I’m really, just, depressed. Writing doesn’t help. In fact it’s painful to trundle through.

Charik the cat is outside on our old beaten foldable chair. On a towel. He gave up his seat where i normally sit to let me sit and sit on his spot. Such a smart and polite cat.

Exercise is the only thing that can help. I have to go for a jog every morning. Today is already a failure. It’s past ten. I’m so depressed.

Why is my life like this. Why am I like this. No one even sympathizes. I mean, let’s analyze this. Mom says she cares, but I don’t sense anything from her. Am I just stiff and dead as a board? What’s wrong with me x 2 now?

I have to poop…

I’m like, still fat around the belly, if yet a little firmer than yesterday from the jog. And already I feel so much fitter. Like I could do the olympics. Well. Not really. But, if that little makes such a big difference, I can’t imagine just being in normal shape would feel. Wow. You’d be like, a god.

It’s so weird. Such small differences are so powerful.

What do I do? My brainstorming is useless.

I either go for a walk in the rain with mom and an umbrella or two. Or go to the book store or a cafe to work on poetry. No chance in hell am I getting any studying done.

I doubt I’ll ever make money again. I’m so lazy.


My psychiatrist okay’ed me starting depakote 250 mg x twice a day, the smallest dose, for my mood disorder. It’s for bipolar but it worked really well even for my psychosis when I was on it. That’s why it’s so unpredictable, the meds and which will work or which will wreck you. Everyone is different. Really, it’s true. Strictly speaking, it’s for some phyisological things like migraines, but then psychologically, just for bipolar.

So I guess I must have bipolar? As well as schizophrenia?

There’s this pang in my side, the side of my mind, that hurts so bad. I can’t tell if it’s emotional or what. It’s just… so painful.

I want to cry. Crying would feel good.

I can’t.

We have to be logical. I have a few readers who like my posts and therefore presumably read them, too.

So it’s illogical of me to say, no one reads this, or, no one cares about me.

And yet my mind surely thinks so.

What gives?

It’s so weird. The power of the brain to fool yourself.

It’s so powerful, the deception.

Well thank you, few readers. Thanks.

What have I done today.

I took my pills and had a breakfast soylent. I didn’t brush my teeth or shower. I put away some clean laundry. But that’s all. My room needs to be organized way more. I really don’t want to. Normally I want to and don’t know how. Now I just don’t want to.

I’m so fucked.

I don’t know what to do.

I told mom that. I don’t know what to do. I’m depressed. She’s like, what should I cook for dinner? God her priorities. So useless. Let’s go for a walk through the neighborhood in the rain! I don’t want to. But of course I don’t want to, I’m depressed.

Don’t tell me I have to force it. Just don’t. I’m so sick of hearing that.

Can I get a break? From all of this? Somehow?

That’s the nature of it. There are no breaks.

It’s unforgiving.

Maybe I’ll find a cafe and head out soon.

I can’t believe all I can do is poetry. I’m such a useless person.

I really am, just, I don’t contribute to any causes or–well not true actually I donate but it won’t be for long as I run out of cash savings soon.

Ugh. Money. What a crime concept.


I’m done.

I’m sorry for talking your ear off.


I’m sorry for bothering you.

I’m sorry for being alive.

2 thoughts on “

  1. Bonsoir, tu n’es pas inutile autrement je ne lirai pas ton blog. Pour ma part, cette nuit, j’ai envie de tout laisser tomber, mais il y a la vie après cette nuit. J’ai passé tellement de jours et de nuits comme ça.. demain est un autre jour, c’est ce qu’a toujours dit mon père et ce dont je fais l’expérience depuis 30 ans


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