Third is Here, and a Light Discussion on Depression, and Life in General

It’s Friday night. Or Saturday. Whatever you want to call it, still means you’ll be tired in the morning.

I don’t have any fancy graphics for this post. Honestly, it probably won’t be funny at all. I just feel like a post should be made. I’ll most likely post a video tomorrow of another terrible cover of a song that I think is deep, but in reality it’s acoustic angsty bullshit. But hey, if it makes me happy, that’s what’s important? Or at least that’s what I believe and gives me comfort.

Today at work we had margaritas. So that was nice.

And I was in a good mood all day. You go to work, a little bit later than usual, clock in. There’s a feeling in the air of relief, and a (somehow) relaxed motivation for finishing up your work and getting out for the weekend. The same feeling your last school period of Senior year in October, before a crisp, cool autumn weekend beckons you.

And you talk with your friends, and you they tell you all of their big and grand plans of the weekend, of going camping, and going kayaking at the campgrounds, a little high, and having a good time. And things just seem alright for once in life.

The bell rings, and you make your way to the school parking lot to your eleven year old car that your parents help you buy. Someone backed into it at the beginning of the school year, but hell, it’s just a car you remind yourself as you get it, and wait for your turn to finally leave the burden of responsibility in the cracks of the pavement in the parking lot.

You get home, and open up a window, and a cool breeze comes in, and you feel fantastic. College applications are a few weeks away. You took the SAT and ACT two weeks ago. Everything is falling into place.

That’s what today felt like.

As the day dwindled down to an end, you log off, and tell your boss and the remaining few co-workers still there that you’ll see them on Monday. You go downstairs, and step outside, expecting that cool, crisp breeze, since this day was just a good day.

But that’s not the case. There’s no breeze. The sun is as oppressively blinding as it was offensively hot. You walk across the parking lot to that special parking spot you have, because the highlight of this week at work WAS finding that perfect parking spot, where your car is cool and in the shade at the end of the day.

And everything starts to come back.

You start thinking about that Friday in October, in, what year? 2010? Jesus. That was nine years ago. You opened the window, and as the cool breeze comes in, with not a worry in the world, you noticed something doesn’t seem right. You haven’t turned on the light in your dark-blue room in your parents house. It’s usually the perfect brightness, but for some reason, today, it just seems a little to dark. You turn on the light, and for some reason, the overhead light seems a little to harsh. You turn the light back off and lay in bed. You thought about making some plans, but they didn’t come through. A moment of peace and quiet still seems nice after all of this.

You lay and think about everything a seventeen years old thinks about. How you’re going to be friends with all of your high school buddies forever, and will stay in contact and visit each other at each respective university.

Then you start to realize that a lot of your friends have plans this weekend. You won’t be able to see them too much, even though you have a car and no responsibilities for the next sixty hours. That’s alright. You’ll be friends forever.

The air conditioning unit turns on, a foot and a half from your window. It seems louder than usual, and interrupts the breeze that waltzed in, now replace by warm, sticky air from the conditioning unit.

And you realize that you don’t really want to do anything. Well, that’s not correct. You want to play videogames, guitar, go for a walk, a drive, grab an order of fries down the street as a monument of your current freedom. You want to do all of this, but you don’t. You can’t bring yourself to get out of your bed that hasn’t been made in days, and nothing seems worth (or interesting) enough to actually do it.

And your room seems to get just a little bit dimmer.

You turn the engine over on your relatively cool car, and sit for a moment. You pull out your phone just to have something to do for a minute. Something mindless, just to forget that feeling you had four hundred and forty two weekends ago. Things have come and gone. You’ve lived, and you’ve loved, and you felt pain. But things are different now. You have a plan tonight to break up the monotony of schoolwork.

You finally put your in gear, and drive out of the parking lot, taking the back way out to avoid even driving next to someone from work because, let’s be honest, you’re just that damn awkward. You head over to your friends house, and when you get there, the second you get there, you remember waking up two hours later on your bed, the window still open, no sounds outside but that of nature. The units are quiet, your room is just slightly chilly, and you sit up to at least turn on a desk lamp.

The lamp throws a shadow against the wall from the lampshade, and you know what? It’s not the lighting your used too, but to be honest, it’s not to dim, or to bright. You lay back down and things seem right. You hang out with your friend, and you catch up, and talk about life, and show each other tv shows, and it’s not quite perfect, but with the day you had and seeing your friend, it’s the most perfect day you’ve had in awhile.

