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Plate Head

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  1. I'm now thinking I have practically zero control over my moods. Some days/weeks/months I feel terrible and there isn't really anything that can be done about it. And then like this week, for 5 days straight I just felt okay. And okay compared with my usual is amazing. But then it's really genuinely out of nowhere just a wham and nothing can save me from it. No point really. Can't be helped. It was the same on the meds though that's the thing. Just the extremes were toned down a bit I reckon. The sad extreme was toned down more than the happy extreme to be sure. But what's the difference. No control over how I feel, just a matter of degrees. I am very lethargic nowadays. Constantly tired. No chance of falling asleep within 2 hours of turning out the lights. I was always like that though. I've always had that difficulty. Sleep ranks high on my priorities, which is unfortunate because I suck at it. I can only fall asleep in very specific circumstances, and it almost always takes a very long time. A long time in which I have nothing to do, no ah **** it. **** me.
  2. I think I'd naively hoped that the habits I had in place would keep my head above water. The exercise, socialising and my work would prevent me from getting like I was before. It was probably pretty predictable I'd almost immediately lose motivation for these things and drop them, but I didn't see it. All I'm left with at the moment is work, which has become significantly more difficult but is still helping some. Dropping the pills also enabled something that hadn't been possible before, which was talking through a lot of my underlying problems with the person that caused many of them. I figure this must be a good thing even if I've not felt many real results yet. I'm not so hardline on the pills anymore, that I'm off them forever etc, but I'm hoping to just wait and see what happens before I jump back on them. I'm not especially hopeful but I don't want to give up yet. If anyone is considering dropping their Mirtazapine prescription I will say this, the crash can be terribly nasty.
  3. Is nostalgia supposed to feel so close to grief? I'm glad I'll never travel back in time and meet my childhood self. That poor boy would be so disappointed. All his hopes, dreams, optimism and belief vanishing. That certainty that things would only get better. I'm glad that child is dead. If he was still alive it'd be even sadder. My childhood can't have been that good. I understand the thing with nostalgia is in some dimentia riddled pi ss dream 40 years from now I'll remember my teenage years fondly. I get that. Having said this I remain convinced my childhood was special. Much of it was mundane, some of it was anxious or frightened, but overall it must have been good. I feel terribly sad for that boy. If any of him is left in me it must be the part clawing me down towards suicide. He'd have despised me. Justifiably. Perhaps he is what moves me towards self hatred and suicidal ideation. If I'd been born in this sorry state it would be relatively fine, perfectly normal. I peaked at the age of 9 for ****'s sake and everything has since been downhill. I expect better. All I can do now is drink and feel sorry for myself. Avoid difficult situations while creating a permanently impossible one. Feeling run down and too tired to do anything at all on days where I do nothing. Becoming furious with inanimate objects while sabotaging myself. Maybe I could have been a boxer. It would have been worth it to live through the opening credits of Raging Bull once, slow motion, cigar smoke filled room, pleasant orchestral soundtrack, busted face, pretty wife, followed by a chaotic, messy and ugly life. I hope I die on a distant battlefield, scared, alone and screaming for my mother. Though any death would do.
  4. Hello Betty I'm doing better. The "crash" is over and rather than a constant downward trajectory I've plateaued. Feelings of despair have been replaced with apathy and a vague hopelessness, as well as fairly frequent bouts of anger or sadness. It's not particularly pleasant but it's not the worst. Sometimes I even get a few days where I feel half okay. Unfortunately I am experiencing a garden variety existential crisis at the moment, the kind that most people have at the age of 14, and get over without too much hoo-ha. I'm doing my best to reason myself into a belief in God, as that could solve many of my problems. Have been considering getting back on the pills as thoughts of suicide are still constant, and the pills definitely made everything easier. Though what would be the point in being dependent on medication for the rest of your life? I'd rather **** myself than be reliant on drugs in order to function. And as you sagely point out, the drugs can act as a mask for the underlying problems, if we are miserable it is likely for a good reason, and feeling good in spite of leading a horrible life doesn't do any good. Thankyou for your replies. Hope your withdrawals are over.
