"Good Talk, Diary" 2010-12-17 - 3:37 a.m.

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I am so very sad, that the only person I have to talk to when I feel this way, is this text-entry box.

I can't blame them really, no one wants to hear about other people's shit.

I mean, you know, I'll do it for you; I'll listen, I'll provide all the support I can, which admittedly isn't that much.

But you can't expect your most trusted friends and family to want to hear your shit, especially when you get suicidally depressed at least once a week.

I'm being over-dramatic, but I do understand.

Twenty six years old and I'm still coming to terms with just how different I am than everyone else.

The jury's still out on whether that makes me "special" and "unique" or just a fucking dysfunctional freak.

The weakest of the herd.

Obviously I'm leaning towards one option, but I'm trying so very hard to believe the other.

I'm so filled with self doubt I can't even distinguish anymore.

Am I just lying to myself or am I realizing what I have?

You never know until after the fact right? I mean, I guess you should go with the option that makes you feel better now, and if you're wrong then fuck it; you can fix it then.

But I still have that innate need to want to be right all the time, that desire to say: "Yeah, I know I'm ugly and fucked up and unfit for human interaction; but at least I know I am."

To somehow communicate with this theoretical audience and nod and wink that I'm in on the joke like they are.

It's so incredibly insecure and fucked up I don't know where to start.

I'm losing at both ends.

I mean, I guess if there's one good thing about being so very solitary;

you have a lot of time for introspection.

I could lay out every psychological process that results in every flaw I have, I have every single problem of mine mapped out.

In some cases I even know what I "should" do to fix them.

But I'm no more capable of fixing my own ingrained faults than any other machine.

Believe me, this shit runs around and around in my head all fucking day.

The only time it stops is when I'm drunk; and sometimes not even then.

It's about 50/50; but I'll take those odds, because it's all I can get.

But regardless, I'm doing what I can on my own, but it amounts to very little.

In the plainest, most scientific, logical terms: I need help.

It's a tall order really, I understand that.

"Help me fix my psyche and my life."

Apparently even the people without an alcohol dependency and severe emotional issues have trouble with that.

Buncha fucking pussies.

I mean, there's very obviously a difference between guys like Ian Curtis, Kurt Cobain, and Chris Farley; and the rest of the population at large.

And yet somehow everyone's problems are equal?

Fuck you.

Fuck all of you.

Maybe I'm not talented.

Maybe I am, maybe not on that level, whatever; not the point.

I have a problem.

Many problems.

And yet no one is willing to help me.

I'd help you.

And it comes back to the same old thing.

"What do I expect them to do?"

I don't know.

I'll say it flat out.

If I knew what I wanted or needed you to do, I'd handle it my fucking self.

Because obviously I'm used to not getting help.

But you know, maybe they're doing what they can.

Maybe they're doing the best thing they could be.

Maybe just being my friend, and not letting me retreat into myself is the best thing they could be doing.

Maybe being too overt about it and babying me would fuck me up in different ways.

I don't fucking know man.

God knows the current situation isn't working.

And in the end I know, it all comes down to you.

You have to help yourself.

You have to pull yourself out of the muck, no one can do that for you but you.

But Jesus, I'm trying man.

Every time I get drunk by myself; it may seem like self-destructive behavior;

but that's me putting on a helmet and diving into my own psyche to see what I can do.

Progress is slow.

So achingly, painfully slow.

But it is being made.

I guess you can't expect miraculous redemption with stuff like this.

I should try and remember that when I'm sober.

I'm doing so well in so many areas.

But staying so painfully the same in others.

And God, I just do not want to be alone anymore.

But no one can love you until you love yourself.

And I am so very far off from that.

You know, I wouldn't even feel so bad about all this if I could at least get some good lyrics out of it;

but all my shit comes out whiny.

My best stuff is like Elliott Smith at his worst.

And that's my best, it's not like it comes out often.

On one hand, I feel like I could use something new. A new perspective, a new method, anything. I need a change.

On the other hand I feel like the only way to get through this is to meet it head on and fucking fix it.

Just tough it the fuck out until I'm stable; or die trying.

But isn't the definition of madness trying the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result?

I guess if anything that's my problem in a nutshell:

Give me a million options; I'll find a fatal flaw in each of them.

Ask me for a solution,

I'll just shrug.

what a fucking waster

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