Tag Archives: depression

The Repressed Cookie Fantasy

I had one of those dreams where you know you’re dreaming and you keep trying to wake up but you just wind up in another dream.

In one of the dreams i kept intending to uhm, touch myself? But i was too busy cleaning and taking care of the cats so i never got around to it.

Idk… That just doesn’t seem like the dream of someone who has a healthy sexuality.

I do tend to repress my feelings in that respect.

I can never figure my husband out. Half the time he seems upset at me and the other half he’s tired or busy.

I think he’s good in bed but he’s been pretty critical of my skills the last 3 or 4 years.

I’m guessing that has to do with the whole porn debacle.

I try not to take that stuff personally but it’s like hiking uphill in a hailstorm.

No, that example actually sounds really fun.

It’s like trying to get myself to swim underwater.

See, i’ve never been able to swim underwater. Even when someone holds my body down, some extremity manages to wriggle its way to the surface.

It’s psychological, i’m sure. Some survival mechanism leftover from when my family forgot me in a pool at the age of 2.

(Unrelated: i am terrified of drive thru carwashes).

Where was i going with this? Oh yeah, it’s impossible not to take critiques on your sexuality personally. It is a part of the brain and body that is deeply connected to emotion, not logic.

So i don’t have a high opinion of myself when it comes to sex and i don’t think the world is missing out on anything by me being pretty much dysfunctional in that sense.

I think i’ll be ok as long as there is an ample supply of cookies.

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The Hurdles of Turtles

This whole give love generously and love will come to you approach to relationships is not all that rewarding.

It’s been several hours and i have yet to find someone who relates to me.

But it is easier to be transparent than to be constantly creating a hard shell.

It is always easier to be who you really are. I just don’t know if my marriage can handle it.

In the case of my marriage, i have been giving for years. I see how bad relationships can get nowadays. Many an acquaintance has gotten divorced because one of them ran off with another person. Others say they are happily married but their spouses control a lot of their personal choices, like what to do with their time when they’re not together, or who they hang out with.

My husband’s not domineering like that. He doesn’t drink. He cooks for me. Keeps a roof over our heads. Plays with the cats. He doesn’t swear or gamble. He isn’t a bigot.

If he’s in a good mood, there isn’t anything he won’t do if i ask him to, provided he remembers.

So what’s my deal?

I’m not sure whether it’s my own insecurity or if there is substance to my doubts; i’ve always been under the impression that he doesn’t enjoy my personality.

It started right after we got married. We had just moved to Mexico and he hadn’t seen his sister in a couple years. He invited her and her husband to travel with us on our honeymoon.

Of course, she said no.

But i thought it was weird on his part.

A few months later, i was taking him to meet my grandmother nine hours away. He invited his friend to join us.

Those may have just been newlywed blunders but it made me feel insufficient as far as providing satisfactory company and the feeling has been looming over me ever since, like a flock of seagulls over a bag of fries.

More recently, last night at 7:04 PM to be exact, i teased him about something and he immediately overreacted.

In retrospect, i could have been more positive and supportive of his intentions. After all, he does have depression.

But so do i, and i tend to verbalize my pessimism in the form of jokes. (Though you wouldn’t know it from this blog post).

That’s just who i am.

I’ve been trying not to be like that around him and most other people for years. I try to stick to self-deprecating humor. There’s more than enough material.

Right now he’s still asleep and i am probably going to apologize in the morning for not being more sensitive.

And if i want to stay married, i’ll have to keep my thoughts to myself.

But what if i don’t want to do this anymore?

Like i said, he’s a great person, but i suck at relationships. I mean, i have like zero close friends.

So it’s safe to say i will always suck at relationships. I will always mumble something that’s only funny to me underneath my breath. He will ask and not get it or get offended. I will feel like a burden. I will want to disappear.

I will never be happy within this cycle because i will never be me.

Is there even anyone out there who doesn’t find me overly salty? I doubt it. I’ve met a lot of people and i have more in common with my husband than with anyone else, yet i’m still not good enough.

I must be lacking some emotional gene. The one that makes you patient.

That’s probably it. I don’t have the magical patience gene.

What i wanted to write about is this: my mother is 67. She has type 1 diabetes and as of this week, she has to inject herself after every meal.