  5. I'm still alive then. Tonight is difficult for whatever reason. Phone calls in the dark, reminders. Wish they didn't come, stupid **** turn off the phone. But if it's turned off I don't know what to expect. I'm a person who needs to be prepared. Even if knowing the worst is coming annihilates my ability to act. Tonight is rough. Too many nights off, too much time to drink, too little socialising. I only leave the house for work nowadays. Very occasional bottle'o run, but I stock up long term of course. Only need to go once every 2 or 3 weeks. But even that I find extremely difficult. Painful almost. I think it's remarkable how weak one can become, so unable to cope with the simplest things. To the outside observer nothing could be more pathetic, despicable. Disgusting. Really. I know this because I've probably been that observer and felt those feelings. It's only natural that humans despise weakness. I know this, and yet I also know how easy it is to become trapped or seduced or SOMETHING by this weakness. The despair and that. I find it terribly easy to simply accept it, or worse. The idea of self destruction hits hard and pleasant somehow. I don't know. All this is a waste of time. I've been thinking about buying a rope, a bottle of alcohol and a taxi ride out to the country to hang myself. For whatever reason that is my current model. I was planning on chopping my hand off at the wrist with a butcher's knife. Before that it was anti-nausea pills combined with whatever would **** me. When I had the ability to leave the house and make things happen I was planning on buying a gun as a worst resort. That may be about 25% of the reason I'm off the pills. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't sell a gun to a person on anti-depressants. Must prove your own stability. Of course it's kind of ironic that I can only get a gun while off the pills, and I'm also far far more likely to **** myself with it off them. But I won't be able to get any gun now. Can't join the infantry or anything. Can't leave the house for goodness' sake. Sometimes when I'm writing these kinds of things I'm hit suddenly with this enormous wave of apathy/self loathing and feeling of futility. All these words, all these keystrokes and it achieves nothing. It's something you feel deep within your gut. Pointlessness, meaninglessness. Why bother. If God is good he wouldn't leave me here much longer I know it.
  6. Well when I found myself with only a dozen more 15mg pills I started cutting them in half, so I've been on 7.5mg for a while now. I don't take them on weekends as I find drinking puts me to sleep just fine. I only have two more days worth of the meds and then I have no more. On the brightside I feel like what I'm currently taking does so little that dropping them entirely won't be any different. My mood is so shocking and my ability to fall asleep so ruined that I don't feel too frightened of dropping them all the way. My only hope is that somehow I stop my current downward trajectory and can build back up. Though that seems like wishful thinking. Is there any hope for improvement from here??
  7. Ach, first of all, today was pretty nice. Hell, if I was to be brutally honest I'd say this week has actually been ****ing amazing, in that I've been able to curb my silliness with some weird brand of logic combined with some bizarre form of ignorance. I don't understand it very well at all, and thanks to that I know this will all come again but with less positive results. But this week, somehow I was able to keep a non-suicidal mood for the large majority of it. Rather than giving in and brooding/stewing I just said **** that why bother, lets do the opposite and see how things go. Problem is this though. It's many problems but I'll brass tack it. If I manage to 100% immerse myself in work and just managing, but mostly work, meaning I can not AFFORD a bad mood as it costs productivity, which is bad for work, and somehow this is not allowed. So personal things are not allowed, I manage to refuse myself the standard self pity while things are good and I am working. This is good and real, very positive. Can not sook, but must get on with the important things. How lovely. This is an excellent mind set to have, it makes all your personal problems very small, and often times they become insignificant, if you worked for some big corporation that stole small people's homes and didn't pay taxes I can easily imagine myself in amongst it, one cog among many, destroying man kind in some bizarro futurism abandon. But better yet I am a part of a small business, and so my responsibility is even greater and my failure would be more catastrophic. If I committed suicide the business would likely fold. I enjoy the weight on my shoulders, feeling important is necessary I think for one's subsistence. But then there are times when even the