Thursday, July 24, 2014

no work and all sleep makes Kenny a dull boy

I am beginning the great purge now.  The throwing away of my life, plus some.

That is to say, I am not dragging all this crap with me to my next point in life.  Already I have a garbage bag of mostly comic books I don't want to deal with.  There are plenty more to join the pile.  I'll give most of my longboxes to my little Cousin Jagger.

I have yet to see any severence come through from the company.  Tomorrow I will call about that.   Gonna need the money for the move.

I've had a bad time staying sober.  I am starting to feel the effects of the antidepressants now though.  I don't have to fret so much about losing Dale a third time.  He's gone on with his life--- I wish him well, not that it seems to matter to him.  I didn't even get my hopes up for a reconciliation... just to be friends again.  But no, not even that.

There are two job leads coalescing.  I know one is practically mine if I want it.  It is with a former work colleague.  Four hours from Stanton... and surprisingly, four from Quincy as well.

The second job will likely yield a better paycheck, a better company to work for, and better quality of life.  Admittedly they are both in remote areas, but I haven't got much choice.  Plus, at least this second one is near a naval base.  I've looked online for possible companionship in either area, there doesn't seem to be any hopes of that.

I may not be fretting about losing him again, but I am missing him.  I try not to spy n facebook at his life now.  I aam not that successful.

Well, back to the garbage bags.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

curing depression

A talk with somebody who has little to no experience fighting depression revealed one thing that is very telling about the disease.  First, it is a disease.  And treating it isn't just taking happy pills.

Trust me, if there was a pill that simple we'd all take one.  And I'm sure there are  pills and other meds out there that give you "good feelings."  They would not work on suffering from depression, however, and might very well cause harm instead.

The point of anti-depressants is to help balance your brain chemistry so you can think clearly, so that if you did get a good feeling you would actually feel it.  They do not take away bad feelings or suppress them, but at least you can feel something.

And there is no cure.  Some people need just a slight adjustment.  Most have to be on the meds the rest of their lives.

Monday, July 21, 2014


Because giving up means it was all  a lie.

All of it.

You coming here to be with me.  You saving my life.  You leaving me in 2002.  None of it mattered since it was all a lie.

And now you have a new lie to finish.  Hopefully he won't be as heartbroke.

I have a hard time believing it was all a lie.  Larry at least lied to my face, can't you?

Guess not.  Hard to think you're worse than Larry.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

What I sent Robert

I just wanted to write this so you know I'm not angling for attention.  But like I told Dale before, it's dangerous for your sanity to be friends with me online.  When I briefly chatted with Dale in June, I didn't believe I'd ever get the chance to be friends again.  The possibility... I immediately felt my depression creeping up behind me.  I'd been off the meds for six or so months and knew it had been a mistake, right then.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

gmail text soap opera

I did so well for so long.

I did sober living for so long.

This past weekend.  I left for home Friday morning.  I was desperate to hear from somebody... anybody... Dale wasn't going to call.  Who might talk to me?

I reached out to Larry's partner.  Larry called.  I want to stress that.  The person whom I never wanted to talk to again, him, who apologized as I lay sleeping for doing crack, him, the one I let back into my life more times than I want to count, him... he called me.  Dale couldn't be bothered.

We talked.  By the time he called I'd calmed down and didn't actually need to talk, I thought.  But I did.  It was okay.  He is doing well.

Saturday was the day to hang out with my cousin.  I cannot stress how good it was for me.  He drank beers, got drunk.  I drank little girly drinks and did not.  We talked about everything.  Things we'd done that we weren't proud of.  He told me of walking in another man's shoes.  He told me why he smokes and drinks beer.  I mainly whined about losing Dale.  He did not like Dale by the end of the night.

I had to stop the conversation and tell him not to put him down.  Please don't talk bad about Dale.  He didn't seem to understand that talking bad about Dale was talking bad about me.

We hugged a couple of times.  We've known each other since 1988 and we'd never hugged.  I left early in the morning because I needed to take my meds, which  I stupidly left at home.


Also Saturday, Robert sent me a text asking why I sent a friend request.

I do not remember doing so.  I did go to his facebook page to grab a quote.  I needed to explain to my friend that I was not jealous, because he is a good and positive guy.  If he makes Dale happy, it makes me happy in a way.

So I had to explain that to him.  If I did accidentally click on the button, it was totally an accident.  Unless I did it while drunk?  But it had been a week since falling off the wagon.  Why would he wait that long to ask?  I explained and apologized again.  And then he accepted my friend request.


When I saw that on my phone I almost took Dave up on his offer of letting me get hammered.  I actually put my face in my hands to push in the tears, I guess.  Out of everything, the last thing I need is more access to Dale's life, right now.  Now I'm a danger to two people.  What will happen the next time I fuck up?

The next time was Tuesday.  And now here it is, Wednesday morning.  I have to get cracking on a job search and all I can do is look at old photos.

Friday, July 11, 2014


Well, did you actually get sober again after getting double whammied with unemployment?


Did you keep your promise to not send him chats or texts?


My problem was.  Well we know it IS depression.  But also that I am just a weird person anyway.  Most of the people on this planet think that everybody else thinks like they do.  I thought... since he did before, or at least claimed it, that Dale followed me, looked for my little hide-outs on the internet, maybe even knew about this blog.

