking a nap.
Shouting everything across the house or up the fireplace vent.
Doing a pull up every time I passed the bar.
Laying in the grass in the summer listening to old time radio shows on tape
What’d you expect? Ghost riders in the skyyyyy?
Taking the yearly photos while I was dying of blood poisoning.
Me no am been woman.
Being afraid to go into the basement because opossums and their needle sharp teeth.
Clambering up the big tree to sit in the fort, over the years it was slowly reclaimed and became a part of it
Late night trains cutting through the summer frogs in the bottoms.
Being so amazed at everything you did, you made it look so easy.
Walking to school half asleep, cutting through the field and sitting in wet socks all day from the morning dew.
Sleeping on the trampoline, making Jello, and eating it before Mom woke up
You fell asleep on the couch after getting your first job, eating wheat thins.
The sense of dangerous thrill that hummed whenever I went into your room.
Pillow forts and bunk beds
Playing Mean Teacher to clean
Falling asleep in church with my head on your lap while you stroked my hair.
motha fuckin WAFFLE BLOCKS
Countless hours spent playing tag in Lego Racers 2
Finding workarounds to play the computer, posting a lookout to watch for Mom and Dad getting home.
Biking and walking to Bird Boys, Eager Beaver, and Big Deals
Wiling away hours at the library, reading comics and books.
The school was our personal playground, and we had fun exploring all the areas that no one else did.
Playing corners in the car, throwing our whole bodies into it.
Selling lilac bundles to fund the pool fund every spring
Looking forward to every tomorrow and the fresh adventures it promised.
Trying to carry milkshakes home while biking and crashing, you went and bought me a replacement.

So much joy.
So much sorrow.
So much delight.
So much hurt.
So much love.
So much pain.

I drank in life, I knew early on that it had an expiration date.
I’m sorry I wasn’t able to talk about it.
I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.

I do not regret any of it.
I’m glad I got to experience every minute, and I reflect on it often.

I loved you fiercely then, and love you fiercely now.
A love that never fades, even the memory does.
Time sun bleaches the image and blurs the lines.

You helped shape me into who I am, thank you for your influence and impact.

Thank you for you.
Thank you.

9/6/21

One day, Death will come for my parents, hungry hands clamoring for their life.
Will they be alone in those final moments?
Will I be someone they know?
Will I be a stranger?

I don’t want to be a stranger. I want to know them. I want to love them.

I want them.

I suppose we never outgrow that feeling of desperately wanting our parents to soothe us, and let us know that it’s going to be ok.

A false supplication, for in the end, it won’t be.

I’ve been alone for most of my life, juxtaposed by never being physically alone.

I don’t want that for them. I want them to drown in love when the last breath leaves.
I want joy to beat through their bodies without a trace of regret.

Will they have that?

Will I?

I hope so.

9/5/21

4/27/19 - I had a conversation with my mother, she confirmed my father isn’t my father.
Following this was a continual downward spiral, I had a crisis of self identity that persists to this day.

I ache to share this information with my siblings, but how? Why?
They are effectively strangers at this point, why do I want to reveal this innermost secret to them?
To hurt my mother in retaliation for hurting me?

I suspect, in part, this is true.
I have withheld this information from them until I can get to a place where the sharing isn’t motivated by malice in the slightest.
I don’t know when that will be.

Who is the best to lead with, I wonder?

What is the best way to deliver the message? 

Is there a best way?

All I can do is show up, authentically, and see how the chips fall. Elsewise, I am trying too had to control the variables that are completely outside of my control.

Do I craft a ‘perfect message’ to send? 

Do I say ‘Just The Right Thing?’

I don’t know.

It’s been 2 years and I still don’t know.

It weighs on me day in and day out, but nothing takes the weight off.

Drinking does not work. 

Smoking does not work. 

Everything I try is temporary and a distraction.

I have to tell them.

I want to tell them. 

I cannot build a relationship on shaky ground. 

