My life experiences have tempered me into a very skeptical and cautious person. I approach everything with some extent of suspicion, because I'm a firm believer in "better safe than sorry". So I try to be prepared for all outcomes so at the very least I know I tried my best. As the Flaming Lips say in "Fight Test": "For to lose I could accept, but to surrender I just wept..."

Of course the point of this post isn't anything as admirable or thought provoking, but merely just to take account of another of my many idiosyncrasies. Every time I shower I find myself doing two things. Either thinking about something/music, or looking over my shoulder. I know even when I'm outside I approach everything with some apprehension, but I don't think there's any period of time that I am more paranoid than when I am in the shower. At least when I'm asleep I feel I can respond immediately and am a fairly light sleeper. When I think about it, this probably also has something to do with my built-in paranoia. But showers... something about being naked and that moment when you have soap/shampoo covering your eyes... makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. That's the moment when someone could barge right in and you'd be helpless to defend yourself.

I have a wild imagination. I know there's like 0.01% chance of this ever happening, but the nature of my personality doesn't care. So whenever I'm showering I have to cleanse my eyes real fast so I can open them again and make sure that when I do someone won't be waiting there in front of me to stab me or something.

I know it's weird. It also doesn't help that only the front door to the apartment has a lock. One lock. Being accustomed to living behind a metal door and multiple locks everywhere, I feel like, like I'm flying blind here or something. Of course if anyone does break into a random apartment in the middle of sub-rural/urban Utah looking for a bathroom victim, I'll be ready for them!

Here's something curious I noticed about myself. I generally espouse that I do not dance or that I am at least not very fond of dancing, but that is not necessarily true. I find that when I'm listening to music by myself, music that for the most part is not generally "danceable", I do end up performing bodily movements that one could hazard to guess was the equivalent of dancing.

The implications here are twofold:

First and most importantly, what should be garnered from this is that for the most part, a lot of the music that people dance to is not the kind of music I personally feel compelled to dance to. I still subscribe to the belief that dancing should be natural and music will either make you want to dance, or it will not. Granted, one could be trained, like a monkey, to "dance" to whatever, but this defeats the purpose in my mind to the act. It then becomes a charade, like insincere words or manufactured music with no soul.

Secondly, my dancing is private. It's kind of strange to think of it that way, something that most people have no reservations about openly sharing and displaying. For me, I would rather perform sexual acts in public than dancing. That is not to say I have any exhibitionist tendencies, but rather I would feel less uncomfortable having sex in public than dancing. I'm not exactly sure why this is. I guess I feel a little self conscious about it, but also there's something personal about it. It's not really something I want to share with anyone else.

Whereas I'm pretty open about sex and my body, my dancing is a guilty pleasure I reserve all to myself. And although there's a very slim chance of going to any kind of club or party and hearing "Aerodynamic" by Daft Punk or "Da Rockwilder" by Red and Meth which might evoke some genuine movement from me, for the most part it is usually your Jay-Z's and your Lady Gagas and your whatever catchy song of the week that while these can possibly be songs I like, they don't usually get anything more than a head-bob or foot-tap out of me.

There is 0% chance of me ever hearing Muse, or Paradise Lost, or Interpol or Ghostland Observatory, Arcade Fire, Modest Mouse, Placebo, etc... Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that I have never been in the kind of circles where the kind of music I truly enjoy are ever in abundant supply. These are more the kinds of songs you might hear on a radio. They're more for "rocking out" I suppose but even then a lot of the dancy music I like I never come across anyway. Either way, I'm sure my style of "dancing" would be in stark contrast to however most people celebrate these kinds of music.

And that's fine, because at the end of the day I have no desire or intention to share my dancing with anyone else. I seek neither approval nor judgement. Unlike with sex there is no sense of incompleteness lacking a... partner. Though I do sometimes wish I could do some sweet head-spins or pop-and-locks.

So after finally having internet again, I had some thoughts. Adjusting to a different environment is a little strange at first. Not just your surroundings but even in your daily routines. I unpacked all my things, furnished half of my new room, and organized a bunch of other stuff I'd been putting off for some time. It's funny the things I've managed to get done under "simpler" circumstances.