This has been a wakeup call for me as far as how i should plan for the next few years of my life.

I have often said i want to have children, and my husband is supportive of that. But suddenly, i’m not sure i can do this. A few days ago, it was very important to me that my mom have a chance to meet my kids while she still can- but do i really want to be stuck in this me-not-me cycle for the rest of my life?

To complicate things, i finally found a psychology program in the field i want, which is child psychology. I had been looking for that specialty for a couple years.

(I can be patient towards children. Adults- not so much).

On the one hand, i need my husband because i depend on him. I respect and love him, and i can’t just pick that up on an app. He said he’s willing to have children with me now.

On the other hand, i’m not sure he even likes me. I mean, there’s no passion. No initiative to get to know me deeper. And i find that utterly crushing.

Life would be so much simpler if people just loved each other for who they are.

I wish i was a turtle.

Adult Friendships and Other Unrealistic Goals

The concert came and went but Ave the guitarist continued to feel as lonesome and restless as ever.

Their performance had been subspectacular. It was about a hair below mediocre. But most importantly, it was done.

She hadn’t given up, not even when she had to write the letters next to the notes on the sheet music to keep up with the other musicians. Not even when her custom ordered guitar hadn’t come. She marched up on that stage, trudged right along through every measure, well, maybe not every measure.

Ok so she skipped a few measures here and there. But she stuck it out and took a bow with the rest of them.

I’m not sure why i was writing about myself in third person but i’m going to stop that now.

This was a difficult project i undertook. The women i met were very supportive and wonderful. Everyone was. I wish it wasn’t so time consuming. I wish i was rich and could devote myself to all of my art projects without neglecting any.

I had planned on finishing my novel this year. But if i stay in chamber music, i won’t have time for that or to do the illustrations on a book my dad’s self-publishing.

If i let a lot of time go by between drawing or photo projects, i start to feel like i’m losing myself. The same thing happens when i go a couple weeks without giving any Bible classes.

But like i said, the ladies i played guitar with were so supportive and it’s hard to find people like that.

I recently texted an old friend. She wanted to hang out and said she’d check her calendar and get back to me. It’s been a week and a half. I think it’s safe to assume she can’t find her calendar.

Something similar happened with a childhood friend of mine who texted me in January to hang out in February. She never texted me when the time came, so i texted her a few weeks later and she never replied. I’m pretty sure she was drunk the first time she texted me back in January.

It’s hard for me to put myself out there and get met with rejection. I work in Sales so i’m rather used to it, but it’s not the same. I always try to act like it’s ok and it doesn’t matter. I just go on living my life as normal. Sometimes i hear the women in my congregation got together to do this or that and i feel bad because i get left out.

I get that no one really gets my sense of humor. Those who do get it already have their own tight circle; they don’t need new close friends. I’m somehow outside their comfort zone.

At least i have my husband, but he’s always asleep or on his phone or at the gym or at his parents’.

I guess i’m just not that fun to be around. Like on a fun scale i’d probably be just the scale, not even a number.

Tonight i called my mom to invite her to come conduct a Bible study with me. But she’s too busy. The other day she came to a nearby city to a baby shower. I was sort of jealous.

I can’t even remember the last time i was invited to a baby shower. The clothes are so cute, and the little shoes make me teary-eyed. I think i was eight.

I really don’t get it. I even texted this guy i’ve been trying to be friends with for like a year now, because we have a lot in common. The one i said was my soulmate. But that’s pretty much unilateral, as so many of my relationships are. As was the conversation.

He didn’t reply. I deleted his number. It hurts too much to reach out in the dark for someone and be ignored. Anyway, I was just trying to be nice. At least that’s what i thought i was doing.

But let’s revisit my childhood traumas for just a second. Our home was so very small and i was always in everybody’s way. I wanted to disappear. I started overdosing on over the counter painkillers.

That was fun.

When we lived in Mexico, the consensus in the congregation was that i was somehow holding my husband back. So i mixed the painkillers with cleaning liquids and eventually alcohol.

That wasn’t so fun.

The last time i did that, i was 32. My husband had stormed out of the house, angry about something. I was taking my heartrate as i downed the bottle. It was somewhere in the 30s.