I grit my teeth and jump, I hope the water is warm, but I know it will be wet regardless of temperature.

The only way to jump off a cliff is to take 3 steps and leap.
Gravity will solve all the misgivings you had along the way.

Trust.

Trust.

Trust.

I must.

9/3/21

Good morning!

I have many tasks I’d like to accomplish today, and I stand here in my analysis paralysis, unsure where to start.

The dogs go to war 3 inches from my elbow while I type, a furry ballet of growls and snaps.

They are roughly 10 and 6 months, and the younger one has finally gained enough mass to exist competitively.

My mouse cursor twitches and jumps across the screen, and I look down.

Twyla has her toy on the desk and is pushing it towards me with her nose, pushing my mouse in the process.

I ignore her and continue typing. The toy flops across my right hand, wet with dog drool. I keep typing.

The toy slowly creeps up over the back of my hand, she pushes and pushes, waiting for me to acknowledge her.

Eventually, she gives up and lays down next to me to chew on it.

Betty comes up and pokes my elbow with her nose, staring at me.

I ignore her and continue typing.

She drops into a sit and continues staring. This is her ‘Please Pet Me’ maneuver. It usually works.

I ignore her and continue typing.

I can’t take it anymore and have to play with her before she eats her toy.

9/1/21

Back again, back again, jiggity jig.

These past few weeks have been pretty rough, I’ve been simmering in depression since I started the antidepressants. I thought they would magically make me feel better, but they don’t do that. It sort of turns the volume down, or it did initially. I’m right back in the thick of things now, but I’m assuming that’s due to withdrawal from breaking a daily marijuana coping habit. For me, smoking seems to be a bit like making a withdrawal on future enjoyment / good feelings. I’m paying back a 3 year loan, one day at a time. This doesn’t mean I’m in for 3 years of misery (knocks on wood) but it does mean the next month or so is going to be varying degrees of rough.

I don’t know what I need to say, but I know I need to say something.

What is it?

Maybe I don’t need to say something, but instead, I need to feel something.

Anything that isn’t this all encompassing blanket of dread.
Blah blah I feel bad, blah blah I feel sad.

I read an interesting bit about saying I feel sad instead of I am sad. It keeps you from self identifying with the emotion, and makes them easier to process.
So they say, time will tell, hey?

I am optimistic.

8/13/21

A fly keeps me company at 3 AM.
I grab the swatter to regain my solitude, and inadvertently Snap Out Of It.

I wouldn’t harm a fly, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t.

It isn’t real
I blink.
this isn’t real
I roll my eyes and carry on.

This goes on in the background 24/7.
A call to return to the grave, fall in and pull the dirt blanket close.

8/8/21

I want to do so many things, and Exist isn’t one of them
I really want to want to, but I don’t.

What keeps me around, then?
I want to. I know that I want to. I know that one day, I will feel better and want to.
Until then?
One foot in front of the other on a path that I don’t see.

8/6/21

Good morning!

I ordered the book Caste, from Oprahs book club, imagine having the pull to have a book you read referred to as ‘X read this book!’

Talk about clout.

Anyway, it was stolen from my porch, and I can do naught but laugh about it.
I’ve had $1,000s of dollars worth of car parts delivered over the span of a week, and the package that was stolen is a book about social castes, and the way America has segregated minorities since it’s inception.

Enjoy the book, mothafuckaaaaaah!

I’m tired and wired.
I’m putting down some words now to get that promise out of the way, but I’m watching something on the side.

This is a weak showing, but I have to get ready to rock - I have a car to work on and only so many hours in a day to work on it.

8/5/21

Woke up

Therapy

Got dressed fully

Drove to Josh

Unloaded

Reloaded to go back home to pick up parts that were just delivered

Feed the dogs

Drive back to Josh

Work on Car while Josh teaches me all manner of car things, all day. Didn’t think about smoking at all. There are fires somewhere, and the smoke makes the world glow with twilight all day long. It feels a bit like a dream. Everything feels like a dream. It doesn’t feel like I’m here, but I’m watching it.