The point of this post however is not some new-found appreciation and/or rejoicing of minimalism. I am still very much a material man and my materials are still my greatest solace and hope for the future. My point is this: yes, I've gotten some things done in my down time, and I suppose some down time is good for everyone, but certain habits aren't always replaced by productivity in their stead. In my youth I had nothing but down time. I spent that time occasionally hanging out with friend(s?) but mostly playing a LOT of games. More importantly, the position I was in only led me to unproductive endeavors with most the time I had. It's hard to imagine where I'd be right now without the internet.

The truth of the matter is, life before the internet was very dark and lonely. I'm a very awkward individual and it takes a very uncommon combination of traits to get along with me. Through the internet I met my eventual love interests and most of the friends I still keep in touch with now. With it came a sense of connectivity, belonging, and growth. Look at where I'm at now. I've finally moved out. My roommate is not only someone able to tolerate all of my bullshit and nonsense but also willing to lend a hand and an arm. I've known him for some 8 odd years, and it is all thanks to the internet.

When I look back at the darkest period of my life, I think, 'had things been different they could have gone much worse'. For all its evils, I cannot overlook the merits of being able to circumnavigate a smaller world and finding its rare gems. We sometimes can look back on things with rose-colored glasses, or things don't seem as bad once you are out of the moment. Like, when I look back on those first few years with Betty, they were actually some of the happiest times in my life, even though I didn't realize it at the time. Conversely, the period of time before I had a computer may not have been my saddest or most extreme, but they were my most uncertain and confusing and I didn't even know the meaning of hope. Now years later, after countless undulations of peaks and valleys, I'm one step closer to where I want to be.

So I did not despair at suddenly finding myself cut off from the rest of the world. Rather, I embraced this unexpected opportunity. However, when all's said and done, I do not desire "simplicity". The meaning I've been able to carve out for myself has only been possible due to this double edged digital tool. And so I guess my ultimate point is, I think the internet saved my life...

The internet is like my Weighted Companion Cube

 
 
 
 
 
 
    Zarathustra descended alone from the mountains, encountering no one. But when he came into the forest, all at once there stood before him an old man who had left his holy cottage to look for roots in the woods. And thus spoke the old man to Zarathustra:
    "No stranger to me is this wanderer: many years ago he passed this way. Zarathustra he was called, but he has changed. At that time you carried your ashes to the mountains; would you now carry your fire into the valleys? Do you not fear to be punished as an arsonist?
    Yes, I recognize Zarathustra. His eyes are pure, and around his mouth there hides no disgust. Does he not walk like a dancer?
    Zarathustra has changed, Zarathustra has become a child, Zarathustra is an awakened one; what do you now want among the sleepers? You lived in your solitude as in the sea, and the sea carried you. Alas, would you now climb ashore? Alas, would you again drag your own body?"

    Zarathustra answered: "I love man."

    "Why," asked the saint, "did I go into the forest and the desert? Was it not because I loved man all-too-much? Now I love God, man I love not. Man is for me too imperfect a thing. Love of man would kill me."

    Zarathustra answered: "Did I speak of love? I bring men a gift."

    "Give them nothing!" said the saint. "Rather, take part of their load and help them to hear it--that will be best for them, if only it does you good! And if you want to give them something, give no more than alms, and let them beg for that!"

    "No," answered Zarathustra. "I give no alms. For that I am not poor enough."

    The saint laughed at Zarathustra and spoke thus: "Then see to it that they accept your treasures. They are suspicious of hermits and do not believe that we come of gifts. Our steps sound too lonely through the streets. And what if at night, in their beds, they hear a man walk by long before the sun has risen--they probably ask themselves, where is the thief going?
    Do not go to man. Stay in the forest! Go rather even to the animals! Why do you not want to be as I am--a bear among bears, a bird among birds?"

    "And what is the saint doing in the forest?" asked Zarathustra.