Someone called me from a different congregation. She said i sounded weird. I told her i was alright. After hanging up, i put away the bottle.

My dad used to work as a cab driver and that lady was always calling me to ask if he could take her to the doctor’s. It was irritating and i ended up blocking her. But i think God used her that one time.

I never liked it that my dad worked as a cab driver and spent all that time alone with women passengers. It must have bothered me every night for about 23 years.

I don’t know how my mom could handle that. Perhaps i’m far too insecure.

The point is i was suicidal then, but i’m not now. And maybe most people around me never even notice i’m there, so it’s hard for me to part ways with my guitarristas, because they gave me the impression that they cared.

I guess i can always conjure up my imaginary ex-boyfriend. I wonder what he’s up to these days.

My Unborn Child Was a Stomach Bug

I am definitely not cut out to be a guitarist. I have not enjoyed the last few days or the idea of having to do this concert.

Now the day has finally arrived and i wish i could stay in bed all day.

What is the point of performing chamber music in a theater setting? That’s not what it was composed for. It was composed for chamber settings. Small intimate rooms. It’s in the name.

I try not to think about my lost guitar in Mexico or the asshole who never delivered it. I can’t expend energy on being upset.

There will be time for that tomorrow.

Our sextet ensemble kinda sucks and that’s a little depressing. I know the music well but when i’m in public, i blank at random intervals. At this point, i’ve played every piece hundreds of times, but i still blank.

I wasn’t blanking before last week so it is either because i switched to a different sized guitar or because of performance anxiety.

My dad used to say that what you were trying to do doesn’t matter. The only thing that’s important is the end result. My brother and i never agreed with him.

I specifically asked my parents not to come to the concert.

He once advised me not to eat sugar before a show to help with my anxiety. So i stopped drinking chocolate and Coke a week ago and i’ve been in a pretty bad mood.

It’s just not worth it.

And the thing is, i never felt this much dislike of performing when i was just singing. But i do wonder if it’s this bad just because it’s a new experience to me, and it could improve over time?

Or is my bitterness from not receiving my guitar oozing into other aspects of my musical life?

To be honest, lately i don’t enjoy anything, other than food and television. (I was a tv addict as a child until my parents canceled cable).

I feel very inept as a human. I think i would be a very good cat or koala. Anything that’s supposed to sleep for most of the day. I could get Panda of the Year, i bet.

I thought i was pregnant for a few days and that was exciting. But that turned out to be a stomach bug. My breasts were itchy but that was because my washer didn’t rinse out my bras well enough. My back was hurting but that was probably because the guitar i switched to is heavier than my other one. I gained a little weight but that’s just what i tend to do.

Then i read online that if you’re very thirsty or have fever, it’s just a stomach flu, not pregnancy. And i have been very thirsty and a little feverish.

But yesterday i had a nice surprise. When i got home there was a pot of flowers on the table with a card. My husband said he didn’t know who had brought them for me.

I opened the card and it turned out they were for my mother in law who lives next door.

My in-laws are the only people i invited to the concert, other than my husband, but they won’t be able to go.

Maybe i can enjoy the concert more if i think of it as a team-failing exercise. I always fail alone, but this time i get to fail as a team.

I probably shouldn’t tell them that.

The Benefits of Going Mad

Cat hairball season is in full swing and i spent the better part of this daybreak cleaning up after them.

Of course, i couldn’t sleep between coughing fits because of something someone said last night, which would continue to eat away at me if i let it.

Unrelatedly, someone different alluded yesterday to me “and my paradox worlds.”

And now, caught in the snags of my depression, grasping for my happy place, and only having one recourse which isn’t a place at all but a moment in time… i wonder if it’s ok to let myself go there. A moment which only existed as a ripple and doesn’t currently have anything to do with reality.

On the pro side, if i allow my sleep-deprived self to dwell there, i can conserve inner peace. The physical world can fall apart around me. I can tune it all out and just be.

On the other hand, if i go around smiling and not replying to others’ complaints, they’ll assume i enjoy the criticism or am going mad.

It’s almost as if in order to function properly, i would have to find a midpoint between my happy place and reality. But i cannot do that. Because halfway to my happy place isn’t my happy place. It’s just more of this… cat vomit and not being good enough.

