Monday, 5 May 2014

Purposely chose mighty ducks over road to damascus. It's much more relevant to me

I think I have a fairly good idea now of how Gordon Bombay might have been feeling before he met those mighty ducks. Outwardly stable, inwardly tormented. Carrying around a personal sense of failure and hopelessness. Unable to avoid the self-destructive behaviour that I'm getting a little too old for. Abusing the medication that I should be submitting everything to. But like Gordon, I'm just not happy.

 I really am rather lonely at this point. Partly from my own designed isolation, partly because people I want to spend time with don't want to spend time with me. Perhaps it is more to do with being in the wrong time and place. If I'm not thinking about smashing the people I live with in the face with a hammer I am completely apathetic of any relationship with them at all. I'm the last single man standing now and it's magnifying the impression I have of myself as intrinsically unlovable, desperately condemned to my own company. I realise I don't want a girlfriend but I doubt whether I'd be capable of having one.  

I am having a heart attack now. I've been having this heart attack for some time now. 

I have to be one of the stupidest people I know. I do things that are severely damaging myself just because I can't resist for a few hours. I continue to do things I don't enjoy because I am too lazy to change. I am so stupid I was staring at a kitchen knife briefly last night before realizing that I didn't want to die, I simply wanted a different kind of pain. Something to distract me. Well they do say a change is as good as a rest.
I think sometimes that the realisation and diagnosis of my depression leads me to an expectation that it doesn't require constant treatment. That it can look after itself for the most part. Would I have the same careless disrespect for cancer? Would I continue to eat a side of bacon with every meal after a massive heart attack?

Here I am standing in the wrong clothes for the context or standing in the wrong context for the clothes. I'm a square peg and home is a round hole here. I always have been. Pressure is building with hideous subtlety for me to make something of myself but even static pressure causes opposition to weaken over time. I shouldn't be here, never should have been. 

So I went out last night and had some drinks. Had a look around, saw one thing that I like and a whole lot of shit I didn't.

Off Monday, must drink Sunday excitement! The Dj was playing this set-list in here when I was nineteen and it wasn't good then. Fat bald men throwing punches because of their paranoid perceptions. I doubt anyone was giving your missus the eyes mate. Drunken girls showering the ground with spilt super chips. Checked shirts that were out of fashion before the Apaches had their first glance at John Wayne's unsteady strut. Is this where Romeo first saw Juliet? I doubt he would have wanted her so much laid out on Monaghan street, fake tan mud-slide dressed up in yesterdays sale. Extreme emotions, we all love or hate each other that bit more at night, intoxicated.

In the middle of all this a friend of mine suggested to me that my standards are too high. My expectations of myself are too high, leading to disappointment. My expectations of a girlfriend are too high, leading too a lonely life. My expectations for life are too high, leading to depression. He thinks I would be better off doing what he has done, take a fairly average girl that I share almost no common interests with and whom I have no exceptional chemistry with and "give it a go". When I replied that there was a word I could use to describe what he was saying, he wasn't unhappy with being told I considered that settling.

I won't ever apologise for having this idealistic streak inside me. More than any other character trait I possess it's the one that make me what I am. Believe me when I say it makes me a more sensitive person, a more caring friend, a more hopeful human being. It's what induces me to pine for people and things I can't have because ideally I can have it all. But it is also what makes particularly susceptible to severe life-threatening depression. It is going to kill me or make me stronger. Unfortunately, it probably won't ever be able to make me happy.

So nothings changed has it? I say one thing and do another. I can't protect myself from restlessness. The consequences remain the same. The needy sadness, the pathetic hopelessness, the kitchen knife and the office scissors. I'm a selfish cunt really! Some people have made the effort for me when I won't do it myself. It'd be rather nice to have my might ducks moment

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