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

Badly expressed thoughts

I haven't written anything down in a while so let us see if I can't string a few lucid sentences together. Stephen Fry said once that a thought badly expressed is a lie so going by that standard I would not take any of this too seriously.

How can I express an uncertain emotion or vague yearning? With words for sure but I'm out of practise. I seem to have forgotten how to make the dance. I feel like there are a lot of things I am unable to make dance these days.

Lately I have been stirred by restlessness and unsettled by the trajectory of life. Waking up from dreams truly disappointed to find that the brief moment of perfect excitement never really existed in the first place. Waking up from dreams to drag my feet through the muddy water of the set routine. It's not all bad, it just isn't living the dream.

This life I lead now, the transitory phase between old and new, was meant to be an exciting time in itself. That was my expectation anyway. By now I was expecting a thousand fold increase in intelligence and roadmap all laid out. Things rarely work out how you expect, especially when expectations are so often unrealistic.

Tell me Mr Cooney, what exactly were you expecting?

I expect to be high all the time.

Feeling like I'm the passenger of a train with the sensation that the station is moving rather than the train.I haven't even begun to make my mark on the world yet and I am floundering. This life I lead, Work-drink-study-work-t.v.-dream-run-standstill, seems good to many people, perfect to a few more. It just seems a little unambitious to me. I am not judging though.How could I when I comply like all the rest.

I understand that there is comfort in the monotony. From an evolutionary or even anthropological point of view I would imagine it all began as a way of prolonging survival. Every animal wants to survive and the most effective way to do this must be to make it a matter of routine. For many people this is the only way to live. Everyday predictable and boring but safe. Flip it over and it's soul-destroying, imagination restricting and a graveyard.

Here we stand together, a few of is in the wrong time and place. Frustrated and jealous and grasping for something that just isn't there. Pining for something different without understanding what it is. Sometimes wondering if it isn't a what but a who. Whatever it is I need to satiate my yearning heart it isn't in anything I see everyday.

So once again I sit here staring at a computer screen unsure of my conclusion or what even lit the fuse for me to start writing at all. Perhaps it's just a part of my personality. An hereditary gift that leaves me in an almost constant state of longing. But then I think believing that would be nothing but a cop out.

My genes are sealed but I still have time before my fate is.