But if i stay here in reality, insomniac me will get irritated and say things others don’t want to hear and then they’ll hate me more than they do now. Insomniac me can’t concentrate on anything long enough to be productive. Insomniac me is slow and tardy.

But in my happy place i can soar above it all in a red-orange hot air balloon, sipping on champagne, singing like a bird. I can even drop heavy things from the sky without real consequence.

This reminds me of “Around the World In 80 Days.” I lost track of how many times i read that book growing up. I’ve always wanted to mirror that voyage in real life as closely as possible.

But i only get 2-weeks paid vacation. If i lived in one of those modern nations with extended paid maternity leave, i could do it then. Because in my happy place, i must be cleaning up after a baby instead of cats.

Though in this reality, i’d be cleaning up after all of them- cats, baby, and husband.

Is it selfish to dissociate and go Matrix on everyone? Wouldn’t everyone be better off in the long run if i just let my mental health go? It’s not like anyone depends on me. Well my cats do, but they say they’ll stick by me either way.

The Self-Conscious Photoshop Generation

Do you ever wake up and just hate your eyebrows? They were fine the night before. What could have happened during the last eight hours that made them go off in different directions?

When we lived in Mexico ten years ago, one of the last conversations i had with a friend was her kind of making fun of the way i look.

I never really felt self-conscious before that. I mean, my mom always pointed out my physical flaws when presenting me to her friends. Sometimes older women asked me how a guy like my husband ever even noticed me. But i thought all older women were just mean like that. Embittered by their oldness.

Not so long ago, i was visiting a friend and at some point she said something about physical appearance that sounded passive aggressive to me. I don’t remember what it was exactly- my brain tends to block mean comments from my memories- but it was similar to when someone criticizes chubby people in front of an obviously chubby person…

When i was dating my husband, his mom once told me that she understood if i had depression because i have a lot of freckles.

The offensive part of that comment was that anyone would think i’m that vain. The freckles are the last of my worries.

But admittedly for the last ten years i have felt more self-conscious about how i look. A lot of women use botox or get surgeries. All of that is expensive and there are funner things i’d rather spend my money on.

Anyway, i always wonder how much better people would treat me if i met the definition of gorgeous. It would be harder to read people, i think. Right now several people i know are consistently mean or indifferent to me for no apparent reason. I notice they are friendly to most other people. I can’t help but wonder if part of that can be attributed to looks.

Or maybe i just blame my looks when it is my personality failing me. Because it’s always like a million times harder to change the way i am than the way i look, and i’d rather not have to change myself to win over anyone who doesn’t innately like me.

Which to be honest lately feels like pretty much everyone.

Anyway, within the last twelve hours, i’ve woken up twice trying to scratch off my face. So that’s new.

I think the whole filtered selfie era is bad for people psychologically, creating these unrealistic expectations about how we and others ought to look.

But the animal filters are pretty cute.

When i was doing portrait photography, i was obsessed with presenting the best image of clients. Now i want to show everything as it really is. Crude. Raw. Live. Because life is already beautiful enough. Diversity is beautiful. Scars and tear stains and gray roots.

3-dimensionality is beautiful but when we reduce someone to a flat little screen, we’re taking a whole dimension away from them. People don’t fit in one’s pockets.

I don’t think technology is very far from Star Wars style holograms. But of course, the media isn’t the problem. Even as a hologram i’d probably still worry about symmetrical eyebrows.

I’ll just take cover under a teddy bear filter and hope people think it’s natural.

I Saw The Sign

To leave or not to leave… That is the question.

I have always been the sort of person who freaks out a little when things don’t go as planned. I am not an emotionally stable person, so i try to be as methodical as possible to mitigate overreacting.

Basically i’m like a cat when it comes to change. Hug me at 6 AM. You better not forget to open the curtains. Feed me dinner by 6 PM. Clean my litter box before bed or there will be consequences.

I do love a good adventure, but i have to mentally prepare for it.

I like to read the last page of a book before i buy it, or read a movie synopsis before i go see it.

Some surprises are good, like when my husband does the dishes. But my parents have never tried to visit me without warning. They know i would cry for at least two days straight.