only good thing in my life (work) become small and unimportant, even devilish in that it forces me from warm comfortable bed into the cold and inhospitable outside world, I have to interract with things, and become active. When all I want is to fold and collapse and to fail miserably and pathetically and to enjoy it. Silly. But this feeling is deep and is impossible to excise. Truth be telt some days I look forward to my destruction, and to my failure, to the day that I let anyone who cares down, and they have some vague idea of my poverty of spirit. Some days/weeks/months I look forward to it, or even act towards that end. This self destructive philosophy inherent in me will be my undoing I am certain, if I keep acting within it I am doomed. One issue is this, I cannot differentiate the good times from the bad. One melds into the other, all becomes confused. One week fuses into another, months float by and the years only accelerate, certainly one day they will become one day followed by another, this I have as little control over as how I feel while the days wheel by. I cannot control myself, I have not found some means to keep my mood within certain limits, my bad days are as bad as I've ever known, true suicidal ideation, no hope of repair, all is lost and suicide becomes GOOD, NECESSARY, IDEAL. All wishes and aspirations vanish and I am left with only the very worse within myself. No point trying. My "good" days, or in this recent case, about one week, are not necessarily good. The only difference between a "good" week and a terrible one is that in a good one I am able to divert myself from constant suicidal ideation. I don't strut up and down thinking holy I feel good, it's more like, maybe things aren't so bad, perhaps I can manage, hell there's even a possibility I can improve. That exactly is my idea of an excellent mood, and that's what I wish for. I believe those days are coming less and less, and that is a severe concern as a true shortage of them would likely lead to unemployment/drug addiction/ suicide. Presumably in that order. But this week feels like an anomaly. I felt OK but nothing really happened, especially nothing that could've ruined my mood. It was easy, simple, work was okay, socialising nonexistent, everything went just okay. Even in my fragile state I could deal with this week. But I will find it harder. Every day things become marginally harder, I guess until the point that they are impossible. And on some days that is what and all I wish for. Impossible. No chance, easy to give up then I believe. Why bother. Easy. As I've said before, I talk to often. If I had any balls I'd have cut my throat by now. Unfortunately I'll havta wait.
  8. Don't have much to say, but I have nothing else to do, so maybe if I write bollocks for a while I'll be able to sleep then. Maybe I should consider straight sleeping pills. Maybe that's an acceptable in between, it means I'll be more able to function but not reliant on an unnatural mood. If I can sleep then I can wake up early and work out. I won't drink on work nights and spend my time in this ****ing place. I'll feel better. Jesus wept though what a waste of time. All of this. Holy ****.
  9. I realised why I talk like such a wanker on here. Specifically I mean why I attempt write like a prenentious and stupid Barsteward trying to impress people with his vocabulary. Other than trying to impress people it also puts some kind of a gap between me and what is written. Rather than being a literal representation of my thoughts it's my thoughts translated and changed a little into prententious git-speak. Jesus I don't know it's all some drug addled theory. I don't want to become an opiate addict, it seems like a terrible direction to head in. It is very expensive and so I hope my inner scrouge keeps Big wave of apathy hits right there. I'm going to try and **** myself soon I reckon, it's probable anyway. And rather than being done the right way it'll be a rushed decision in a drunken haze that I'll regret whether successful or no. I thought I might be about to die last night. I couldn't keep my eyes open, my breathing was so terribly slow and I was certain I'd vomit. I wasn't really keen to join Hendrix or Janis Joplin but it's difficult when you're so tired. Of course you always wake up anyway. I remember now why I loved drugs so much. When you feel sad and don't care about your future drugs are an excellent option, you can be keenly aware of the consequences and simply not care. I know that a good morphine high will only lead to more morphine use which will lead to opiate addiction which will lead to desperation and despair but it doesn't matter so much anymore. All I need now is to quit my work and start smoking tobacco again and I'll be right back where I started, having erased the hard work of years. And it was hard work. Even with anti-depressants