A bad time in November

[Editorial note - I am wading through a lot of depressed posts, and I've opted to consolidate them all into one entry, as this is overall quite depressing to read 12/27/10]

I am normally a pretty cheerful person to be around. And I like being cheerful. I like being a person that's fun to be around. And I don't want to be depressed. I don't want to show people all the stuff that I deal with. Who wants all that baggage, and that emotional turmoil, all the stuff that I write here, and then some. I hold back when I write here. I don't talk about a lot of things that trouble me, stuff that I could never write here because I have no idea who's reading this and it's private stuff. But I don't write much about the good stuff either, and it's not like good stuff doesn't happen.

I don't think people want to hear my shit. I don't think people want to see what's underneath. I don't think that anyone wants to hear about my problems. I think people are perfectly content with the cheerful happy version of me. And so that's what they get. Because I don't know what they would do with the moody, having trouble making it through the day, hopeless version. I mean seriously, who would even want to talk to that, or even be nearby? The truth of the matter is that in this universe, there are very few people that care either way whether I'm depressed or not.

I really don't display any of my emotions. I think in the end, people honestly do prefer me cheerful. People would far prefer to hear about how I accidentally grabbed a girl's butt yesterday than about how I broke down and smoked half a pack of cigarettes yesterday, because I finally got to a point over the last couple months where I just fucking needed a cigarette.

Cigarettes are my buffer. You know in chemistry, a buffer is a compound that you can add to a solution in order to prevent radical changes in pH. It has limits, and you can surpass a buffer's ability to maintain a pH, but for the most part, it just smooths everything out. No big highs, no big lows, just even keel. That's what cigarettes are for me. Life becomes much easier to deal with when you can reassure yourself of your impending mortality

So, I bought a pack of cigarettes at this morning, and wow, do I feel about a million times better. Thank you cigarettes, for shaving another few minutes off my life expectancy. If not for my belief in God, I would've killed myself a long time ago. I thought this 'salvation' was because I had a purpose in this lifetime, that God had a plan for me, and thus did not allow me to kill myself, as I would've liked. Perhaps this logical conclusion is entirely lacking. Who ever said God is logical?

And so, sitting in church today, I did what I practically do every time I go to church. I ask God, why exactly was my life worth saving. What is it about my existence that was worth the trouble of extending?

Every fiber in my body tells me that I should be happy. I should be content. I should be at a point in my life where shit slides off. I should be happy. But I'm not. I'm just not. And it eats me up inside. It makes me wonder how bad can Hell really be. And how easy it would be to just put an end to it all. You know, I keep going to church because I'm waiting. I'm waiting for God to tell me what it is that makes my life so worth living. I'm waiting to find out what exactly is the point of my continued existence. I don't know that it's worth waiting around to find out.

And you, what's the deal, huh? Why do you always have to be so fake with me? Or is that the real you and you're fake to the rest of the world? You've got all the pieces in front of you, but you refuse to put them together. And you're right. I'm one to talk. I'm full of shit too. But you know what, at least I stared my problems in the eye. You? I don't understand how you can get up in the morning and not cut open your jugular.

You must be medicated, you're so complacent. You sit back and let the train fly off the rails, like nothing is wrong at all, but both you and I know better. We know that everything is wrong, and sometimes, it gets so bad that when anything goes right, that's good enough. But you deserve better than that.

But you'll never look to me for a helping hand or a shoulder to lean on, so y'know what, I'll let this all slide. It's like in AA. You have to admit that you have a problem before anyone can help you. So have a good life, I guess.