Hmm. I’ve been feeling good, and I thought. . . what do I call it.

Drive home

Phillip is waiting, he has dinner ready. It’s hot. It’s delicious. I don’t smoke until after I shower and eat.
But when I do, I smoke hard and fast.
The edge isn’t really there though. The anxiety and depression are there, but a bit… farther back?
I think I’m going to look back and realize Bro What The Fuck You Just Kept On Going While Carrying All That?

Or something to that effect.

Replaced the front tie rods, struts, springs, controller arms, bushings. . . and some other shit as well.
I asked at LEAST 6 times what this one little bit was. I still don’t remember.
Bloody hell, I really am affected by all this smoking.
SHIT.

We only care when we care.

Do it for me. I think.

Do it.

Onwards and upwards mmmmm this song is not The Vibe right now.

I’m going to start reading all the signs that shout out to me.
DO THE WORK shouts the whiteboard on the office wall.
PARTY LIKE A PINEAPPLE winks the art to my left.

I lean left.

I like pineapples.

8/4/21

Day one - I’m still depressed what is this shit.
Kidding, this is going to take a few weeks, but I’ve made it this far, I’ll make it much farther.

I meant to paint the guest room for the past month, and I have yet to get it done. I’ve got a whole lot of half finished projects scattered about the house.

The house doesn’t know what it’s in for, because I’m in this bitch and I’m getting a hang of it.

A little restless, a little listless, but somehow energetic

OH I haven’t had any caffiene today, so I reckon that could be the fog.
Or the ice cream I had for lunch.

My diet is Convenient, and I am going to bring it back to Cuisine

I enjoy cooking and baking, so it’s no matter of not knowing.
Depression: symptom : No motivation to do the things one enjoys.
Ah, yes, right.

Anyway, I’ve put some words down, that’s a promise kept.
I ought to be back later.

When I commit to quitting, it becomes loads harder to NOT. I think it’s because I’m fighting the feeling instead of accepting it and redirecting.
Let me try that shit out.
I’ll do something else for 5 minutes and then see how I feel.

8/3/21

I was prescribed antidepressants today, so I’m headed up the immense hill that starts this roller coaster ride.
I don’t know what it’s going to be like, not feeling this way.
Not feeling all this Not Feeling, will burst when all these feelings rush in to be felt?

Will I be outraged about the hand I’ve been dealt?

No.
I take every card I am given and play it to the best of my ability, or to have fun.

Ok, not initially. I had to process my way through the outrage after clawing my way out of denial
you’re so dramatic
There’s a whole spectrum to this emotion thing, and I still don’t really get it.
I feel things and wonder if it’s wrong to feel them.
I don’t feel things and wonder if it’s wrong that I’m not.
I am curious about everything, with little regard to boundaries. Sometimes.

I suspect it is because I have none for myself oh wait a fuckin minute has it really been staring me in the face this whole time?
Do I feel out of control because I don’t set boundaries?
I don’t feel like I had that many as a kid.

I get distracted and 4 hours later, I’ve come back to pick up the threads.
The website crashes and I screen grab the text.
I spend a half hour trying to get some free online sites to do it, but they don’t work.

So I give up for a few more hours.

I pull up the photo again and sigh.

Time to start typing.
If I want it done, I have to do it.
I can’t always rely on shortcuts.
I have to do the work.

So I will.

What’s that sound?

I’m not sure.

Anyway - Zoloft.
I feel like a certain stereotype of Zoloft user and wince at the stigma I carry.
Cast it off.
Good job re-typing this. Keep that promise to myself.

Build the trust so the trust can build you.

8/2/21

Keeping small promises to myself to build trust in self.
That’s the sticky tricky path I stumble along

I wanted to kill my self for so long, I’d tuned out the desire. It was a steady whine in the background I tuned in and out of without trying. 
Looking back, I’ve come to recognize that I didn’t want to kill ME, I wanted to kill my SELF. 
My conditional self was at constant war with me, and I’ve been taking steps to untangle the threads to get to me. 
It’s all mixed up and in knots, but prodding, pulling, twisting tugs are getting me to slowly shake loose from the tension and ties that kept me bound for so long. 

