Yes, I'm taking someone else's pain and making it about me in a passive aggressive way, but it's been a while.

Just once, after giving someone physical comfort, and I don't mean right after, but days or even a couple of weeks later, I'd like for a person to come to me and say, "Thank you for that hug and holding me while I was upset. I understand that you don't like touching or being touched by people and the fact that you did it for me while it caused you discomfort shows that you are not the cold, unfeeling person that you can appear to be. Thank you."

It doesn't have to be those exact words, but it would be nice to have it acknowledged that while I was giving a person the physical comfort they desired I was physically, emotionally, and mentally uncomfortable because of the touching. It had nothing to do with the sniffling or the awkward way they reached out for me. The touching.

Back Off, Kitty!

How do you explain to your cat (or dog or whatever pet lives with you) that today you just can't handle touching her or being touched by her?

I mean, when I've tried to explain this to human adults who speak my language and they don't understand and/or they get angry at me.

A Little Annoyed

 I watched The Fault in Our Stars this evening. I read the book, years ago, because emotionally I'm always a 15 year old girl, and remembered most of the details.

Anyway, spoilers for an 11 year old movie, there are two moments that bothered me:

1. When Isaac introduces himself he says he has a glass eye. The shot is close enough to then show both eyes moving with the exact same dexterity. Uh, not. That's not how it works. Sorry.
2. Near the end, while Gus is dying and in a wheelchair, for many scenes, he's still wearing his artificial leg. I mean, it's possible that he might continue to wear it, but it's unlikely that he'd wear it when he felt so tired and awful. It just bothered me.

Otherwise, the movie's fine. The acting is pretty good and the well deserved vitriol toward Van Houten works really well.

Stars granted.

A Confession

I cannot sing the high note in "Take On Me."

Old Movie

I'm sitting in a theater waiting for them to start playing South Pacific. You know, the musical by Hammerstein and Rogers.

The weirdest thing is their playing disembodied audience sounds. Mumble, mumble, mumble.

It's disconcerting.

Normally, by now, my phone would be off and I'd be reading the book that's in my lap. This theater is way too dark. It's at the level that most movie theaters use after the previews start; dark enough to see the film on the screen, but bright enough to easily see the aisles and seats.

I know. Have you ever had your eyes dialated at the optometrist? It's at that level. Very uncomfortable, for me. I'm here by myself and I'm not going to ask a stranger, so I don't know if others find it as uncomfortable as I do.

The mumbles are strange. Constant. Part of me wonders if this is what He'll could be like. Unseen people having conversations around you, but you can't make out any words. Just sounds with enough structure to let you know it is language, but nothing distinct enough to be language. Listening to conversations in a language you don't speak would be easier on the brain because you would be able to make out individual words and sentences.

Y'know

I just want to feel good about being me for once. Is that too much to ask for?

Web MD is Dangerous

I'm not usually one for self-diagnosis, but come on.

I'm not sure if having a label helps. I certainly don't feel any better right now.

The Internets

I'm reading about how this guy believes that the gods of the acient Sumerians comes from an extra planet in the solar system, beyond Pluto. He states that this planet has an orbital period of 3600 years and I wonder just how big of an orbit that is. (Pluto takes about 250 years to complete an orbit around the Sun.)

I think what the hell and go to Google for a search. BAM! Several calcuators for orbital period.

So, if the planet is out there and Earth sized then it's a little less than 250 astronomical units away from the Sun.

The internets is a strange, sometimes wonderful, place.

The Move Is On

My March has been spent preparing myself to move.
Not by choice, mind you.
The whole thing was handled badly.
Very badly.
On the side that owns the land.
I just stewed.
I'm still stewing.
I'll probably be stewing for another week or two.
Saturday I move.
I'm moving from a house to an apartment.
It's not much smaller, but it is so not private.
The price is more, though.
One Fifth more.
Right now I feel like this will be my last move.
This apartment feels like the last place I will ever live.

The Missing Word

I spent 10 hours, today, giving a civil service test. 150 people took the test. People of both genders and of all flavors. Ages ranged from 19 (I know because his mother is a coworker) to somewhere near or in their 60s (I saw at least two driver licenses with birth dates in the 1950s, but I can't remember the actual year). Most of the day was spent slowly walking around the room watching people fill in little bubble, waiting for a hand to be raised so I could replace a pencil or scratch paper.