propping me up something heavy it was hard work. But it is very very easy to lose it all. It would be. That's the way of things I reckon. I'm hoping now I can get drunk. I'm on the way. If I don't get black out drunk I'll be up till 9am and then I won't sleep, and if I don't sleep I won't sleep tomorrow night, giving me an extremely difficult day at work. This weekend will vanish behind me like all the others, in the blink of an eye. Before I know it the better part of Sunday will be gone and I'll get out of bed and waste some time before going back to bed only to find sleep impossible. I reckon all this blog is so ****ing mundane don't you think. Talking about sleep and drugs and suicide. What a waste of time it is. No one gives a , just another useless blog in a sea of them. Idiots wasting their time. Of all the folks who do something worthwhile in this world, something good or magnificent or grand or great, of all those people, not a single one posted on this ****** website. And not a single one will. No one here will do anything good, some will probably take the best course of action and off themselves, and the others will waste time until they die. I don't want to be one of the latter. But anyone who was certain of this and their doom would just up and do it right now. Why don't I. ******* time for no reason. I don't want to take morphine next weekend but why won't I. I'll have a long week and I'll feel awful for much or most of it and by then I won't care anymore, once again. It's not even that good though, and it's expensive. Sure if you administer it correctly and smoke some pan a while later it is pretty pleasant compared to sobriety but it's not like the oxycontin days of old. I'm relatively inexperienced with drugs but I reckon I get the term "chasing the dragon." You never catch the ****er. But you go on chasing it. And who gives a damn. Anything beats just sitting there sober and having to think. If you have two options. 1. Be sober and feel like all the time. 2. Get wankered for a few hours and then feel even s***ter afterwards. Somehow number 2 wins out. On anti-depressants there was no question, I didn't need drugs, drugs were bad and they drag you down. **** that I didn't need it. Only the anti-depressants I needed. Now I'm off them I find myself as a 15 year old again, smoking pan, drinking ridiculously and finding the occasional wonderful thing like morphine. There is a difference but in the end it's all drug addiction, drug dependence and drug reliance. I don't want any of them but what can you do. Taking none is impossible if your consitution is no good. The problem is is that unhappiness saps my will to improve anything. Even worse than that unhapiness begets unhappiness, it makes me want it and to create more. I know this because my fall from feeling alright to downright despair happened very quickly and I paid attention. Paid attention to how what was a crappy day turned into an insanely bad week because I willed it. Chasing another dragon. Seeing how deeply you can score the bottom of the barrel. I used to talk about hitting rock bottom a long time ago, now I guess I'm back that ways. I used to want it, because reaching it meant suicide without regret. I never quite found it though, my constition leans towards stagnation rather than movement. I'd rather float right above that bottom. My actions stick me where I already am. Dropping the pills restored my old lower center. I don't see any hope, in the short term my hopes are pinned on drunkenness, morphine highs and a good night's sleep. My long term hopes have vanished. I don't care about getting my licence, getting a rifle or joining the military. Getting married and raising kids is absurd. Now I just worry about avoiding people, sleep patterns, getting wankered and my petty regrets, insecurities and miseries. Utterly self absorbed now. Other people's feelings are irrelevant now, mine are the only ones that matter. What a ****ing miserable life to lead right. Something must change. But whenever I remember old mistakes, regrets, and ways I could improve the only thing I think now is "suicide." That's the solution to my woes, who cares for the terrible past, and the impossible future when I have a solution that fixes everything. Not a single problem I have isn't solved by offing myself. Not a single one. I can't solve them one by one in the state I find myself, there is no use in trying, I am incapable. I can't do it. I know this. And I can't escape all my problems with alcohol, work and morphine forever. They always getchya. Catch up. Find you in your bed all comfortable like and rip the blankets off. Your dreams become terrifying nightmares, your music is filled with despair and you spend your time bouncing between extreme drunkness, boredom and forums filled with people as hopeless as yourself. How to solve it all? It's clear.