The truth is probably, no.  He hasn't seen a single entry on here.  And that's because he is smart enough to limit his life to just what he wants at the moment.  I wish I was that person.  It's got to be better than the OCD craziness that comes with depression and my normal state of mind.  I wish I could just walk away from a relationship and not drag it behind me like an anchor.  I wish that I didn't just trust what people tell you in life or whispering in your ear in bed.

And the truth is, I thought if I let him know that I'd been whammied so hard recently and honestly just needed to hear his voice tell me again that, yes, I am a good person, he'd call.  No.

I find it hard to accept, like a girl still pining for her old love.  I really believed he always thought of me like he once said.  No.  When it was convenient for him, he let me in his life.  He always does that.  I even told him that, said he'd hurt his new boyfriend after me the same way he did me, the silent treatment and not even a goodbye.  And he did.  And he will hurt his new man the same way, and I will not hear from him again, until it's convenient for him.

I have to choose.  Do I keep self-destructing and follow this down the natural path of my demise, or do I keep hope alive that he might find five minutes to say something...

The answer is of course no.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Stop fucking Ebola monkeys. Or at least wear a condom.

Given that I lost my job today I am surprisingly in good spirits.  That's proof that I've changed.  If this happened last year I'd probably crawl into a bottle right now.

The title of this post refers to one of my funnier texts during the first hour after getting home.

So:  What now.  My boss, Tilford, obviously didn't want this to happen.  He was in my studio as I gathered up my stuff and jokingly asked if I was going to fuck anything up before leaving, i.e., setting some kind of computer virus off that would infect the network.  I asked in return, "Would you like me to?"  I think he was relieved that I was taking the news so well.

I didn't tell him that I actually could have easily done that.  He was relieved I didn't Hulk out and was a good boss and didn't want this to happen.  The orders came from on high.

I'm kind of just relieved that this happened now and not a year ago when I was straightening up my act.  I would not have survived that.  I was getting better because Dale wanted me to.  That was wrong.   I should have been getting better for myself, and I knew this, that's why I stayed on the meds.  Until I was doing it for me, it was for the wrong reason. 

And then in January I did believe that I'd never hear from Dale again.  And with that came the realization that if I wasn't going to hear from him again, I'd never hurt him again.  (I was wrong, on both counts.)  But I began thinking about what he told me in his last message:

you're a good person

He was trying to tell me he didn't see me the way I saw myself.  It's like when you hear your recorded voice.  When you talk you hear not only what's coming out of your mouth, but also all the vibrations inside your ear canal and in your head.  It changes your resonance drastically, and you are the only person who hears you like you do, and your brain rejects the recording.

Same with pictures.  Unless they are in reverse, which is what you see in a mirror, when you know it's you and are perceiving it in real-time, your brain rejects it.  Not me!  That's not me!  Ugh!

But that's how I saw myself, and I know it was my sickness that caused most of it (although I like to believe that most people are not Narcissists and do not believe they are beautiful and also all that), but hearing somebody you still love tell you, when you hate yourself, that you are good... that's hard to ignore.

I regret that I found a way to ignore it for so long.

So now the search begins.  I have the demo to Seattle, if that is really a position and not an EOE required posting... And I am working facebook and my friends in the industry.  Of course if things don't pan out I can always just try for a job at Hardee's.  Losing all that weight like I did last time wouldn't be a bad thing.

Anyway.  Back to working the crowd, until I leave tomorrow morning for a restful week at home.

The strain

Well yesterday was an adventure in itself.  Apparently I cannot take a "sick" day at work without everything coming down in shambles.  Whatever.  I'm allowed sick days and, unlike in the past when I'd use them in a moment's whim, I have twelve saved up from rollovers... basically the past year and a half of not being a drunk all the time has meant I don't need to use them.

But I was a drunk this weekend and was encouraged by my new friend to get back on the big stuff.  He has familiarity with depression in his family.  My doctor confirmed that, yes, I can get back on Zoloft after my body has adjusted to the current med.  Good then.  But how will it affect my work output?

So I talked to my boss yesterday.  I was absolutely honest with him about everything.  Back in Lexington, after all, I passed out more than once at his place.  So when I told him the whole story he was not surprised.  I think he was more surprised that I'd even been fighting to stay on the sober side of life.  It's not easy.  You wind up being alone a lot, because if you hang out somewhere with friends, there's drinks.  If you go to the bar to meet people, there's drinks.  It's like everyplace you can go to there's temptations and you want to say, "Well just one," but it is never just one.  So you stay away from all that.

I even started going to the movies here to pass the time, at that shopping mall with the bad parking.  There were drinks.

I told my boss because a.) trying to do the right thing, and b.) I had to find out if he thought my work output had suffered while I was on Zoloft, or if I acted weirder than I usually do.  No on both counts, so medicine for life I guess.

This morning I woke up at 4 am after a strangely dreamless night and went to the kitchen for some ice water.  In the freezer was the leftover Bicardi from this past weekend.  Regretting the waste of money besides everything else it represented, I poured it down the sink.  For some reason it took a long time to pour, and for some reason I turned the disposal on, which makes little sense outside symbolism maybe.

Basically now I'm gonna play a waiting game until my meds are upped.  I can make it a few weeks.  It's nothing I haven't done before.  

I will always regret not staying on them, now.