When I was young(er?) I used to watch the proctors of exams and think that it was a very grown-up job to do. They were in charge of this thing that seemed so important to me. The thing was proof of education. Proof of learning. An ethereal thing made tangible. Made measurable. (Which seemed very important to me, once upon a time.)

Today was a reminder of just how not grown-up the world is.

I walked around the room for many hours. I stumbled a few times. I stopped to whisper banalities with the other proctors. I sang songs, under my breath, to myself.

I don't know why, but I keep expecting there to be a moment where I'm suddenly a grown-up.

Even after talking to my parents, brothers, other people I know who I'm sort of close to and think they like spending time with me, and learning that none of them have ever really felt GROWN-UP. These are people with children and grandchildren. It seems like raising a family should be one of the most grown-up things people can do. It's too bad any couple of assholes with a half six-pack and a broken condom can fall into this.

The grown-up moment doesn't exist. I know this. I know that everyone is just faking it and anyone who says they feel like they're a grown-up are either a liar or insane. I know this, but I keep waiting for it to happen. I keep looking at moments of my life and wonder if that was it. Then I wonder if I missed it, that moment. That it somehow just didn't sink in for me.

Do other people even worry about this? If they do, how do they push it into the back of their minds so they're not sitting up late at night with tears behind their eyes with worry? What do they do to get it out?

Part of all of the AAAARGH! in my brain is me thinking about my last visit with the brain doctor. The last time he really pushed on me that I need to meet people. People who I want to spend time with. People with like interests. People who want to spend time with me (who aren't family). And I just can't do it. I can't.

He asks about co-workers near my age and I say it's a no go. Why? Because I don't know anything about what they are interested in except their children. And that's the way it should be. Their children should be their number one interest. That's good parenting. What else do they like? I don't know because I don't know how to talk to most human beings when there isn't lifescript involved.

What do I mean by lifescript? It that thing everyone can do with everyone when it comes to talking about work because no one cares, but everyone has crap to say. It's rattling off all the crap that needs to be said when I talk to people on the phone. It's the way kids instinctively know how to dodge their parents' questions about school. It's the rote conversations everyone has each day with other people where they put little thought if any into the responses, but always require some basic topic that's so internal to people that the thought really isn't necessary.

The last time I saw the brain doctor he kept telling me that I need to go somewhere and do something with people and somehow, due to like interests, we'll become and everything will be great. You know, because putting a person whose throat freezes around new people in a social situation is the perfect idea. The worst thing was that he made me feel like I was wrong. Like I was lying. Like this part of me that's been a part of me for as long as I can remember is something that I use as an excuse for I don't even know what.

When I first walked into his office and sat down he spent a long time and a lot of words telling me that the depression in my head is real. After I took the brain test he wanted me to take he spent a lot of time and words telling me that my depression is more than normal depression, but it's chemical. It's real, he kept telling me. This thing I have about people, my inability and lack of desire to make he just doesn't understand.

Two or three sessions ago, I spent a long time trying to make him understand that the desire to go make just isn't inside of me anymore. It was there when I was little. I wanted to be with everyone so much and I tried so hard, but they never seemed interested and trying hard was especially hard because I couldn't vocalize things well to the other kids. I wanted to be with adults, but I was a goofy little kid and goofy little kids aren't with adults. Eventually, I reached a point where I just didn't want to be disliked by my peers and that can be done by just staying out of the way and flying under the radar. I thought I made him understand. Apparently I didn't.

The worst, this last time, was when he told me that I have to make more of an effort with the people I already know. That I have to take the time to go to them and figure out things that we can do and I'm tired of doing that. I've been doing that for years. At least it feels that way. And like earlier, a lot of it has to do with people focusing on families and that's the way it should be. Still, I'm tired of it, trying to set up stuff with people who are.

I see the brain doctor in about 10 days.

I don't know much about what it means to be a human being, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not actually a person.

Post Title

I am not feeling right.
I haven't been feeling right for nearly two weeks.
I missed a day with my brother and his family because of this.
I think I should set up an appointment with the brain doctor, but I'm afraid that he will change my medication which will force me to see him once a week and will also make me miss visiting my brother and his family near the end of September.
The trip is an hour or more, depending on traffic, each way and is about 100 miles there and back again.
Add to that an hour, about, of me trying to find new ways to say the same things I've been saying for the past eight months.
I wish there were a brain doctor with 20 miles who took my insurance.