You see the sun set through their window, remembering that you room eight and a half years ago had a window facing east, and never got to watch the sunset from your bed, just a gradual darkness as light seemed to creep away.

As you leave their house and say goodbye, you appreciate the time that you spent together. It reminded you of what it felt to be naturally human again.

When you get home, you have an urge to write a blog post. You have no direction, except that it will be about depression, and that it’s always with you, in the good times, and especially the bad times.

But even if you’re hanging out with a good friend over a few beers, you know things are going to be okay. And you get home, and it’s Sunday night, and school is tomorrow, and you’ve barely left your room, except to take the dog out as your parents went away for the weekend, and you just think, “Well, I’ll always have next weekend. Or the weekend after that.”

Coming home after hanging out with someone or doing something is always bittersweet. You appreciate the time you had, but you’re home now. That time has come to an end. You’re tired, but still want to stay up, even just for five minutes, so you can try to think things through about everything. But there’ll always be next weekend. Or the weekend after that.

You can’t sit there and think about the past, or the future. It doesn’t seem worth it. And you don’t want to think about it anyways, because Sunday is right around the corner.

And school starts at 7am.

Second is….Not Even Close to Best

I’m not going to lie, I’ve been drinking. If you had the week I had, you would do the same. I realize that I said I was going to update this blog a few times a week. I even told my best friend at work (Hi, by the way!) that I was going to upload once a day.

(This is where you laugh)

She said I would get burned out. Which I am burned out. From trying too many things at once. After my first blog post, I had this great idea to create a zine. 48 pages. With a quarter of it being an original story from my NaNoWriMo attempt (50,000 word in a month, I’m 421 words in. It’s April 17th. I should have over 25,000). I even bought a printer for it, even though I claimed, to myself, that it was a purchase for graduate school. I have printed items that were not zines though. I mean, it was music for playing guitar, but that’s….graduate school stuff, right?

*Random side note*

I saw a car accident happen today.

*Another side note*

big oof

“We should talk more when you’re not drunk.” And he’s one of four people (at least that’s how many I told about it) that read this blog…

*End that side note*

So, car accident. This lady was tailgating like her life depended on it. (Oh god my conversation that is in the screenshot above is not going well) She was behind someone who was turning into Target. This road was three lanes, and she was in the right most lane, and I was in the center land. So, someone was turning into Target, and she almost turned into me, but turned away at the last moment because…well, I guess she realized there was, you know, another car there. You know, me. So she just continued tailgating this guy until he turned. I was thinking, “Hey, this person is driving like a maniac, let me judge this person silently in my car with the radio turned off, and the sound of my life slowly falling apart in the background.” (Just kidding, it’s falling apart quickly.) So I was watching her, and she was distracted somehow, and hopped the curb on the right side. She then overcorrected, and quickly swerved from the sidewalk/right lane to the center lane. Then overcorrected again, and tried turning into a random side road on the right that happened to be right there. However, she was unsuccessful, and I saw her mini-van try to go down the side street, but it looked like she hit an electrical line post or something like that. So that happened today. I probably should have stopped, but she was behind me, and I had class tonight. Good reason? Nope. But a reason nonetheless.

*End side note*

Shit. I don’t even remember what I was talking about. Hold up.

Right. Music. Guitar. So, this is the first time I’m ever making my music playing/singing public.

Wait. No. Backtrack. Zine. Right. So, I have what the cool kids call ‘bipolar disorder’. I don’t know. It just sounds like some liberal bullshit to me, but APPARENTLY it causes me to drop hundreds (and sometimes thousands) of dollars into a hobby I picked up that morning (Rest In Peace, the two kayaks I bought on credit at 28% interest and used one of them three times). So I spent less on starting this hobby (less than $100, which is impressive). I’m going to complete it by May, but I’ve just been so tired. Life is just so tiring. Especially the part of life between -9 months born and…death. But I’m going to…*bipolar thing is happening here*…do what I want. I’m going to play guitar, terribly. I’m going to finish my Masters, poorly. I’m going to write novels people will never read. I’m going to try to program games that will never leave my computer. But even if I write a book that’s twenty five pages and print it out myself on my printer, or make one video on my YouTube channel page public or put it on Spotify, then I’m an artist, right? You don’t have to sell a thousand books, or a thousand albums to be an artist. You just have to put your artwork out there. Even if one person doesn’t like it, hell, you tried your best, right? You put your soul out there for everyone to trample on. And that takes more courage than a lot of people have in their life time.