    The saint answered: "I make songs and sing them; and when I make songs, I laugh, cry, and hum: thus I praise God. With singing, crying, laughing, and humming I praise the god who is my god. But what do you bring us as a gift?"

    When Zarathustra had heard these words he bade the saint farewell and said: "What could I have to give you? But let me go quickly lest I take something from you!" And thus they separated, the old one and the man, laughing as two boys laugh.
    But when Zarathustra was alone he spoke thus to his heart: "Could it be possible? This old saint in the forest has not yet heard anything of this, that God is dead?!"

So I've started reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Not sure what I think of it yet, but there have been at least two passages I really liked that really spoke to me. And parts of others I liked. I've been considering posting the parts I like here for future reference. Let's see...

So I just got back from work, and had an interesting/disturbing conversation with a coworker. Now I'm not trying to be melodramatic but some of the things said gave me pause to think. First I was told her skin was sensitive and would break out or something. Fair enough, I can respect that. Then I made a playful false poking motion as if I were going to attempt to touch her face, and that's when some dig about it being disrespectful came into play. Needless to say the whole thing kind of threw me off.

I sat there kind of confused and trying to figure out what was just being said. I knew what I wanted to say to her, but couldn't think of the words. So as I walked home a couple of thoughts came to me and I continued the conversation in my mind. My thoughts were as follows:

I can see how it can be taken as being disrespectful, I understand that personal space is a big deal to some people. So it's not like I don't understand what you are saying, but I'm not sure if you do, because there are certain implications that can be drawn from the statement.

1) You think I'm annoying. I can understand this. I can be annoying. I am like a big kid. That's a part of me that'll probably never change. And I can also understand that you don't like or want to be annoyed.

2) You think I'm filthy. I can't blame you for that either, it's safer to assume someone is dirty than clean, especially if your skin is allergic to impurities. Although there is a certain sting that comes along with being called grimy.

3) You think of me as a stranger. This is probably the one that bothered me most. I can understand it to a certain extent, I mean, it's not like we're really friends or anything, I guess? But we're not really strangers either; I have a pretty specific definition of stranger. I wouldn't want a stranger touching me either, but to me a stranger is like someone you don't know from anywhere, while coworkers are people you at least know from somewhere. An important distinction, I think. Strangers are people you see in the street and pass on by and don't think otherwise. Unless what you are saying is that you would look the other way and pretend like you don't know me?

Any one of these things alone are easily acceptable, but I felt there was kind of an insinuation of all three, and that kind of caught me off guard. Especially since other signs suggested otherwise.

Why even grab my arm to get my attention? Or be in close proximity to me? Or put your hand on my shoulder/back if I was a dirty stranger? Doesn't that go against the whole "personal space" arguement being made? So I'm a little confused as to what transpired.

Saying you have sensitive skin or find poking annoying is one thing, but it almost seems now like your actions belie how you really feel about or see me. I guess I had the wrong impression?

So I watched the 2009 inauguration and it got me thinking...

The more things change, the more they stay the same. So they say. They also say that history repeats itself. These axioms continue to exist for a reason, no? We like to use the word "revolution" very liberally and in the sense of some kind of dramatic replacement, but what we often get is the rotational kind that runs in circles. We change some faces and names here, make a little progress there, but in the end we find ourselves back where we began.

That's not to say that we don't make some kind of progress. Archaic forms of totalitarianism like communism/fascism are being replaced with softer forms like welfare/warfare. I suppose you could call that a "revolution" of sorts?

Seeing him sworn in reminded me of how heavily religious people still are, and how despite the idea of a separation of church and state, religion is still deeply rooted in politics. It reminded me of the Greek/Roman pantheon of gods and what an integral part their mythology played in their everyday lives and actions. So is religion not our version of ancient mythology? They both involve believing in powerful imaginary entities. They both tout virtues and teach lessons, all the while embracing their own flavors of hypocrisy. So why should one be given more authenticity over the other?