I've been screwing up at work.
Not big things, but minor ones that may one day add up.
Mostly I transpose numbers and write things like 286 rather than 268.
Once, that I know of, I forgot to change/correct a phone number and left it alone when I realized my mistake.
Piles are growing on my desk.
They are sort of organized piles, but they look awful.



I think I scare my dad.
He seems more off-put by me than he used to be.
While he was here, my brother spent time explaining what depression is like to my dad.
My dad has a very hard time understanding what something is like unless he's experienced it and he hasn't experienced anything like this.

My mom says she's had bouts of depression, but she had kids, a family, and couldn't give in.
The thing is when she was my age, I was 16.
My brothers weren't much younger.
I don't know, but I don't think that she had extended periods lasting weeks, months, years.

Recently, I've read a lot about how depression needs to be talked about more.
So people understand it better.
That way it won't have as much of a stigma.
I'm not sure, though.

The whole Robin Williams thing has brought depression/suicidal ideation more to the public discussion, but how long will that last?
Especially when people keep on believing that someone like Mr. Williams had nothing to be depressed about, let alone kill himself.
Thinking like that makes it very hard to discuss either.

By that thinking, I have nothing to be depressed about.
I'm the privileged, white male 25- to 39-years old.
I grew up in a safe place and live in a safe place.
I have two parents who, although there were some severe bumps, have stayed fairly happily married.
I work in a job that I don't hate for a boss that I like and respect.
I make enough money that I'm not living pay check to pay check and can spend a little extra on a trip or useless pop-culture things without having to worry.
I'm content being by myself because I rarely feel lonely.
I have a car that runs and more than enough to eat.
Yet I know how Mr. Williams felt and understand why.

I read a post by some British guy that pointed out how silly it is to ask what Mr. Williams had to be depressed about.
If he were hit by a car would you ask what he did to get hit by a car?
If he died of cancer would you ask what he ate to get cancer?
Probably not.

Even worse has been reading about how Mr. Williams was selfish or a coward or an attention seeker.
We don't really think in those terms.
Selfish implies that something is taken from the people remaining so that the person leaving can gain.
There is unlikely anything to be gained; most of the people who claim to know what happens next believe the Mr. Williams will be punished while those who don't believe expect there to be nothing.
The attention seeker thing comes from people who are always surprised that a person could do this.
These people who are surprised by suicide will be shocked no matter how the act is done -- even when done quietly and privately like Mr. Williams -- because they cannot, or refuse to, believe that a person can give up on the ultimate gift.
Life.
As for the coward, that's much harder.
If you believe, as I do, that bravery is doing what you are scared to do, then maybe they are cowards.
The problem is that we can't know what is/was in a person's head.
We can't.
Can any of us say that to live with chronic pain is brave?
Maybe it's not fair to compare depression with chronic pain.
I don't have chronic pain, but major (clinical) depression doesn't go away.
If you're lucky, sometimes it's less worse, but it's never great and there are no cortisone or steroid shots for depression.

What you choose to do about depression is a choice.
Mr. Williams choose to get help, go to rehab, talk with his family, and then choose to never talk again.
Some people choose to focus on waking up tomorrow and then waking up the next tomorrow and the next.
I choose to believe that there are a few people I would hurt and choose not to hurt them.
I choose to get up and go to work even though I wake up every morning and I don't want to go to work or even climb out of bed.
I choose to hold to the few commitments I have in the future.

After that

Things Change

I could say, or write, that it'll get better, that everything gets better, but I can't because I don't like to lie.

It doesn't always get better.

I'm sorry to tell you that.

Sure, the president and hundreds of other people have posted videos and written article and blog posts telling you that it will get better. I don't think that they're lying. I think they're telling their truth.

Their truth is not everyone's truth.

And the truth is that things don't always get better, but things change. School ends. You have more choices. But with more choices come the consequences of those choices. Sometimes good and sometimes not so good.

It's the choices that lead to getting better and a willingness to accept any consequences that may come.

Something like this isn't easy to write. I want to be honest, but also want to give hope. How can I give hope when I know that things don't alway get better? That's not a hopeful statement.

My life isn't a horrible one, but it's also not much of a life. I don't really have any friends and the few that I sort of have live hours away. I have no goal. No hobbies. I don't read nearly as much as I used to or would like to. I do see live plays and concerts more, but that's because I make more money than I ever have and can afford to do so. I don't know anyone or speak to anyone on that shallowly deep (or maybe deeply shallow) level about the crap that we both enjoy.

