Thursday, January 31, 2013

I'm starting to get sick of it

This dumbass depression, it's starting to really piss me off.

I hate feeling depressed.
I hate being sad.
I hate feeling like my heart is being ripped out of my chest every minute of the day when I'm depressed.

I absolutely hate being ignored by everyone. I say something I get ignored.
I realized that for anyone to acknowledge my existence I have to talk for a minute straight without stopping and then they only hear the last 10 seconds of what I said if anything at all.

I hate reaching out for a small glint of attention which sometimes I desperately need, and then being rejected. Just a kiss? No. It hurts and it breaks my heart more than everyone thinks. Yeah I act strong.
Yeah I act impenetrable. But people don't realize that men don't feel with their muscles. Just like women, we feel with our hearts, and they can get broken. They can get hurt. Because there's no way to train your heart to be impenetrable. There's no way to make it strong against everything.

It hurts.

Being lonely hurts.

Having no one you can trust to talk to hurts.

Having to come on the internet and release my pent up stress, depression and anger hurts.

If I had a punching bag I would get so much fitter from punching the crap out of it.
I feel that physically releasing it is a very good way to release stress, but unfortunately, I don't have the space for a punching bag firstly, secondly even if I did I would piss my neighbours off, and thirdly I would probably break the bag. I've done it before.

Just tired of everything. There's someone I want to be with but she's too far away and circumstances suggest that that's not happening any time soon. She means the world to me and not having her around me just hurts.

Being away from my family in Uruguay is so damn painful, I just wish I could quit Australia and go back to live in Uruguay. That would be amazing. Thing is, my brother, my sister, my brother in law, my mother, they're all here in Australia and I can't leave them. It's not who I am.

If I left my brother wouldn't have a place to live. I'm not going to abandon my family. I gave up my studies, my work, my friends, my entire life down in Sydney to move up to Brisbane so my Brother would have a place to live. I miss having friends. I miss not being depressed. I miss thinking that I had issues but now that I look back it is shit all compared to what happens here. Same with a lot of people who have confided in me. I listened to all their problems and only some were truly depressed, the others were just fucking whingers.

Either way, I wouldn't take it back. I wouldn't stay in Sydney because then my brother would have nowhere to live. I'm very family orientated and I'd do anything for them. I'll gladly take all of this pain, all of this depression, all of these new issues, and all of these heart problems if it means that the rest of my family can be happy.

Is that love or stupidity?

Chau <3


Why do I write?

Sadness.. I don't buy it.

If I wanted to write because of sadness I could of easily grabbed a pen and paper and written it down.

So why else.. attention? Is that why I put it up on the internet for all to see? Because I want people to give me attention?

Well that doesn't make sense. No one replies. So then why..

Maybe it's because I'm so horribly lonely and now too wounded and terrified to show people how I feel that I have to take the cowards way out and write it in a blog to just feel like someone, anyone out there is listening to me.

Wants to listen to me.

Cares about me at all..

My family loves me but as I've grown up I've watched them grow up and have seen the changes that occurred.

My brother is a lot more difficult to deal with than he used to be. He caught a break with work with becoming a manager and everything, but he gets stressed because he receives attitude.

My sister has grown past the point of being my psychologist. I remember when I was little and I had a problem with my mum and I would run to my room and my sister would walk in after a minute of letting me be alone for a little bit. She would sit on my bed with me and she would talk to me. I would talk to her. She was my best friend when I was little and the only person I could ever confide in. Now she finds it amusing to tell all of her friends funny/really private and embarrassing stories about me just so she can get a laugh out of them even when I ask her not to.

My father is and always has been the person that I look up to most in this world. He may not be a millionaire. He may not have a mansion. He may have built his house with his bare hands. But 1, it's a damn fine house in my opinion, and two, he is one of the happiest men I know. He has a place to rest his head. He has a family that loves him. He has food on the table. That is a blessing if you ask me.

I've never trusted my mother.

So.. I can't talk to my family, my friends are almost all gone. There's almost no one to talk to. That's why I play this online game, it's like a way to get away from everything. To forget who I am and just be who I want to be.

But the writing..

Why write?

It doesn't make me feel better, if anything it makes me feel worse because it makes me list out everything that's wrong and thinking about EVERYTHING is just overwhelming.

So why write?

You know what the answer is?

I really don't know.

I don't love writing.

I enjoy it but not love it.

Is that why? Enjoyment?

No one finds it entertaining.
It doesn't make me feel better.
It just makes me realize how fucked up I am and just cements the idea that.. well I don't really want to finish this sentence.. It.. you don't want to hear it..
I don't overcome my problems just by writing about them so.. Who's enjoyment is that exactly?

No one's. It's just a depressed man who needs to express his feelings even though it makes him worse.

Chau <3

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

No comments

The man stares back at his computer, after putting up his final blog post.

"No comments"

He's talked about hate.

"No comments"

He's talked about heart break and how his ex left him because she was confused and needed time to think.

"No comments"

He's talked about loneliness.