I was existing in a manner that was contradictory to my actual self, creating no end of discomfort

Why do I rebel so hard against something I’ve committed to doing?

Ah, the self sabotage. No wait. . . it’s . . . invalidation. No.
Whatever the term, keeping promises.
Posting here every day is one of the promises.
I have another looming that I’ve been running from keeping since I started.

I’m looking forward to not feeling this way.
I’m looking forward to feeling.
I’m looking forward.
I’m feeling.
I am.

What do you want, a prize?
I roll my eyes.
I’ve tried to get rid of that snide shoulder rider, but I can’t.
Now, I ignore it. Some days I can’t, and other’s, I don’t want to.
Well, I want to, but I’m so miserable I don’t care to want to.

It’s all so gray, choking fog that obscures the world, yet my eyes can see it all.

you’re so melodramatic, stop being such a baby
It doesn’t like that. Why don’t you like it when the world knows?

Silence.

Why don’t you like it?
They will feel for me what I will not allow, and I hate myself for it.
Why do I hate myself?
Because I can’t feel what I feel?
Because I won’t allow myself to feel it?
Because I’m not allowed to feel?
as if you are allowed to feel

I grew up in a different world, and nothing in front of me seems real.
Realities at war with each other, and I don’t know how to deal.

What do I want and what do I need?
How can I be so hurt if I don’t bleed?

I’m so irritable, and I am not, by nature, irritable.
Wow. I’m excruciatingly irritable.
How appalling.
I’m looking forward to not feeling like this.
Someday I know I won’t feel this way, and I won’t really know what it’s like to feel this way.
It’s pretty shit.
It’s temporary though, and I’ll get there.

One step at a time.

I’m looking forward.

7/29/21

I don’t have anything to say, but I said I would sit here and bang on this keyboard regardless.

It’s hard for me to focus on something in front of me when I have a timeline looming in front of me. All I can focus on is that timeline.
I have a haircut appointment I need to leave for in an hour. All I can think about is needing to leave. I don’t want to get comfortable and focus on something in case I focus right through the time I need to leave.

A very real fear, I have a strange sense of time. I don’t know how to properly explain it off the top of my head, which needs a haircut, and I need to leave for that haircut in 50 minutes.

I am bad at gauging how long a task will take, or eerily accurate.
I don’t mean, I’m wrong or I’m right. I mean I will guess that it would take me 30 minutes to do something, and it takes 2 hours.
Or, I think something will take EXACTLY as long as it takes to do.
It’s mostly the being super wrong though.

This does get me in trouble, when I have an appointment at 12, and tell a friend I can certainly finish this project on their car within 2 hours if I start at 10.
I was late to that appointment, but I think that’s in part due to my focus honing in harder and sharper the closer that deadline approached.
At 10:00, I’m putting out 30% focus / production, but that % creeps up until I’m putting out 150% at 11:55.

I’m going to play some Magic to kill time, stress, then leave 30 minutes early and sit in the parking lot sweating while I wait until 15 minutes past my appointment time to go in.

I know this, but I’m still going to do it.

Write the fuckin story dude.
Am I writing the story right now?

Nah. I’m not, but wow this song is killing it for me right now.

[https://open.spotify.com/track/7LV0WmAkb9N7en9ODc99kY?si=dec627ff8ab54e64]

Music is a staggeringly large part of my life, I remember when I first heard music.
In church, we sang hymns, but this music reached into my soul and pulled me out.
I think the song was… hmm… I have two earliest ‘Worldly’ song memories - one is Mambo No. 5 by Louie Bega. The other is One More Time by Daft Punk.