  10. It's telling that the second I don't have any distraction, no conversation, no video games, no work, no book, no stupid on the internet, the second I don't have something to distract me I immediately take a terrible turn and can't escape it without just leaping into some new distraction. It's the only solution I know of. But it's bad. It means I cannot ****ing sleep anymore man how can you get to sleep if you need to lay in the dark quiet for an hour? I can't do it man I can only do it when I've been awake for so long my mind is so tired I can lay there without the merry go round of despair starting up. So I have to stay up till one and then wake up at five. I want to go to sleep at 9 and wake up at four. But I can't. I can't sleep. I should've been asleep an hour and a half ago but instead I'm in this ****ing place drinking alcohol and listening to faggy music. Now I'll be both hungover and depressed tomorrow. And the worst thing is how big a whiny little **** I've become. Whine whine whine like some ****ing 4 year old. All this self pity is despicable but I don't even care man. If I couldn't commit suicide maybe I'd have to change, as the shame of living this way forever would be far too much, but as it stands the escape makes it okay. I've decided maybe hanging is a good way to go. I was set on the idea of chopping my hand off for a long time but I don't even know if I'd get through the bones. I always figured I'd get a sharp meat cleaver and test it on a pig leg first or something. But hanging is simpler. Drug overdose is hard as good drugs are hard to get. Also unreliable. Cutting wrists is too emo and cutting throat is too ****ed. Stepping in front of a truck/train is too cruel on the driver. Though everytime I stand by the road and see some truck going 60km/h I imagine stepping out. Guns are too hard to get. So maybe hanging. I'm pretty sure I'd need to tie my hands behind my back so I couldn't grip and pull up on the rope. Maybe hand cuffs. But then I figure I need to go around the place to get the stuff I need, and without a car it's a hassle. So I need a taxi maybe. It's funny I've been thinking and wishing for suicide for so long but I've never even planned it. At all. The one time I went for it I scribbled out some gibberish and just went to bed. Pathetic, and desperate and stupid. Organisation is important. But difficult for a chronic procrastinator. I actually had a good day. The weather was nice and I hardly thought the bad stuff at all. As little as I'm able anyhow. I thought I was tired enough to turn the lights off but apparently not. Now there's no hope of exercise tomorrow morning, there's no hope of waking up feeling remotely okay and I'll probably just have a kind of day. days lead to getting drunk that night. But I can't find it in me to give a about possible future alcoholism and unemployment if all I can think is that I must **** myself. Other concerns vanish. And all I do is whine and complain and feel sorry for myself. I don't want to be a pathetic sack of forever, or at all ever again. I just want to be half decent and to manage. But I'm already in such a pathetic situation that I feel too much self hate to feel worth improving. I am a lost cause. Hanging wouldn't be too bad as far as it goes. **** drowning. Hanging apparently doesn't even cut off your breath, just the blood flow to your brain. People can hang themselves with their feet touching the floor. One issue is that you can get an erection afterwards, I'd have to tape mine to much stomach or something. Also I don't want to crap my pants. I need to start doing some figuring on all this. Actually have a game plan. Things that are set in stone and don't need anymore figuring. As long as there is ANY doubt in ANY of it I can't go through. Will I leave a note? Will I die in a nice suit? Hanging? Do I give all my books and clothes away? Do I fly interstate to do it? (for some reason.) Will I have a song playing during? Will I want only one specific part of one specific song playing? Should I edit it so that specific part plays over and over? That I have so few questions only proves how little effort I've put into all this. Like I said I talk too much. All talk. No action. Is there any use holding out to see if things plateau once I'm off the pills or no? I do not believe there will be. Is there any hope in getting proper doses of morphine? Should I do that or will lovely morphine highs only keep me procrastinating until I'm a ****ing junky. All these questions man. Only time my heart doesn't beat uncomfortably fast when I'm not distracted is when I'm thinking about suicide. It's the only thing that cures my anxiety. Makes me so depressed I can't feel anxious. Maybe that's why I think it so often. Like some bizarre self medication. I don't reckon I'd leave a note. I can't possible imagine how I could say anything I wanted to say without making a fool of myself and rambling on for page after page. I mean christ how do you even start it. Usually I just think I'd do something really really stupid like writing nothing but "I intentionally am leaving no note." I mean jesus no note is better than that. This is the problem man. I am incapable of settling on the computer I want to buy. How in all **** do I manage to figure out something as important as my suicide. It's too big, too scary, and too final for me to come to any conclusions on. I'm not spontaneous, things need to be precise and just so. I can't commit otherwise. But I can't make it just so. **** this makes me angry. That futile kind of angry. I should be asleep right now. This is hopeless I'm going to bed to feel worse. This ****ing blog only makes me mad.
