I drew these, one each day during a week many months ago.
What a difference I feel from just last week. The choir I think is too much for me right now, but when I think of taking leave, there is nothing else. I’m accepting I will not get another job better than what I have. I’m accepting having no close relationships and being stuck in all the ways I am. And when hope that better change would eventually come along dies the way it has, I don’t want to go on.
My birthday is a month away. 25 on the 25th, and I thought for sure I’d be dead before I saw the day. I guess it would make sense though, to never develop more to my life — I was probably never meant to be here long enough to see that. I should have gotten rid of myself years ago before there was a chance to fool myself into believing this life could be recovered.
I feel repulsive. The self-punishment is never all it should be. Sometimes -I’d say most times- when you’ve fallen far enough behind, it’s best to stop the waste of energy on trying and let go. And in that case it seems silly to even consider what a “goodbye” would do or mean to anyone else.
I stopped truly knowing what I wanted for my time here long ago.
Filed under Art, depression
Works in progress. I have been in a real slump lately and wanted to share what exists now. Nothing is promised to be finished soon with the clutter in my head.
I had a therapy session this week after a three week absence. The doctor remembered me. It wasn’t until later that afternoon I realized how important that really meant to me. I don’t feel like I have a location in anyone’s memory, nor their future plans or heart in any certain way. And lately I recognize just how exhausted I am trying to choose over decisions I don’t care to make. Living is a choice and along with that comes the whole tangle of unfulfilled needs and effort given blindly, here and there, on and on just until. No guarantees.
I never wanted to feel hate towards living in this world. I never wanted my mind to cause so much distress to the point of losing my way all together. Of course I’m losing time, but I honestly never had much to begin with. One mistake might just have been all it took. Everything after is throw away. It could be just as true as anything else we’re told we should or shouldn’t hope for.
This sketch is a few months old, reminded me of this song I wrote weeks later. As if I try to stand my ground, ignoring I’ve already lost it all.
I Once Fought
Can you do me a favor?
Can you say that it’s okay?
Maybe it’s permission I’ve needed –
Acceptance beyond my own I’ve sought –
To act upon a thought.
A dear friend I once fought.
I tried despite knowing they’d
This video clip was done when I was working on the song arrangement still, explaining my comments at the end.
Things feel all over the place here at home. My mother, the only person around me on a daily basis, is getting frustrated with me and my depression. I try staying out of her way, keeping the door shut during really bad spells, but it’s not enough. She wants to see and be around no more of it and I understand. I wish I were gone too…I’m sorry I am this way and can’t will myself past it. Besides sticking with my medication and going to my sessions, I don’t know what else to do.
An old sketch.
Trapped to feel every moment
A painful dying…
So far under, I forget faith – I forget need.
No longer will I fight for what has never fought for me.
They tell me to survive it, but why when I’ve
Only ever sought for the end?
They will never hear me in the way I’ve needed to be heard.
Never sharing enough words, or filling up with enough worth.
On love I don’t deserve…
And to survive this, I must hurt.
Leave me to the worst I’m given,
The worst I am –
Never witnessed enough to be saved from.
Sorry for the loudness. I wrote this set of lines during another pathetic fit of frustration.
In a low right now, I’d like to settle with ‘no’ and be over with. This is what having no hope for one’s life feels like. And I can talk to no one about it. I’m made to feel wrong as if I’ve said something that can’t possibly be taken seriously.
But if I refuse to do this anymore and just try one day, it might work. It might work- to my advantage- and then what? Nothing. I believe that more than anything else. If you knew me you couldn’t say it isn’t all I am. Disgusted and ashamed with myself, and I don’t know or care so much why anymore. It just is, and inescapable.
I feel unwelcome to this new year.
My first drawing of 2013.
The painting I was working on is still not finished. Now working, I haven’t had time for anything else. And with the way things are looking to me, the way things feel now, I’d rather walk in front of a train than think about the position I’ve put myself in- knowing I can’t just not wake up to it anymore or wish it away. My last prescription has been filled and I have nothing keeping me from downing the whole bottle just for the hell of it. I can’t go back to my doctor and there is no one else to turn to, if that was even in me to do at this point.
Our kind has to be careful.
The wisps we are made of
Make us delicately rare
Though not the sort sweetly treasured
Or adored as the wink in the
Flutter of butterfly wings
We are less than those beautifully born.
Those who are meant to thrive and
To be mourned so dearly once they’ve died…
Our shades are thin – wafting weakly
And not to be given away,
Not to gleam recklessly beneath the brighter ray.
For us, their words are bandages lately placed
For what’s there are freshly healed young scabs on skin
Now torn open and removed
To an even deeper wound
Not only a flesh disturbance or
A spirit and soul just frost bitten cold
From a couple centuries of winter’s snow –
When placed without a place, no one can point you
To the sun.
In the last seconds between night’s sigh,
Through dreaming and the dawning of light
They won’t care how restlessly you’ve run.
How awake you’ve been yet not so nearly woken up
Far we’ve gone to end a beginning that
Has never begun
Here without a name leaves the most willing escape
Through common happenings,
We crave to lose the fight
So I guess there will just be a lot no one will ever see or know of. Drawings and pieces of writing and bits of music that will no longer exist the moment I don’t anymore. That way, it makes sense. Only mattering to me anyways…and who am I? Nobody.