My Problems

Why doesn’t venting work anymore. I could talk about my problems until the grass dies but it still doesn’t do anything. I used to be able to blog about my problems and I would feel better, back in college. No such luck these days. I just can’t settle down anymore.

I vape and drink kratom. I’d take your advice on whether you think these may be unhealthy, but I know no one reads this so I’m not expecting anything.

My diet is more or less healthy. Lots of home-cooked meals by my mom. Yeah, I’d say it’s pretty healthy. I don’t eat any fruit but I do eat vegetables. I don’t eat a lot of fast food or snacks. I don’t drink very much water  but I’m never thirsty. I exercise 30 min a day pretty rigorously (10 min cardio + weights). And about an hour of intense tennis on the weekend.

I have a supportive family but no friends. Some coworkers are the devil and others are really cool, but the cool ones tend to get overshadowed by the devils. I dote on the problems I have with the bad ones.

I can’t really read, I don’t have the attention span. I just have to move a lot, can’t relax enough to read. You know how you have to be relaxed to read? i’m not sufficiently relaxed. Ever. I can read poems and that’s about it. I made my way through a 300 page novel in a month or two recently by reading ten pages at a time. It wasn’t altogether pleasant. I wish I liked reading like some people like reading. You guys who think it’s an addiction, you’re lucky. All the worlds for you to explore. Man. Not being able to read sucks. A lot.

I don’t really have any hobbies. I just look at pictures on Pinterest in my free time. I’m on psych meds but no antidepressants. I see my psychiatrist from time to time. My labs checked out, cholesterol isn’t high. No vitamin deficiencies. I don’t know what to say. Why am I so miserable, this restlessness. Could it be the vaping? Can nicotine do this to you? Thing is, i vape because I’m restless, as a way to occupy my nerves. So if it’s causing it then it’s a circular feedback loop, which wouldn’t be good. I would love to quit vaping, but it’s attached to me. I don’t see it happening anytime soon. And I have a suspicion that patches cause psychosis for me, it’s happened a few times but it’s hard to say for sure. My psychotic episodes are still around, once every few weeks, which isn’t that bad and most of the time I can survive it. I feel so weak when I’m having a psychotic episode. It’s borderline autism. Like normal people and family are yelling at me psychically, or with their body language, everything is hyper accentuated and over the top blown up. Everything is more than it is. There’s meaning in every little move everyone makes and it’s the meaning that hurts me and overwhelms me. Is that autism? I don’t know. I feel like my doctors never spent enough time diagnosing me for things. I’m not sure I have GAD or ADHD. Not sure.

To those of you who read this: Thank you. Thank you for taking the time to care about me. I’m so alone you don’t know. It’s not that bad, but it’s bad often. I have so many problems. Work is a struggle with the anxiety levels so high. I feel guilty because I take so many short breaks. And worried I will get caught and fired or something. They’ll definitely talk to me first. Right? I don’t know. I don’t know what’s reasonable anymore.  I feel like that’s a true statement for me in general. I don’t know what’s reasonable. What’s reasonable to think. What kind of thoughts are okay imagination to play with your reality and what’s causing me harm and out of control.

I guess that’s it.

I guess now I’m supposed to go here and do this? But maybe I don’t want to do this anymore. Maybe I don’t want to do anything anymore.

My mother could get dementia or alzheimer’s. I know what she would look like. She would be emotional–happy, scared, alternatingly. And the happy would sting me, because it would show how broken she is from so much beating down in her life. The scared we would try to soothe her, probably in vain but eventually it gets better on her own but the damage sustained during the episode is painful to think about and hurts her. Adding only more of what she doesn’t need to what she has.

I don’t want this to happen but I see what she will be like if it does.

Her mother was demented when she died, too. And alone.

Our family is a tragedy. I and my father both have a mental illness. The brothers have mild depression. That’s not the right word for it. They feel cold. The coldness of life. No remorse or love. They don’t feel our love for them. Just like I can’t feel love for any of my parents, because I am broken in this way.

This may actually be one of the most important things I’ve written.

I don’t remember what my father was like when he was happy. Well, I do, but not clearly. When we played together. That was a different ballpark. He changed. He might be part evil now. He always was, though, to my mother, and her family. I wonder who else in his life he’s hurt. I bet there’s loads that I don’t know about.

This makes me think of Christians. I don’t know why and I don’t know how it relates, but it seems there’s a connection. Like they have some knowledge that would be relevant here that I don’t have. I want to hire a Christian as a life consultant. Probably’ll just tell me to pray all the time and be one with God. Nonsense. I would rather my pineal gland surgically removed. If I have to submit with the risk of being abused and no promise in return, I’d rather not believe at all.