Sure, they probably aren’t The First Songs Ever that I heard and resonated with, maybe there were others.
Either way, they stick out. Beats and tunes distorted by the flat alarm clock speaker on my dads nightstand.
Sure, it was his alarm clock, but it had an AM/FM radio built in, and I was hooked.

Daft Punk left me fiending, and I returned to the source with desperate addictive intent.
I’d be outside my parents room, shaking and twitching, shuddering for a morsel of a melody.

Now? I listen to music like I breathe.
Wake up, start music and jump in shower.
Have entire day, moving music from speaker to headset to phone to PC.
Upbeat, downtempo, throwback, new age.
My ears devour every title as fast as they can turn the page.

9 Minutes & 40 Seconds

So I’m driving to the dispensary to get, well, you see the 9 minutes up above.

In my head, I’m going back and forth with myself.

I don’t want to smoke. I could stop this car and turn around. I want to.
I need to change my story. This isn’t it, and it’s tearing me apart. Wow. I’ve been ignoring how much I hurt, deep in my chest.
I can taste the ash that fills my lungs. I’m conscious of it and know I have to change.

‘I can’t believe I’m never going to smoke the other half of this’ I think, as I stub out half of a 1G pre-roll.

I was reading my earlier posts and found myself smiling. I know how I sound to myself, and I worry that I won’t properly convey how it feels / thinks / tastes / smells like to be me. I ask everyone I know so many questions, and talk so much because I want to know what it’s like to be them.
How does it feel to wake up? What’s the first thing on your mind?
Where do you glow when you think about love?
Does it make your toes curl when the food is right on the cusp of giving you blisters?

What do you notice? What do you see?
What’s the first thing you notice, bluejay or tree?
Do you admire brown crags that roughen up bark?
Do you see sunlight that flashes needles through leaves?
Do you see cobblestones, treasures in the cracks
Are you looking at other people, moving in social packs
Do you feel wind on your skin, coaxing you out from within?

I start to get critical of the above rhyming bit. At first, it really flowed out without any coaxing. At what point did I stop and start questioning myself?
Should I?

I’m playing fast and loose with the formatting in this, so I wonder if it’s An Actual Fucking Nightmare™ to read on mobile.
Or for anyone reading it on whatever they’re reading.
This is what it’s like. This is how my brain be workin.
Even when I don’t have duties I’m actively shirkin.
This motherfucker rhyme workin and shirkin?
Beat him ass with a mothafuckin gherkin.
You know I’m sittin here, goof ass smirkin.
Have a conversation and sly ass joke lurkin.

Ok that one did get away a bit. Sorry about that, oh, you can be certain.
You thought I was done? Thought for jokes I was hurtin?

Ok seriously let’s get ahold of myself. Sorry. No, not sorry. This is how it is.

Wooden house fuckin nailed to a tree.
I’m a lucky motha bird someone made it for me.
Peep my head out, I got straw bustin out the cracks.
chickies inside peepin they want some fuckin snacks.

Young bird taking flight doin this shit all night
If you thought I was wrong then you’d be fuckin right.
I learned how to love and I learned how to cry.
I learned how to fall, now I’m learning how to fly.

Catch me out the nest and it’s feathers face time
bobbin when I walk, ay I’m weavin when I rhyme.
branch branch flap hunt among the weeds
I grind all day gettin worms n fuckin seeds

Gotta say.
That was pretty fun.

Where the fuck was I?

Ok, hang on.

OH. So I’m sitting at the stoplight, arguing with myself.
Go home. You don’t want this. You want to quit. Stop the car. I was doing so good. I had two days.
Then, Eye Of The Tiger comes on the radio.
Are you fuckin kidding me? I think to myself. Am I in a montage? Is this real?

So, I turn around in the parking lot and drive home, slamming to the tasty guitar licks of no I didn’t do that.
I thought about that reality, I wanted that reality.
Then the light turned green and off I went.