  11. I reckon one of my better motivations, better as in good but not useful, is that ever since I was very young my wish was to be in the military, and nowadays when I feel half decent and I'm not entirely concerned with my own selfishness and unhappiness my highest desire is that I serve in the military in whatever capacity and ideally I die there. So it's still selfish suicidal ideation but somehow it seems good. Idealistic. The only toys I played with as a young fella were soldiers, the typical little green ones shooting machine guns and throwing grenades, all wearing their 1940s kits. Funny thing was that half of mine were green American soldiers, and half of them were grey Wehrmacht soldiers. The Germans won every battle I pitched, usually with every American killed, until the German general single handedly hunted down the American general and shot him in the head. The Germans won because their grey uniforms looked much better. The MG42 gunners laying on their bellies especially. It wasn't political of course, I was only 5. The other toys I had were these 'corps' figurines, little men usually in camo with bendable arms and legs, you could buy tanks, armoured cars, and guns for them to hold. My favourites I preserved and protected, and had prevail, while the others ended up with missing limbs and scorched faces. I always thought 'corps' meant dead bodies. My favourite movie as a youngster was Predator. My favourite actor was Schwarzenegger. Predator is terrific, even in my pathetic pacifist marijoowana smoking hippy phase I thought so. Dutch was my primary role model as a kid, the hero, that when all others, the best of the best are killed off, still prevails in single combat against some swine alien designed soley for ******* things. Arnold ****in Schwarzenegger kills the P**k. I love all the great warriors of all the great empires of all the great epochs. My favourite book is Junger's account of his time in the trenches of WW1, with his understanding of the warrior code that seems to have vanished in our time. There was a moment when, while on ecstacy, and shortly after having read this book I described it so eloquently and passionately that my friend that would not under any circumstance give two s***s about it described my description as amazing. I love the idea of being a nameless soldier dying, crying out and terrified, on some far away battle field in some futile war. That is my dream man. Dying alone and unsung for nothing at all. Somehow there being some honour and glory in it anyhow. I'm going to reread A Storm of Steel. By and by there is a reason I'm writing all this, it ties into everything I've been saying here and all my problems. I am quitting the pills in the hope, or failing that the off chance that I am able/willing to join the infantry. This is what I desired as a child, it was I desired when I felt as good as I've been able in the last decade, and only when I am filled with despair and misery do I not want it. But I am in that despair in the hopes I can see my way through it so I can manage to do what I have always wanted. This is one very good reason I must stay off the pills. The best reason really. I imagine myself in 60 years, having stayed on the pills, hell maybe I even have grand children, but I'll feel that I failed as I never served. The heroes in my child hood are the ones that served, even more so the ones that died, for whatever side, in whatever war, as long as they did so for the right reasons. Fighting and dying for some ideal, or their fatherland, or just for their family, or just because it's what men do. Maybe this is evidence of some massive immaturity in me, or perhaps evidence of some fatal flaw in man, or perhaps it's as I like to think that it's what evolution and God made us, that is serving in the highest capacity as we as men are able. To fight and struggle and die in something worthwhile.
  12. I do wish when the censor changes the drug name to "illegal drug" it made it clear that it'd done so. Like it was italic or a different colour.