And I was thinking about evolution. How much cruelty there is in nature. And that attitude/viewpoint where you kind of stand back and just look at the big picture, and yeah it’s okay it’s cruel, but you just sort of look at it and Huhh, huhh. Hmm.

I don’t know what to say. That wasn’t right. This isn’t right. Nothing goes anywhere. The usual. Tell me what my condition is and I will snail mail you a penny.

I’m not a drug addict. Some lives are ruined by that. What’s so profound about destruction of lives is that it’s a transformation. The transformation of it is what really does me in, what strikes me and knocks me on my feet. How can something be so different at two points in time. That bewilders me and I just don’t get it, more or less. I don’t know. And how can something so good turn into something so bad. We should all be fighting a war on bad. Except wars are bad, so we should be fighting a peace on bad. Everyone.

Some fought in the trenches. That’s horrifying.

Brother the middle isn’t home yet. I get home before him because he likes to work late. He starts late too if he doesn’t have calls in the morning. I don’t mind there being an absence or lack of love in my life in all regards, but it is certainly something. It sort of shapes me, I guess you would say.

My mother cooks.

Brother the youngest is trying to get a job but They don’t like his GPA but They like everything else about him. I wonder if they will hire him. That could’ve been more creative couldn’t it’ve. Ah well. Point delivered, irregardless.

Time to fly? I don’t know. I don’t belong here. I’m sorry.

DOE

Okay I’m learning to use my tools and I think now is the time for a blog entry.

I’m going to learn DOE in my free time at home and at work. Then I’m going to use it to do something at work that I’ve wanted to do for a very long time and I will be lauded and rewarded and possibly promoted at work for it.

It’s funny because the first two videos in the method introduction toolkit I got access to through the company that designs the software, is from the 50s or 60s (its in black n white). But they say the concepts are still valid to this day. i like the style throwback.

Nothing is needed. Nothing is necessary. Let’s see if I can spell that right after all these years. And yes in fact I  can. Let’s write the script for a television show. Another let’s. Let’s gamble. Propaganda.. Spelled with the oculars. Incipit. Careful. Studious. Misled. Designed. Propaganda.

It’s all spell-backwards and I’m insidious. Nation notion propaganda.

It’s all incipient and I’m propaganda. Then there’s notion. The notion is notational but it’s not propaganda. Then there’s propaganda. It’s studious. But let go of it and it falls. It’s supposed to fall. That’s the beauty of it. That’s the beauty of black and white. Film photography. School. Addendums, I’m sorry.

Leave you for now. I’m digressing. From the nation.

This place is sort of the unofficial log of my schizophrenia. I am diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder but I’m not depressed anymore so I think the diagnosis should be changed to bona fide schizophrenia but they didn’t do that because psychiatry is an ineffectuate shitshow. I can’t stay in my room too long because of the ants. What I mean is, there aren’t actual ants here, but I am antsy. I am restless. I can’t just sit or stand and enjoy being alive. I am not happy to be alive. There is nothing to be happy about, and I am not happy about nothing. My mood is not too good. The voices show hints of starting in the afternoon and progress pretty seriously, regularly, in the evening. So that’s like around four to five or probably sooner is more accurate, as I am wont to dumb things down and make everything seem rosy when it’s not. No one knows who I am, and they say they understand my condition but they don’t. My dad doesn’t even think I have one. He’s opted for the conspiracy theory one, where the government intelligent agencies are using advanced technology to disrupt my cognitive patterns. His too. He has schizophrenia, paranoid, but his is undiagnosed and he doesn’t want to believe it’s a medical condition. He’s never done drugs so he has no idea how powerful the human mind is. I have so I have a hint, but even if I hadn’t I think I would still be convinced it’s a medical condition. But I’m not. When I’m schizophrenic, I believe voices are real, and I’ve given up trying to explain how they happen. I.e. what their mechanism is. So my condition is calling and I can’t write anymore right now. My instincts are fucked, I get called by them to get up and walk down the stairs, go outside, vape a few minutes, go back inside, sit at the computer, realize I have nothing to do here, vape a little, go back outside downstairs, repeat the whole process ad nauseum. I can’t read. I envy, really really, people who love reading. It’s such a rewarding peaceful thing. My mind is not at peace. I have to go back to work in a month and I hope I will probably be able to, but I don’t anticipate my condition leaving any time soon. I think this may be permanent. I think I just don’t have a life anymore.