Ok. I get it.
How many times have I said that?
Wow.
I’m trying to very mindfully sit upright with better posture. My normal posture is… not this.
It’s a bit more like… Hmm…

Lean in over your keyboard, press your chest to your fingeeraj;’ijf;eda’;nealkdsnvc’sansdv

and then, start to sit up, once you hit the point that your eyes are directly over the bottom of your keyboard, stop.
Now, twist your spine a little so you’re leaning into your dominant arm.
So, like that. That’s been my posture.

Where the fuck did I get that? Oh, right, and tuck your legs/feet back so you’re poised on the tips of your toes.
Damn, I’m ready to RUN. So tense.
Sheesh. Shoulders hunched, neck tense.
So lost in your mind you feel like you’re dense.

Shallow, shallow breaths. Always leaning on something, forward, left right. Weight poised in one point, leaned into the ball of the foot, sides, toes, heels shit I don’t discriminate.
How uncomfortable. I can’t stay still and maintain the posture / form. I get distracted by something and my body stops performing if I’m not actively focused on it.

Every little movement and action takes so much thought oh my god what if the reason is because my mind is using all my processing power for movement and focus to worry about shit. Seems like it could be a valid theory wow keys are so much fun to type on when you are conscious of every little move. Seriously. At first, it was a bit like suddenly being aware of your tongue in your mouth. Conscious breathing. All those things that get put on autopilot so we can use our brains for other things that we think deserve more of our attention. The only thing that deserves attention is the thing or things that matter the most to you.

Why do I give all my attention to things that don’t matter? Good question. I often wonder if it’s because then I’d have to worry about all the things that do matter.
Would that be so bad?
You know? It doesn’t sound so bad.
I’m going to try that out.
Stay here, in my body.
Not lost in thought.



I’m going to smoke the other half of that J.
But, you know what?
I love myself anyway. I know what I’ve got going on.
Eventually, you will too. I plan on opening up and sharing it with you.
That’s what I know I want to do.

Thank you for letting me?
Thank you for reading it?
Listening?

Thank you. Thank you for being you.

Let’s start with first names.

My name is Drew.

Maybe, someday, I’ll get to meet you.

55 Minutes.

15 Seconds.

Why is this always, what I do?
Take out always.
This is what I am doing right now.
This is not what I always do.

You have to write the story.
Elsewise, the story writes you.

7/28/21

1 Day, 14 Hours, 29 Minutes, & 58 Seconds

Tomorrow is going to be the acid test, I’m off and I’ll be driving around running errands.
How easy it would be to just… stop somewhere and pick up Just One More.
Isn’t it always Just One More?
Then, I look back and I’ve Just One More’d my way through 700.
I suppose all journeys are one more step, and this is just another step on another journey.

I made an appointment for next Tuesday to look into treatment for ADHD and some antidepressants.
I am operating under the theory that treating my ADHD will take care of the depression.
I think the depression is symptomatic of the smoking and ADHD - getting things on track will sort that out.
Unless the depression is what keeps knocking me off the path.
SHIT.

Stay tuned, I suppose. I don’t have answers at this point.

I took a melatonin and a little wine to send me right to sleep last night in the face of cravings.
I dozed and woke up 20 minutes later to the pungent and unmistakable aroma of One Of The Dogs Should Have Gone Out 30 Minutes Ago.
I set about cleaning up very calmly, and had the matter sorted and back to sleep in minutes.
Just kidding! I seethed and raged internally for a good half hour before I was able to drift off again.
What a delight 2 hours later to wake to the exact same scenario.
Luckily for me, Phillip took care of things while I pressed my face into the pillow and silently screamed for a quick death.

Speaking of which, I was in the middle of getting a rag to go and clean up the residual stain, but ended up here writing about it.
Let’s hear it for distractionary whims.