So, shit, here is me singing horribly (and playing guitar pretty poorly to) Buriedfed by Miles Benjamin Anthony.

(I also bitch about life for the first three minutes of the video, so I started it at when I actually start attempting to play)

First is the Worst

The first time you do anything, it’s terrible. You’re never really good at something until you practice it enough to where it becomes second nature. For some things, this can take years, which is about years (minus three days) more pateince than I have. I’m trying to better myself, though, so my goal is to keep this up for at least a week, if we’re being honest here. I thought that writing my first post would be easy, but it’s actually harder than I thought. So now I’m going to put in a graphic on ‘Hierarchy of Competence’, from Wikipedia.

Yeah, that’s the good stuff.

However, my graphic goes something like this:

I mean, at least I’m conscious about it?

I’m never unconscious about my incompetence. In fact, I’m always conscious at my incompetence in everything I do in my life, from cooking, to writing, to public speaking, to virtually any social situations (which I awkward by making a really depressing joke, then walking away, hoping I never see them again, only to remember that it was Joe I made that comment to, who sits right next to me at work, that I see every damn day.)

Now thinking about it, I’m somewhat competent when it comes to a few things. Such as music. I’m amazing when it comes to music. Listening to it, that is. Playing is a different story (a video will be posted soon, as it’s one of my challenges to become better at something I’m passionate about.)

However, if you read the ‘Welcome’ notice on the front page, you’ll see that I’m through with thirty three percent of my life, and am going to school just to feel some sense of purpose. I have picked up hobbies, and have dropped them. I spend money on stupid things to make me happy, which I end up not touching after the first week of owning them. Hell, I was married for ten months, but that didn’t work out too well either. Since leaving my significant other, I thought it would bring me immediate happiness. And you know what? It did. I was able to see friends that I hadn’t seen in ages, I didn’t have anyone to tell me “No, you can’t go out with Sam. What do you mean why? I just don’t trust him. I don’t care if he gave you shelter when you were homeless, and became extremely close.”

However, that happiness wore off as the weeks went by. Do I regret splitting up? Of course not. I feel like I have my life back, and am a lot less stressed out. Sure, I’m drowning in debt, behind on bills, and everything is falling down around me, but overall, I do feel happy. Not that insane-short lived happiness right after the split, but a happiness nonetheless. I slowly realized that this is my one life. I wasn’t happy in the marriage, and I wouldn’t be happy in the marriage. And since this is the one life you get, you need to look out for number one, yourself.

I first heard this years ago, and it eventually helped with my wake-up call

Now, I want to point out something here. Looking out for yourself is important. It does not mean be an asshole. For example, if a friend needs two hundred dollars, and you have three hundred dollars, but the upcoming bill that’s due is one hundred and fifty dollars, what do you do?

If you loan your friend two hundred dollars, that’s mighty nice of you. However, when the due date on that bill comes and goes, you’re going to be in a worse off situation. If you told your friend you couldn’t help, that’s fine. You’re looking out for yourself. However, that’s selfish. Not extremely selfish, but come on, it’s your friend. What you should do is loan your friend one hundred and fifty dollars. You can still pay the bill, which is putting yourself first. You also helped your friend get closer to their goal, whatever it is.

Back to what I was saying earlier, I’m one third through my life expectancy, and I feel like I’ve made no real progress. I mean, the first third was a blur, and the second third starts very soon. I have a year and a half left with school, which I honestly just started because I bored, and needed a sense of purpose. What then after that? More schooling for a doctorate? Or maybe sell all of my belongings and travel in a van across the country? Bumming around the world with nothing but a guitar? Be stuck in a mediocre paying office job from 9-5 each day and not wearing my seatbelt on the way there every day hoping a car rams me and kills me, or at least very seriously injures me, so I don’t have to go to work? Maybe become a baker?

This website is going to be my documentation for figuring out who I am, what I like to do, and where I want to go in life. It’s going to be a damn long journey, and hopefully I’ll keep myself accountable by posting to this site, upload my progress, and find happiness.