I’ve even thought about preordering my tombstone engraving, just so i can see how it all turns out in the end.

“Here rests Ave, beloved wife, sister, writer.”

Nah, my husband might not say that about me.

Today i was supposed to go to chamber music practice and then have a dinner date with him and go watch a Chinese ballet. You know, the one that’s being advertised all over the place.

But he changed our plans and now we are having dinner at home before the show.

I don’t want to be driving back and forth all afternoon, so i decided not to go to music practice and just stay at work.

Now i just had a work emergency and it was a good thing i was here to take care of it.

It’s funny how something that initially upset me turned out to be for the better.

It makes me wonder if my whole life God has been trying to direct me to better things and i’ve been too stubborn in my life plans.

Maybe i was never meant to be a missionary. Or a minister. Or a photographer, singer, guitarist or dancer. Not even a mother. Or maybe i was and i just missed all the right turns, because i was too focused on the road way farther ahead.

Now i’m stuck in Today world, always waiting for something better, wondering why nothing is how i expected it to be.

I used to read advice online that said the best way to achieve your goals is to stick to them no matter what. “You’ll get there eventually.”

But my life doesn’t seem to align with that trajectory at all, at least not as far as personal happiness is concerned.

It seems that the more i pursue things that once made me happy, the more problems i have in my relationships.

If i try to serve God, soon someone points out what i’m doing wrong. If i try to sing, the classes interfere with work or homelife. If i try to promote my own art projects, come to find out hardly anyone cares. If i try to get pregnant, someone breaks my heart.

It’s my husband. My husband breaks my heart.

And yet, he’s the reason i stayed at work this afternoon and was able to handle the work emergency, to my boss’ relief.

So how do i know the difference between a sign and just circumstance? Like yesterday, when my husband was mad at me and said he was going to hire a prostitute… Was that a sign i should smack him?

My life is confusing. It’s not a journey. It’s not a story. I’m not meant to run away from it. I’m not meant to fastforward it to the good parts. No one really needs me around but no one wants me to leave.

I’m not going anywhere anyways.

Why I’ll Start Writing Again

Whoa, I just read what I wrote almost a year ago– That’s some dark stuff there.

I didn’t remember having written that, but looking back I understand what was going on.

That’s the power of blogging.

Well the old me is back, the real me, the one who uses a pseudo-pseudonym and wants to write 24/7, even when I’m dreaming.

The truth is I never really stopped writing; it was just very dark and lonely and unsuitable for this blog’s audience.

So it was on Tumblr.

Naturally.

I don’t want to go into details about the past, but my marriage is as good as it’ll ever be.

I am less interdependent so if that relationship goes down I think I might skip a beat but probably not 2 and definitely not 3.

Now I no longer commute for work. My boss got me an office a few blocks from my home, so I could concentrate on sales, and I no longer have to wait for coworkers to leave the room before I can write.

I’m all alone here, just me and the Internetz.

And the phone. That rings every now and then but I’m not sure how it works. I think it’s trying to tell me something.

Oh! My faithful subscribers. How I’ve missed thee. If only you could know the anguish our separation has wretched me with. I shalt never leave thee again!

Unless I die. In which case, leaving thee is entirely involuntary and should not be held against me.

Unless it’s suicide.

If I kill myself you can be mad at me. But not if it’s accidental, like an overdose. Stuff loses its strength over time. They don’t make it like they used to.

Anyway, let me tell you what my office is like.

It is on the second story behind an art gallery which sells weird ethnic art, like the African pieces my boss had at his office. I imagine that subconsciously it largely influenced his decision to choose this location.

There is a winery next next door and the mother of the owners is a new friend of mine from my church. My friend also owns the vineyard so in a way it makes me feel special somehow even though it has little to do with me.

In my office, there is a tiny window out of which one can view happy little people- “kids” i think they are called- playing in a park-like setting, around a beautiful fountain surrounded by red and yellow sycamore trees.

The window has bars over it in the old Spanish style and is a small reminder that whilst i am at work, i am to think of myself as a prisoner and partake in none of those joys which i may observe below.

My one point of social interaction is when i walk to the post office every day, or when i get lucky, the FedEx drop off.