1 Day, 22 Hours, 24 Minutes, 47 Seconds.
Well. . . I still haven’t scrubbed at that stain, but I did hose down the backyard stairs.
How did I get to there from going to grab a rag? Good question. I’m not sure.
It’s a common theme in my life.
The other day, I went downstairs to grab the vacuum to clean the rug, and I ended up shaving.
The entire time I’m shaving, I’m talking to myself. “What am I doing? I need to get the vacuum. Why am I shaving? THE VACUUM. DREW. GET THE VACUUM.”
To that voice, I calmly say. “I’ll get it after I’m done shaving.”
So I get done shaving, grab the vacuum, and end up in the front lawn watering plants.
This happens a few times, I set out to do Task A, and end up doing Tasks C, E, F, G, I, O, P, Z, and THEN I get to start on A.

Maybe I’ll get to that stain next time I set out to do it, or maybe, I’ll spot a bit of dirt on a window and end up scrubbing them all down.

1 Day, 23 Hours, 54 Minutes, & 59 Seconds

5 more minutes, and I’ll have made it two days.
I made it to two days today, I’ll say on my way to the deck.
Next round I’ll make it to two for you, and then to three for me.
Baby steps.
Baby steps.
How would a baby quit smoking?

I reckon it wouldn’t start in the first place, I can’t imagine a baby enjoying this shit.
Hello.
It’s me, baby, and I be enjoyin this shit.
No I don’t.
Arguing with myself isn’t a good look.
Invalidating myself without an argument is an even worse one.
. . . touche.

2 Days, 0 Hours, 1 Minute, 4 Seconds.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I can do this.




Until I’m suddenly not.

7/27/21

Ok, I need to find a primary care physician to work with on a medication plan to manage my ADHD.
I’m not sure which one of these PCPs to go with, what if I go with the wrong one?
Oh there’s a drop down for doctors that are specific to psychology.
This one is for ADHD.
Do I need a PCP or one of these?
I don’t have the letter of diagnosis from my diagnoser.
I need to contact them, and then get a PCP so I can bring that letter in.
Ok, so call them, get the letter, settle on a doctor, make an appointment, go to the appointment, get on a plan, stick to the plan.

This sounds like an overwhelming amount of work to take on.

I need to take it from the bottom step and work my way up to the top of the mountain.

21 Hours, 55 Minutes, 15 Seconds
One of the perks of getting off work so late, is that nothing is open so I can’t succumb to post work stress temptation.
Instead, I can lay awake and wish I were tired.
How delightful.

7/26/21

13 Hours, 34 Minutes, 30 Seconds

I don’t recollect exactly what I was reading, but it mentioned that irritability is one of the most overt symptoms of depression.
In an ironic twist, recognizing that in myself makes me feel a bit irritated.

Depression is such a joke, to me. A shitty, cruel joke, but a joke nonetheless.
On paper, it seems like a pretty dumb scenario, really.