  13. My mood swings are probably getting worse. I don't know if they swing more severely, though they probably do. They are getting much quicker though, I've never had any control over it in the slightest but a good or bad mood usually used to last upwards of a couple of weeks, or a month or something. Sometimes a lot less of course. Bad days and that. But now it feels like 5 day maximums, both good and bad. Good doesn't feel like it lasts as long but that might be a perspective thing. I have no control over it and that's difficult. And to clarify good only means that it's not bad. If you're feeling really terrible for several days then any amount of improvement is an enormous relief, even if you're still in an awful mood, relative to everyone else anyway. But they are pleasant, today I managed a nice time on the bus with some good music and the sun shining on me. Work was almost without constant brooding on terrible and evil things. The actual work also went well, efficient and proper. Unfortunately this morphine I'm on now is really average, like I kind of figured it was like to be. Not strong enough is all. To begin with fairly nice but it plateus and then what. I'm drinking now in some futile attempt to eek some more pleasure out of it, but all that'll do is fill my gut with alcohol I can't digest properly and I'll need a yak later. I drink anyway. Heck man it beats being s***faced on the couch anyhow. And at least this way I'm less likely to be a junky in a month. If this stuff was good, and it is in fact very available and will be for some time, then I'd be ****ed. Straight up. Given my poor moods recently and my wish for self destruction I'd march down that road. Dude says he can get some stronger stuff but I don't believe it very well. Who cares anyhow, I mean really it all makes little difference it seems to me. God two months ago I'd have steered extremely clear of this but here I am. Maybe people can't change, though I had to change a lot to get to this point so I dunno. The apathy is back and very strong. Before I was not apathetic at all. Now I just can't give two s***s about anything. If I **** myself, so what? If I don't? Who cares? It just doesn't seem to matter. I don't like my chances with an attitude like that. If I keep ignoring my friends eventually they'll stop calling. And I'm not the type to make new ones. I dunno man far out I don't get it at all. I don't know what I'm supposed to do everything is rotten and the only solution is to break a promise I made myself. I've said many times I refuse to get back on those infernal pills. I won't ****ing do it. If that means I drink myself stupid and hang myself in a park then so be it. If I am so unhappy that I want to suicide what good is stringing myself along with some chemicals? Clearly my life is actually completely wrecked, the pills are just blinders that keep you from worrying about some of it. It's complete dishonesty. It's also probably hypocritical in some way. Oh when the illegal drug is in my blood, and the blood is in my head. I wish I had a proper dose of oxycontin man I could go a couple of them. Actually feel amazing, nothing can touch you at all. Just warm and wrapped up, cosy and safe and kind and lovely. The universe becomes a wonderfully easy place to lay down in and just feel comfortable. No sadness or hatred can touch you. Wrapped up snug. The morphine is like a 4/10. Too weak. Double it maybe it'd feel proper. A few days ago when my mood was cruel and angry I was thinking I'd shoot it. Why not take the opportunity? Who gives a . I figured the stuff'd be weak and shooting would give it a chance, and the possibility of OD'ing was a nice one. I guess I'm glad I didn't. Somehow that seems like something you can't come back from. Though many people think the same about snorting, and shafting. None of it means anything really. People watch Trainspotting or heaven forbid Requiem for a Dream. Which is a movie. I'm cutting this out now waste of time.
  14. I feel like everything in my past happened ages ago, and that my present is somehow separate. And that my future is too distant to worry about. And this leads to two bad things. One being that I don't bother worrying about the future, ruining my liver, planning my life, doing productive things, or things that will make me happy or lead to happiness are pointless because it'll happen to someone far away. If I even make it that far. Two being that it makes me feel that whatever mood I am in now is permanent, that all other moods I've been in are like some dream easily forgotten. Happiness feels eternal and depression feels even more eternal. When I'm happy I vaguely understand that it'll come to an end because I have memories of it having done so before. When I am depressed I have the same memories of good times coming out of bad ones but I do not believe for an instant that that'll come again. This time it is final and complete. Bear trap. This is really difficult to deal with. It's weird usually I articulate more than I planned to in these types of things but now I'm feeling or thinking things that I'm having trouble articulating. I can't get all of it out. I only look forward to one thing, and that's not exaggeration. That thing is getting faced. Drunk because faced with be censored. That's all I wanted for the last three days, and now it is here.. And I feel no better. Only drunker. The thing that I always wish for never turns out any good. Waste of ****ing time man and now here I am like I