The clerks at the post office know me now and they are like 100 times nicer than the ones in DOWNTOWN SANTA BARBARA- yes, I HOPE YOU ARE READING THIS you mean clerk who made shipping packages from there a living hell.

(Just that one clerk though- all the other ones were nice, especially Daniel and Michael. I think they are vets). (War vets not animal vets otherwise their career counselors should have told them).

Everyday the bell at the post office tower chimes out a song. Lately it’s been a lot of Christmas music, which some of us find tastefully offensive. But mostly it’s old American classics, the same kind that used to play in my 65 Mustang’s AM radio.

My office kind of has more space than i need and no walls. My boss let me have his old glass desk so i need to rearrange the computer stuff onto that but i’ve been meaning to do it for 6 weeks now and i just can’t seem to bring myself to do it.

I have what they call lazyphoria.

The office is very cold but it has a brand new climate system which no one knows how to program for heating, only for cooling.

Sometimes i bring my guitar but i can’t play very loud because i’m afraid the other tenants will hear me and ask me to perform for them. Then my boss might find out i’m using the office for concertos and then he’d want to get me a bigger office. But i like this one just fine.

There is a skylight on the ceiling.

Well duh, it’s not like there would be a skylight on the floor… *clears throat*

I guess that counts as a window too. I can see some form of rusty pipe and sometimes clouds, but today the sky is blue- like a tepid sky-blue.

Once, down the hall, the hatch to the roof was open and I climbed the ladder because no one was around and the hatch was open, beckoning for someone to climb up through it. There were only more pipes and roof gravel.

Downer down the hall there are a couple of architects who mostly just look stuck up but are actually quite decent, i imagine, and a married couple who are masseuses, (am i saying that right?) and they are just about the nicest people one could ever meet.

Downstairs there is the shared girls’ room, which ought to have but does not have a mirror, because i assume the other tenants are too ugly an no one wants to remind them of that.

Someone is building a tapas bar so i have that to look forward to.

Perhaps then i shall make a friend or two.

But knowing me, i’ll probably just observe them and then write about them.

So now you have something to look forward to too!

 

 

 

 

 

The Last Day of My Life at Bar Happiness

If at the end of your life, you were given the option to live one day out of your life over again, just one day, just for the next 24 hours, what day would you choose?

Who would you spend your last day with?

More importantly, how do i come up with these questions, and why do i try?

We were eating at California Pizza Kitchen, one of my favorite places (even though today they put bacon on my veggie pizza and brought me the Seasonal Sam Adams instead of the Draft) when my mind drifted to when we ate pizza in Florence.

Next my mind drifted to when we visited Lago di Garda in northern Italy.

And I then asked myself
How do I work this?
And I then asked myself
Where is that large automobile?
And I then told myself
This is not my beautiful house!
And I then told myself
This is not my beautiful wife!

Sorry, mind drifted again.

(Letting the days go by… Water flowing under-)

And I thought,

Same as it ever was.

j/k ok sorry, i thought, i would love to live that day over again.

The day we spent at Lake Garda.

Bar Happiness
Happiness Bar at Lago Di Garda where you can literally drink up happiness.

So naturally i asked my husband the question at the onset of this post: what day would you live over?

His answer didn’t shock me but it was a wake up call.

“I would choose the day my mom told us she was expecting my brother.”

Aww! How sweet, right? Wait. There’s more.

“Because everyone was there. My brother, in my mom’s womb, my sister, my dad and my mom.”

Everyone was there.

As in- everyone that matters?

Everyone you would want to spend more time with?

Everyone who isn’t your wife (aka- ME)?!?

Wait- there’s more.

“I was going to say our wedding day but my sister wasn’t there.”

I wish i was making this up.

But it’s practically verbatim.

Then of course i proceeded to get all teary-eyed, after which his usual reaction of having no idea what’s going on with me- the “did I say something” script.

I tried not to dwell on it and changed the topic to pizza.

Then he asked me the same question.

“What day would you choose?”

I was embarrassed of my initial choice.

I ransacked my memories for alternates.

I came up with a couple other memories i could do over.

Both with him in them.

“It’s not important,” i said, dipping my pizza crust in ketchup.