I suppose it's because people like to keep things simple, so to speak. They don't want to have to critically think and consider a myriad of choices and possibilities. They just want to live their lives and have everything else figured out for them. For this same reason they turn to and empower a higher authority. It's easier to single out one guy and pass all the praise or blame to them. I think something in people finds this dynamic comforting; to be able to look at someone like [former President] Bush and denounce his actions and point to him and say "that's the bad guy."

Well, I say you get what you elect. So to try to blame the shortcomings of a nation on one man is to address the symptom of an even bigger problem... but that's a topic for another entry.

I don't think I've ever bothered to watch an inauguration before so I don't know when this started, but, as I watched [now President] Obama's, I couldn't help but notice how strikingly similar it was to a royal procession. The nobles gallivanted about the court, curtsied and paid their respects. The commoners gathered around the palace and cheered and hailed the crowning of their new king. It was a little weird for me. I wonder if I would have felt as awkward had that been Ron Paul. Although, I suspect Paul would eschew such opulent ceremonies, or at least exercise some modest restraints.

Not to give the wrong impression; I don't blame Obama. This was just as much for the people's sake as anyone elses, which is really the point I'm getting at. It seems to me that the populace is leaning ever more towards some (subconscious?) desire to be ruled by a singular powerful entity. More and more power is being centralized in government, and more of it passes from congress and the courts to the president with each session. What happened to the idea of checks and balances? When did we start wanting the President to be the final and only word on when to go to war, how to run the economy, and how much privacy and freedom people are allowed in their lives?

With every Patriot Act and Stimulus Package and Government Agency we edge ever closer to making the President the de facto Emperor with a bunch of talking heads as his optional council. And this is what the people want. They don't want to petition their local authorities or be responsible for small governance, they want to rise or fall by the whims of one man.

Maybe I misunderstood, but I thought the founding fathers tried to break away from this kind of government. The president was just supposed to be commander-in-chief, one part of a three part system, and we have broke free from one monarch to reinstitute another. Although I suppose it could be asked "well why not?" We certainly have gone out of our way to establish a global empire, why not an emperor as well to oversee it?

History seems to indicate that perhaps it's something intrinsic to the existence of empires, but they always seem to overreach, to spread themselves too thin, to grow stale and stubborn in their ways and refuse to adapt and change to the world around them. Despite how far we've come, it seems we always return to an embrace of the past. The parallels between us and empires of old are many. We are not that different from the Roman Empire of legend. So I wonder, is the dusk setting on our empire as well? Will we go down in history as just another cycle in the revolution? And more importantly, will it be a violent and catastrophic collapse like that of ancient Rome? Hmmm....

(I decided to repost this because I'm not sure if it showed up with Date Out of Order)

In regards to my previous post, I would pose this question: in a world that insists that "everything will be alright" and "things will work themselves out" why should anyone worry? I remember going through schooling with this same sense of reassurance from all angles and everyone else with me pretty much took it lightly and as just one of several phases to suffer through.

I think part of the problem with our educational system is that it completely lacks a frame of reference/relevance. We provide plenty of "whats" for our children (and each other to a lesser extent). What they should do, what they should learn, but I find us critically lacking in "whys". It's all good and well to know who George Washington is, but if you have no understanding or appreciation for politics or government, then it serves very little purpose outside of trivia. History that isn't learned from to shape the present is no better than fiction (and depending on the teacher, more boring also). We kind of just tell our children "you need to know this because we say so" and I find this kind of approach to education (and child rearing for that matter) to be fundamentally flawed. If you treat children like idiots, then idiots is what you'll get.

Schooling should be a preparation for the inevitability OF working, and this should be made unmistakably evident. Asians are burdened with the stereotype of being smart. Although it is a stereotype, if a stereotype doesn't at least have a kernel of truth it doesn't stick. So why are Asians so "smart"? Is it a result of how seriously they approach and treat education, or is that a coincidence?

