~The view from down here

Rage and depression came like lightning strikes today. I guess that the rain was sleep. I did a lot of that. I do appreciate the sleep. With me it can be feast or famine. The last couple of days I have been feasting.

There's a lot going on in my head. It's all tangled in there though. Wants and needs and abilities... realities...

Sometimes I think that I can survive, other times I don't think so. Sometimes I think that if I have to go through one more day of this hell I'm supposed to call a life, I'm checking out and taking the whole damn peanut gallery with me. Other times I can just romanticize the whole thing and think of myself as a hermit.

I'm not a hermit though. I'm a very social creature. Always have been. I've always had a lot of "friends" and ALWAYS had a girlfriend or was at least sleeping with this that or the other person. Now? It's me and my plant. On a scale of one to ten, one being solitary in a jail, my human contact level is at about 2, maybe 3 tops.

The only way out of here is "the projects". It scares me. I don't know that I have much choice though. I either move to the projects when my name comes up on the list, or I die here. Maybe I should say, continue dying here.

I wish that I could find some strength. Once upon a time I had a disgusting amount of confidence in myself. I suppose that falling flat into a pile of shit will make even the strongest of us a bit wary. Confidence; that's what I lost somewhere.

Freedom's just another word for "nothing left to lose".

I've got too much stuff.

~Tats the way it is.

My Classmates.com membership is about to expire. I don't plan on renewing it. I went over there this morning though, just to see if anyone new had shown up. No one I knew had, but I saw that they'd added this company listing thing, so I went a searchin'. The companies I once worked for were listed, but no one had added their names to the list. Count me in with them.

I got to thinking after that, about all the jobs I had before hitting the completely disabled category. I worked from '86 through '99 in one capacity or another, with the exception of '96. (So, for those of you wondering, I did actually "earn" this disability money I'm surviving on.)

I miss working. Maybe that's why I started my board in 2000, I needed something to help me feel like I was doing something for someone.

Maybe, one day, when I get back to Philly or am able to move somewhere where I can get from point A to point B on my own, I can try working again. Maybe I can find some sort of job that is pretty cut and dry... maybe unloading trucks or something. Don't know if something like that would pay the rent though.

All wishing aside, I don't know if I'll ever get to the point where I'll be able to work again. My head keeps going off. I'll think that I'm doing ok, then BAM!, I'm blacking out and speaking in tongues.

I think that I want to get "LITTLE PSYCHO" tattooed across my back... or maybe just "PSYCHO" around my neck. The "little" part really doesn't need pointing out.

Then... back to the reason I started this blog... maybe it should say "HARDCORE".

~the usual whining

What did I do today..?.. I changed my sheets (mark that on the calendar). I took a shower. A few minutes ago I fixed my leaky faucet. That was rather amusing.

It'll dry.

I keep walking to the fridge and finding nothing I feel like dealing with. I'm not really that hungry, but I know that I need to eat.

I'm tired. I want to go to sleep, but... (there's always a but) I need to eat.

So, what do I do?

Go online and type about it.

Real productive.

~Good to go.

I have no clue what extra features I'll use that come with the "Pro" package, but honestly (maybe this comes from running boards myself) I don't mind paying. It feels better to me to pay for a service than to milk a freebie. I'm sure Rocky has rent to pay too.

~You get what you pay for.

I guess I'll be keeping this blog up for a year. Just paid the $19.95.


...I sort of like this blog/journal thing. I've been posting on and running message boards for 5 years, and frankly, this is a bit less harsh on the ego. At least here I don't expect replies to what I write. Too, I don't have to bust my ass making everyone else happy while the majority of those people all but spit in my face in return.

It's my blog. I can be as much of an asshole as I want to be... and it won't destroy any so-called "community".

That's got to be the joke of the decade... "Online Communities". What a load of shit. There are very few people online that give a rat's ass about anyone else in these communities but themselves. But then... that's the way of the world. ME ME ME. Makes me ill.

Come to think of it, my parents' "ME ME ME" did, in fact, make me ill. I have the papers to prove it.

So, this is my "ME ME ME" space. I still have my board, and I'll still do my best to show people that I do actually care about them, but now I have an outlet. ...a safe place to bitch, whine, moan, blow up, be selfish, and give the world the finger. I can do that. I don't have kids to fuck up from the practice.

~Being friends with the Mentally Ill

At this point in my life, I'd have to say it has become clear to me that in order to be friends with someone who is mentally ill, you have to (somewhat) keep your distance while still showing them that you actually do care. That, and you have to have the patience of a saint.

Sometimes I think that the Institutional thing is needed in this country. The problem is that the abuse and degradation that goes along with it is not. It's rough. When your brain is broke, the options are stay in your house and manage the "You look fine" attitudes and "What do you do?" questions of people if you can manage to get out, or go to an asylum where your rights are taken away. Funny, people with broken legs don't have to deal with that. I guess that what it comes down to is that when people say they need help, it should be up to them to say what that help is, and if they don't know, it should (at least) be up to them to say what it isn't. Just because a person is mentally ill doesn't mean that they're an idiot, or an infant. Help should be offered, not inflicted. With the right help, one mentally ill person could be capable of curing Cancer or being your best friend. With "help" that is force fed, mentally ill people often either become statistics or create them.

~A wish for apathy

So, you're supposed to thank your mother for giving birth to you today, right?

What do you do when your life consists of battling with the urge to kill yourself (to say nothing of your mother)?


One day...

One day maybe I'll stop caring.