He insisted to the point that i figured he must be thinking i must be thinking of some other guy, all the while i was really thinking, ‘don’t let him know you love him more than he loves you, don’t let him know you love him more than he loves you.’

I had to come up with a better answer fast.

“You know, i haven’t really thought about it. Rather, i need to give the answer more thought.”

So now i’m thinking, whatever day i would want to live over- i probably haven’t lived it yet.

Cause if all my favorite memories are post-marriage, and yet my marriage-mate essentially does not see me as part of “everybody,” then perhaps i’ve overrated my life thus far.

Maybe, if God gave me the choice, i’d just say, “uh, thanks, just shut me in a cell with an ocean view instead. That way no one has to spend any more time with me.”

Italian Audi
Or maybe i’d just ask God to please let me drive around Lake Garda in an Italian sports car listening to The Talking Heads.

Because if i’m not “everybody,” then I must be some form of opposite of that.

Perhaps, “nobody.”

At least not anybody important.

The good thing now is, i’ve got two cats that really look up to me.

Sure, i’ve had more suicidal thoughts in the last couple weeks than i did in the last 6+ months, but it’s hard to leave or kill yourself when that would disturb your cats’ daily rituals.

Also, i’m not sure my alter-ego would be able to update this blog as well as i do.

TBH, she’s kind of neurotic.

Psychological Displacement

Ever feel psychologically displaced?
Lately my opening lines have been optimistically poised in the form of questions.
I’m not 100% sure what it means to be psychologically displaced- if it’s a cool term I just made up a couple minutes ago or if it’s a real thing.
Let’s assume I’m making it up, that way I can take full creative liberties.
Psychological Displacement is when you can’t find your anchor inside you- the one that tells you you’re real.
For instance, some minutes ago, my co-worker and I were toying with the idea of taking a class together.
I was going on about how much I miss school, and she was going on about how dumb she is, so we flipped through the community college’s course catalog.
Of course, we had to focus on courses without pre-requisites, but I was still excited.
Then I couldn’t find anything that interests me.
There’s got to be a thousand courses in there, and not one makes me feel anything.
This is very unusual.
Am I depressed?
But I can’t feel it.
Then again, I am sucking on a butterscotch lollipop.
My mind is usually very active.
I often find myself telling me to shut up.
Especially at 4 AM, I wake up and it’s like I’m a tiger running at full speed through a jungle, except that the monkeys hanging along the way are all people nagging about something.
But at this very moment, nothing or no one engages my attention.
I could plan a vacation, but that usually implies flying (flying+me= panic attacks).
There are a few tasks I could work on in the office, but that usually implies working.
I probably need a good novel.

image
The other day I almost kidnapped a hen on this street. That was sort of exciting.

I don’t follow too many people on social media.
It depresses me when other bloggers don’t engage.
I probably need something like a friend or something.
My husband texts me usually every day but he’s really busy and doesn’t get my jokes.
It’s ok I guess. He tries.
Well not the jokes.
He doesn’t even pretend to get them.
Hardly anyone does.
Idk maybe I’m not amusing.
Maybe my cuteness is an illusion of mine.
Or delusion?
At church all I ever want to do is draw.
I sit in the corner so no one sees me.
I think I’m going to start going to an English-speaking congregation on the side.
Maybe I’ll make new friends.
Or at least I’ll get to draw new people.
The thing missing in me is passion.
Everything seems to have already been done.
Overkilled.
I still take great pictures.
But it seems like it’s enough that I see them.
I have no pressing need to share them, like before.
Maybe I’m lonely.
But not for people in general.
I should’ve had a sister.
My ex-psychologist once told me life screwed me over by not giving me a sister.
I have these friends: B. and C.
B. is my best friend.
But she is the female personality version of my husband.
Super ultra mega busy.
She’s always there when you need her, but it better be important.
C. is easy to talk to and very creative.
But she doesn’t open up to me about her own life problems, so she’s more of a therapist than a friend.
R. is another friend.
We communicate in the same wavelength but unfortunately she’s 15.
Starting to get a bit too mature.
Other than that I don’t have close friends.
Just acquaintances and cats.
Maybe I need to change my entire approach to life.
Maybe drinking isn’t the answer.