I'd argue that this current system of educating you solely to prepare you for MORE education is corrosive. It only belittles college into "high school part deux" and undermines the severity and necessity of being productive. I think it's also detrimental and deceptive in the sense that college is no guarantee either of employment (especially not of the desired kind). Granted, plenty of people who make it as far as college have the right mentality for college. There are also plenty of people who work during college. However, I'd say in that case it's more because of necessity from becoming independent of your parents. Even that is changing I'd say. I'd wager the number of college aged children still being taken care of by their parents and/or living at home with them is increasing.

So what is gained from this system? I fear we are growing dangerously close to cultivating a society not only of dependence, and ignorance, but also of recklessness. Where is the emphasis on the importance of hard work? Of good money management? Saving? Investing? Credit? Business? Government? Sure, we may be able to name some figures, define some words, and add some numbers, but how many people understand anything about the economy? How many know how to run for public office? How many can even name their own senators? The things that I find have the most immediate relevance in peoples lives end up being the side courses to be learned at a later date at your own discretion.

Of course these are all discoveries and revelations after the fact. After having gone through the process, looking back, and looking over, I don't think it's enough to suggest the educational system (and perhaps our attitude as a society) needs mere reform. Combined with other pressing factors like the declining economy, it may take a complete collapse before we rectify our mistakes.

I grew up in America. Born and raised. In my bedroom watching TV is where I spent most of my days.

I've been a fan of Ron Paul for almost two years now. I think the quality that polarized me most is his consistent championing of (personal/fiscal) responsibility and that nothing comes for free. He ties everything together in a way that resounds a truth in me I've always known, but could not put into words. All bills must be paid, sooner or later, and I don't think there are any amount of band-aids or stall tactics that can prevent this fact. I may not be THE most "American" (however one would quantify that) but I think American, speak American, dream American, and see the world from an American perspective. Most of all I'd say I'm definitely a product of American culture as much as anyone else.

Which leads me to my point. We (my generation?) have been born under the aegis of a past prosperity, and raised under the illusion of a current one. Unfortunately, as is oft the case with rich kids, being born under great fortune creates an environment prone to spoilage and ingratitude. Like overprotective parents, we have bought into the mentality of hyper optimism: telling everyone that they can be anything. The reality is a lot of people end up having to do things they don't want to, and that's the way life is, and that's the way it's supposed to be. No one wants to do the hard work. Everyone wants to be doctors, or lawyers, or rich rappers, or sports stars, etc. Education isn't treated as seriously as it should be, and neither is the importance and necessity of hard work. Children don't have to worry about working, it's a side luxury for cell phones and sneakers. We tell them just stay in school and that's all they have to do. When the emphasis should be, if you are going to go to school and NOT work, then you should treat school LIKE work. Unfortunately I am no exception from this system. I had no parents to put this into perspective for me, so I just did the bare minimum and coasted. Years later I'm still trying to break out of the bad habits instilled into me from years of sedentary ignorance.

This is what I think really made previous generations stand out. They understood that education isn't a right, it's a privilege offered up from a free and prosperous nation. I think people have lost sight of this. We believe we are entitled to modern and convenient lifestyles. Entitled to things like education, health care, food, housing, employment, and so on and so forth. That the government is just supposed to magically provide all these things and no one has to sacrifice. Other people recognize the value of having these bonuses readily available; it's why they come here. Yet we are more concerned about celebrities and gadgets. So the budget and the deficit grows. Everyone wants the luxury of living beyond our means, but who's going to generate the wealth to pay for it?

I believe there must be some kind of creator if only because the idea of "everything coming from nothing" or just accepting "the universe always just was" sounds even CRAZIER than the idea of a creator.

I believe that if there is a god, it must be a curious one. And that the universe is an elaborate series of dominoes set up in every dimension. But not just one set of multidimensional dominoes, but all possible arrangements. And once they're done, god just tips the first one(s) and sits back and watches and marvels at the results.

I realized today that although I lack the ambition of a fighter, my mind has always been a gladiator. That is, an enslaved fighter trapped in a cage that takes the form of a very lazy man. My mind is only challenged through the act of challenging. It is only through aggressive interest that anything is learned, passivity brings only temporary memorization. So I seek out other minds to combat and grow from the experience.