remember I used to be feeling that this ENTIRE ****ing stupid ****ing blog is a waste of time, none of this helps. I know what I need to do and this is nothing but ************* and procrastination. These ****ing stupid and inane blogs where I pretend like my stupid and inane thoughts are worth keeping written down the ****ing arrogance of that, and how pathetic it is when you look at in perspective. I'm just some wanker that'll be forgotten very shortly after my death. My mum and dad might carry me around for a bit but I'm almost past the point of giving a . I hate my mother and my dad's doomed anyhow. Me being around helps none. I'm a downer on those I know, and if I'm not a downer on them they're a downer on me. We're a bunch of pathetic weasels leaning on each other, some people can delude their happiness into existence and I can't. I'm completely ****ed and whenever I try to grip that thought I find it brings nothing but despair and despair can be a really unpleasant feeling when it hits properly. Kind of like how when sometimes you blow your nose and you feel something really whack into that tissue. Despair is exactly like that. Stupid and inane man like I say. I wonder how many people I know that if, hypothetically, they stumbled across this and read it, would figure out it was me. I don't reckon a single one. I'm fairly good at keeping this to myself, what goes on inside my head is 99% of the time truly private. I am a man who appreciates his privacy, even at the expense of my happiness and comfort. You can't burden other people with your problems. I am not a woman and have no desire to be, if you're going to be a man in this world it is best to be like Gary Cooper. If not strong then at least silent. You can't go whining like some faggot Biotch about your petty miseries, everyone has a ****ing sob story and mine is my own. No one needs yours man, they have their own. Any real man would've buried a shotgun under their nose by this point of that I am certain. That I haven't isn't a sign of my inner strength or resililence, it is purely and simply a sign of my cowardice and weakness of character. Men shouldn't talk about ******* themselves, they don't burden others with their snivelling sob story, they get out and they do what needs to be done. Good suicides have thousands of historical precedents. Paedophiles and rapists, the good ones, commit suicide. Those that have disgraced themselves or their family commit suicide. Those that are aware that suicide is an inevitibility and that the grief of those around them must also be inevitable don't drag the act out, but get on with it like a man must. I need to start planning. So when I feel that moment of resolve I know what my exact actions will be. I will go here, buy this, come here, grab this, write down that, do it. Fear builds the longer you wait, you must find a moment where you are not crippled by your weakness, where you can act and do what must be done before your poverty of character drags you back down. You must do what needs to be done while you can do it, exalt in it and hope you will not disgrace yourself in failure. There is no courage without fear, Scaevola burnt his hand down to a stump to prove a point and to make certain the gods would favour him. It is too late for that for me but I can at least avoid further disgrace. I talk too much.
  15. The censoring of rude words makes it a bit odd to read. You don't know immediately what the word is, and sentences can take on whole new meanings. It's like a wild card feature. It gives me the s***s but it'll probably stop me being banned. Today was pretty tough. It's not like to be any easier now I'm making another brilliant post on the internet about all my bull . These posts never leave me anything but feeling this terribly hollow feeling. Like now there's nothing else and I'm just left. I cannot sleep anymore man and this is going to be a serious problem. I was on 45mg 2 months ago, then 30mg, now I'm down to 15mg but I'm cutting them in half to prolong the entire thing. But 15mg was doing **** all and 7.5mg will do even less. I am scared of when I run out (~20 days at this rate.) I never know when full stops go outside or inside or before the parenthesis. But I cannot get to sleep. It used to be read at 8pm, lights out at 9pm, asleep by 10pm. Now it is in bed by 9pm, youtube or reading until 11pm or midnight, then maybe asleep by 12.30am or 1am. I watch youtube on my phone, (stupid political ) but after I feel tired and turn it off my mind goes whirring into action and I think all the things I don't want to think. My heart rate quickens, it feels like someone is twisting my guts up and I think nothing but suicide and sadness and anger. No man can sleep in that state. Then I wake up after maybe 5 hours of sleep feeling ****ed, force myself out of bed, feel like absolute , miserable and tired, frustrated and wishing to go home and get drunk. But then by 4pm I've perked up, and by the time it comes to going to sleep I feel a bit wired and it's the same. I remember this all from when I was 14-15. Funny how you forget, and how things repeat. It's like I've gone nowhere in all these years. Instead of school, I'm working. But everything else is exactly the same. And I'm doomed to make the same mad decisions that lead to terrible places. This is all terribly mundane. Might be I make a new post where I don't speak the mundane. I'm boring myself even more than usual.
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