So you’re going to be miserable.
Ok.
AND being miserable is going to make you miserable.
. . . Ok?
PLUS you’ll be annoyed at everything, even though you’ll be able to logically recognize that it’s not annoying.
Wait a minute
No no no, it gets better. Recognizing that it’s not actually annoying will only ANNOY YOU MORE!
This sounds like a shitty proposition
I haven’t gone over the benefits yet, we have to get through the disclaimer / fine print first.
Ok, but it better be worth it
It isn’t.
Hmm?
Nothing! So, you won’t really feel anything.
So I can’t hurt?
Oh, no you’ll be able to hurt. It’s really the only thing you’ll be able to feel.
Will I be able to feel love?
HA
Joy?
Mmmm not on the list
Pleasure?
I’m not seeing it after Pain or before Rage
I’m not convinced
That’s fine, you don’t have to be. It’s not a voluntary ride!
What?
Yeah, and you’ve been riding it for so long you don’t really know what it’s like to NOT be riding it. If you manage to slip off the ride for a second or more, it’s so disorienting and unfamiliar, you’ll be uncomfortable in your own skin.
But I’ll be off the ride!
Well, until you’re right back on it.
I won’t get back on it.
Again, not voluntary, you’ll get back on it without even noticing. You’ll be skipping through the park having a delightful time, and then be hit with the numb realizing that you’re not having a great time, and you’ve been back on the ride for the past year.
How? I was just skipping?
Yeah, time gets a bit… skippy. Seconds last for hours, days last for a minute. You’re going to be too lost in yourself to notice the outside world.
You’re not making a compelling case of this, I think I’ll stick with Just Feeling Fine.
Ok, if you’re sure, have fun!
What’s with that face?
What face?
The face you’re making when you say ‘have fun!’
I’m not making a face
You DEFINITELY made a face. It was a bit like. . . this.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
You said ‘have fun!’ and then your mouth did a bit of a twist, and you had a gleam in your eye that flashed like… like NOW!
Yeah, I was being facetious, you’re not going to have fun. You don’t know how.
Ohhh I see now. I never really left.
Precisely.
. . . .
. . . .
I’d like to get off the ride.
So would I.
Then let’s. . . ?
Were you listening? We can’t.
Why not?
. . . I don’t know.
Now I’m confused, is the ride depression or smoking?
The smoking is a symptom, not a root cause.
So the smoking isn’t the problem.
Well, the smoking helps, but it’s quicksand. You’re not going anywhere while you’re in it, but it’s a comforting and sticky seat.
I fuckin KNEW quicksand was going to be a problem when I was a kid.
Yeah, but it’s metaphorical.
Still, same premise. Lay flat, don’t struggle, slow gentle movements out.
Is that how you escape quicksand?
Shit, I think? I don’t remember. I think I read once that I ought to cut some reeds to make a flat surface to support my weight.
. . .
Yeah I don’t know what the metaphorical reeds are in this scenario. My hobbies? Rely on my hobbies to rest on / support me through it?

I think so.

I hope so.

22 Hours, 1 Minute, 30 Seconds

Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.
I imagine an elite from Halo saying this, and a stray smile slips in through the crack it knocks in my mood.
I wish for death. I’m not actively seeking it out, but if some method of convenient obliteration happened by, I would follow it wherever it was walking.

I ache to hold Phillip and tell him how much I hurt.
But I can’t.
It won’t help and it will only make him feel bad.
I’ve made him feel bad enough.

This is what depression is. It’s not logical. It’s hardly even emotional.
It’s yourself locked behind walls that make no sound when beaten.
It’s life going on just inside the warm and frosted glass.
It’s reality shining joyously, but I haven’t the eyes to see it.
It’s deafening laughter that shakes the rafters, and ears that are deaf to hear it.
It is excruciating and effervescent, it clings like oil and pulls like lead.
It is overwhelming and crushing, and grinds you to dust until dead.

This is why I have 22 Hours, 8 Minutes, and 50 viciously fought seconds.
This is why I reset the timer.
I want to feel something that isn’t this.
I want to feel something.
I want to feel.

and in time, I will.

22 Hours, 9 Minutes, 50 Seconds.
Breathing shallow and eyelids wet.
How much harder does it get?
Death kisses my neck, scintillating and sleazy.
I shudder and clench, it won’t be that easy.

22 Hours, 11 Minutes, and 25 Seconds.
When I feel like this, I can’t fathom feeling any other way.
That is a constant pressure that thrums deep beneath the sorrow.
I’ve felt like this yesterday, today and will tomorrow.
There’s no finish line, no breath of fresh air.
Force of battered will is the only way that I can care.

and right now?
I don’t.



22 Hours, 13 Minutes, 17 Seconds.
Focus on the work.
Focus on the work.
Focus. On. The. Work.

22 Hours, 44 Minutes, 36 Seconds
It feels like it’s been hours, but it’s only been half of one.
When it is excruciating, time slows to a crawl.
When it is enjoyable, time dashes past in a mad sprint.
I want to get the experience of living long, misery seems to be the way to artificially inflate.

Living long isn’t the goal, living fulfilled is.

23 Hours, 6 Minutes, 6 Seconds.

Sheesh.

I don’t want to be your kid

I don’t want to be your kid.
I want to get to know you.
Look at all the things I did,
I’ll never get to show you.