The mind is a muscle, but its mass cannot be measured by its volume, but by its thoughts. It's a muscle that thrives on rich sources of knowledge. Its health, like any muscle, is dependant on how broad and balanced the nutrition it receives is. Its strength comes from exercise, thinking exercises. Deep thoughts, long thoughts, frequent thoughts: these are the exercises that refine and define it. Only then is its foundation ready to be sculpted, molded; chiseled. It is on that foundation that we build splendid, sleek and strong temples of wisdom.

"I live my life filled with no pain
Just some rage and three kinds of yes
And I've made stairways
Such scenes for things that I regret
Oh, those days in the sun
They bring a tear to my eye
Tonight I'm gonna rest my chemistry
Tonight I'm gonna rest my chemistry

But you're so young
You're so young
You look in my eyes
You're so young, so sweet, so surprised"

So one of my best friends is having a child soon. Which is a strange statement for me to make as I've always felt having more than one "best friend" to be redundant. This in of itself is not news, as I've known for some time, and people have been having children since time immemorial. However, as depression tends to do, everything comes in waves. I am not happy. My life is still in a quagmire, my mother is getting perceptibly older as the days go by, I'm still at home, I still have no career, I have no love life to speak of, I still struggle with the most basic of tasks, and I can't shake this overwhelming feeling that my time is running out.

I need to get out of this rut. I need to be independent. At some point, if no one else, I will need to look after my mother. I worry about her. I can't come to grips with my desire to make a living and to live a life. It seems to me to have one I need to sacrifice the other. And I'm not sure which is the more self-destructive route.

More specifically, despite my dissatisfaction with my current friend, family, etc., situation, there's one more increasingly overbearing agony growing in my heart, and it's this irrational desire to have a child and provide them with the kind of nurturing, fruitful, and empowered life that I never knew. My friend was curt, distant, and irritable, but this bothered me less than another feeling welling deep inside me. While others might approach the news of fatherhood with an "oh wow, that's going to be rough" or an obligatory "oh hey, congratulations," I was assailed with an overwhelming genuine sense of jealousy.

"You lucky son of a bitch..."

Sure, maybe it's the romantic in me speaking, but my heart breaks thinking about how badly I wish that could be me. Knowing that I may never be competent enough, healthy enough, wealthy enough, functional enough, fortunate enough... to raise a child of my own.

My past and my future collide. The family I've had, and the family yet to be. All these things. All these burdens. All these failures. And here I am, stuck in the middle, incapable of doing anything more than weeping in despair.

And I hate myself for it.
More than words can describe.

The future flies past
And I've gone nowhere
I've been waiting for you
I have always been here

The predator/prey dynamic isn't exclusive to the animal kingdom; it pervades the human one as well.

Evolution and Ethics aren't inherently efficient. There is, however, a practicality to each that propels us forward.

I rearrange the pretty pictures perfectly
The scenery has changed
But the walls remain the same

My tailspins at the tail end of a whirlwind
In the epicenter of the maelstrom
My sanctuary is built upon a cemetery
It's so attractive it holds me captive

I make adjustments, alternating accordingly
The scenery has changed
But the walls remain the same
 
 

Slept at around 4am. Woke up at 8am. Went to bathroom. Did some torso twists and noticed my body was resisting.

Not in a weird problematic way, but in that way familiar to those who do exercise. That, "Oh, so you've gotten too comfortable/relaxed eh, body?" way. Figured it was as good an excuse as any to do some exercise. Did various dumbbell exercises for my biceps, triceps, shoulders, chest and traps. After about 30 mins (the minimum I gave myself) I was exhausted. Not like the most exhausted I've ever been or collapsing, but more tired than I've been in a while. Certainly more tired than I should've been.

This only proved that I'm seriously out of shape, not that it comes as any surprise to me considering I haven't seriously worked out in what, over 2 years at least by now? I really need to get back on the ball... just to keep up maintenance if nothing else, or at least lose some if this extra 30 pounds.