"No comments"

All he wants is a reply.
He just wants someone to comment.
He stares blankly at the computer screen for an hour on end.

"No comments"

Finally at his final blog post he talks about suicide.
How it has eaten him up deep inside and how all he ever wanted was a reply.
He clicked "Publish"

"No comments"

10 minutes.

"No comments"

30 minutes.

"No comments"

60 minutes.

"No comments"

His hand slowly reaches to the edge of his laptop monitor and rests on top of it. Fingers curling over the cold metal cover while he's careful to not touch and dirty the screen.

He clutches the screen a little harder as his vision blurs and tears gently flow down his cheeks onto his keyboard.

"No comments"

As he get's extremely upset an overwhelming pain over comes his chest and his crying stops and is replaced with a cry out in pain as he clutches his chest.

Can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

I need air.

His lungs start to burn as the compressive feeling in his chest tightens then expands dramatically, then tightens back up again.


 He lets out a roar and as his voice starts escaping, so does air. Airflow out. Airflow in.


He puts his hands on his lap and pants heavily staring down at the bedsheet.

 It was sudden. It was powerful.

His body was giving up but something pulled him back.

He pauses.

His hand reaches for the monitor again and pulls it back so it faces him.

"1 Comment."

Chau <3

Monday, January 21, 2013

Fuck you depression. Fuck you right in the anus with a carrot.

Heh.. I see

So depression this is how you want to play? That is just dirty.

My depression has now started to spread further than mentally. Now every time I feel an intense emotion like depression, fury, loathing, loneliness, or anger, and I can't release it in a physical manner, it collects and manifests itself as a sharp physical pain in my heart. It's happened ever since my depression got worse and now it's no longer like a slight pinching pain of the heart.

It feels as if someone reaches into my chest, clenches my heart in one hand and squeezes, then inserts a combat knife (I say this for size comparizon) directly inside of it.

I used to think I was the master.

Master of myself.

Master of my own body.

Master of my surroundings.

I knew how to deal with things.

I knew how to deal with others.

I was emotionless and ruthless when it came to a time when I should have been crying from sadness.

I blocked it and locked it and bottled it up, and it feels like every time this happens the more I pack in the bottle, the more the bottle breaks and large shards of glass penetrate my heart.

I can't take the pain anymore, I have to see a doctor. I knew I should have but I never did because I thought I could control it, now it has progressed and has gotten worse and I can't contain it anymore.

I also need to see a psychiatrist. I can't do this alone anymore. I need someone who I have no connection with, a complete professional stranger, to let out everything. My frustrations. My anger. My loneliness. My depression. My deep sense of something which I don't even know. My developments. My growth.

I need someone that I don't know to tell me what I should do.

I hate talking about private things with people I know. If you know someone, you're going to be self conscious with what you say around them. Even if they say "You can always talk to me" "I'm always here for you" "I'll never judge you"

Yeah great but in my head you're always judging me even if you really aren't and even if I know you aren't.

I'm getting off topic.

I'm depressed.

I'm lonely.

I'm angry.

I'm frustrated.

I want a punching bag but there's nowhere to hang it up. I don't like letting out my frustration in front of people so I don't like using a punching bag at the gym. I could do what the monks do and put a newspaper up on a wall and punch the newspaper as hard as I can with the wall behind it. Or I could do what I would really find satisfying. Walk through the streets. Every time I see a teenager/kid who is a douchebag, I punch him in the face to knock him on his ass. I straddle his chest and pin his arms to his side. and I release my fury by ruthlessly pummeling my huge fist into their douchbaggy faces. One by one. Beating them to a bloody fucking pulp.

Yeah, my fists would be ruined by the end but so what? If it was legal, I would gladly exchange my fists for being able to beat the shit out of a douchebag so hard that I jam his jaw down his fucking throat.

I met someone..

She is.. different.
She knows me.
She knows me better than anyone has ever known me.
There were things that I was ashamed of and that I would never tell a soul, that she finds normal.
Things that I find exciting that others may have found sickening. She embraced that side before I even knew I had it.
I'm changing.
I'm growing.
I'm becoming a different side of myself that I didn't think I would be able to.
Social convention says that I should never be allowed to think these thoughts.
But she lets me think them. She embraces them. She has her own similar thoughts.
A deep connection that is bound on so many different levels that it's.. intriguing to say the least.

If it was up to me I would spend my entire day with her. We would be together all day, every day. But it's not. Nor is it up to her.

She makes me feel like I'm not alone.
When I'm around her I'm not lonely.
When I'm around her I'm myself. Someone I'm not with others.

But then she goes to sleep.

Depression sinks in again. I curl up on my bed. put a pillow in between my knees, cross my arms on the pillow, bury my face in it, and clutch it as hard as I can.


Fuck you loneliness. You make me feel this way.

Karma.. I know I haven't been the best person in the world. I know I fucked up a lot of things in my life but.. This.. What you're doing to me.. This is the harshest amount of cruelty I have ever seen inflicted upon someone.



It's just..

It hurts


Chau <3