At least now I'm definitely at a point where it might be kind of "fun" again. That is, this brings back memories of what it was like when I began. The problem with exercising (particularly for me) is that at some point you plateau, and the amount of work needed to be put in to start seeing results grows exponentially. If every time I worked out felt like today, the kind of work out where you can FEEL progress, where you can't raise your arms as easily, when you know you are going to be sore later; maybe I wouldn't have gotten burned out so long ago...

I was hoping the early work out would have given me more energy (like I hear it does for most people) but it seems the lack of sleep is catching up to me...

*yawn*

Almost morning. Still awake. Cannot sleep. Curious that I live out my dreams, only in my dreams, and in my waking life I'm haunted by nightmares.
As we speak (I need a better expression), I'm lying in bed paying close attention and giving careful consideration to the imagery of sleeping with a knife pressed against my throat in the hopes of maybe waking up... [paradoxed].

Curious... No cause for alarm. As you were.

Why is it that the people who make it their life calling to deal with mental illnesses, seem to understand it the least? It's like they get so indoctrinated with dogma, that they stop seeing people as individuals and only see a series of questions with pre-programmed answers. "If subject possesses habits A, B, etc. of [depression] then prescribe [insert arbitrary anti-depressant here]." If all it takes to be a psychiatrist is a checklist and basic familiarity with common drugs, hell even I can do that.

Psychiatry is the only field where science makes up maybe, maybe, 20% of it, and the rest is guesswork and bullshit. No one really knows what is going on, there's a lot of mumbo jumbo about "chemicals" and obvious factors such as "environment", "substances" and "disposition." But no one, not one, can tell you "THIS is why you are depressed."

Case in point: I went today to a "doctor" and went through the usual drill. Answered a series of routine and repetitive questions, was told the usual "take it at the same time every day", "don't take drugs", and yada, yada etc. I made it fairly clear from the beginning I don't want to try the same old nonsense over and over again. So what does he prescribe? Wellbutrin, a drug I already told him I've tried. So here we are again, wasting time with the usual "start off at a very low dose" and "give it three weeks and we might raise the dose." At some point after that I'm sure I'll be prescribed something else equally ineffective.

So nothing changes, and I have no say in the matter. But the most egregious part of it all was when I told him I knew what to expect for the next few months and that we were going to be wasting time (of which I'm sure he doesn't care since he's not the one living with it) and he then tells me "have faith."

WTF? Faith?!? I didn't come here to have my spirituality enhanced. I came for results. I thought I came here to see a doctor, not a priest. Faith is not a prerequisite for science. Gravity isn't dependent on my approval to keep me grounded. When I go to an optometrist he doesn't give me lenses that work only if I believe in them. If I take a pain reliever for a headache, it either works, or it does not. This is not a matter of FAITH.

If a medication requires you to believe it will work in order for it to be effective, then it is nothing more than an overpriced placebo. If all I needed was encouraging pep talk to will my problems away, I wouldn't be there in the first place. I have friends who can do that. And if I want to solve my problems through non-scientific, hope based means, I'll pray to god.
 
 

Today shows no signs of improvement. After having considerable... stomach problems... I tried to go to bed around 2-ish. Woke up at 5-ish. So much for maintaining regular sleep. Add a slight headache to the list. The irony to being suicidal is, that if at first you don't succeed, then you are literally a failure at everything. This reminds me of an excerpt from way back, little "emo" but it probably had some influence on my earlier poem and I remember it left quite an impression the first time I read it:

---

Absolutely Nothing

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops" because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a Valentine signed with a row of X's
And he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn" because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because of its new paint
And the kids told him that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And he left butts on the new pews and sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad a lot when he cried for him to do it

Once on a paper torn form his notebook he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question" because that was the question about his girl
And that’s what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed or even talked
And the girl around the corner wore too much make up that made him cough
When he kissed her but he kissed her anyway because that was the thing to do
And at three A.M. he tucked himself to bed, his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
Because this time he didn't think he could reach the kitchen...

-- Stephen Chbosky, The perks of being a wallflower