My life isn't horrible. I'm fat, but not in physical pain. I make enough money that I can just buy stuff that I want. I can afford short to middling trips to visit people I know or catch a show in a big city. My job is secure. I have a decent boss. I don't have a roommate. It's not horrible, but it's not much.

I made decisions that I can see so clearly that have led me to where I am, but I can't see how doing something different would have made this life better. I can only see different. Those difference that I see aren't all that different what what I'm living right now. Hell, if I knew then what I know now, I probably would have ended up where I am even sooner.

Choices and consequences are what our lives are made up of. One leads to the other which leads to another set of the one. Things happen and you will react. Sometimes not quite in that order.

I can't promise that it will get better. I wish I could, but I don't like lying. All I can promise is that things will change, even if the only change is eveything getting a little bit older day after day.

Spring Is Tough

For the last several day I pretty much get to the house and climb into bed. On Saturday I called my dad sometime after five and then headed for the covers. On Sunday Dad dropped me off close to six and I locked up then went to my bed. Monday I got back from work, 4:30ish, jumped into bed, and brushed my teeth around 8:30 when I woke up to pee. Yesterday I forced myself to stay awake until after six-ish because I wanted to make sure the dishwasher got opened so the dishes could actually dry; I texted my mom near eight because, again, time to pee, but I had my teeth brushed well before.

Today looks to be much the same.

I've been feeling this way for a few weeks, but didn't give in to it until recently. Don't know why. (Not that I feel better sleeping 10-12 hours, either.)

It's a spring thing, I guess. I've always felt much worse near the beginning of spring. Maybe it's the allergies, although this year it's been all in my eyes and out of my nose. Maybe not. Last year spring was easier becuase I had a new job to distract myself with. Nothing like that this year though.

Sitdep

I see the brain doctor in a little less than two hours.

If the world is less against me, non-generic medication should be waiting for me when I get back this evening.

A few months ago, six at the most, I probably would have felt that how I feel now, how I've felt for a month, is an improvement. I guess it shows how much mind altering chemicals can change a person.

After I got back from Oregon in November, I saw the brain doctor and he was impressed with how changed I was. He started talking about how he thought that a, not small, portion of the deep depression I felt was, maybe, situational because not only did I just have a successful vacation, but during that vacation I found out that I would be changing jobs to the one I currently have by the end of November. And yes, knowing I wouldn't have to put up with my old boss made me feel a bit better, but by that point I had also been on the maximum dose of my medication for six-ish weeks. I'm sure that had a large effect on me, too.

Now that I've been on the generics for a while and have watched the dawning grey turn back into a starless night, I don't think that the situation has as much to do with this as he hoped.

I am not looking forward to today's appointment.

Here's something to know about me and doctors: When I see a doctor I try to learn how I can manipulate them so that the focus is not on me. Insane, right? Still it's who I am and what I do, but not exactly on purpose. This brain doctor was a tough one, though. He was very good at ignoring my attempts as evasion and distraction, which is something I needed from him, probably still do. (The brain doctor I saw several years ago did nothing for me because he was easy to nudge off on tangents into things he was interested in; it only sometimes had to do with psychiatry.) The unfortunate thing is that during our last visit I think I needled my way through and found his distraction and that's not good because I don't help me if I push him off course. Of course, that begs the question of do I want to help me? Because even when I was on the name brand stuff, and started to really feel, I didn't want to get better and now that feel even worse the desire to just be and become so that I no longer am has grown.

Dear Liza, dear Liza

There's a hole in me. I think it's in my diaphragm. It feels like it's trying to suck my shoulders and hips toward it so I'll just collapse in on myself. It hasn't worked, so far, but if feels harder and harder to sit straight up.

Why?

I'm pretty sure it's because animals don't do it. Except for whales and dolphins and manatees and buffaloes running from fire and lemmings running from people…

Piss Poor Move

I've been in a bad mood today. I was up too late last night. The people I like from my old job are getting the same sort of shit we were getting when I was there and they are being blamed for it. And I just feel vaguely crappy,

In an effort to feel better I spent money. After years free from BMG and Columbia House I have once again joined a DVD club. I don't feel any better. At least, in a few weeks, I'll get a few DVDs that can only be bought through the club and two of the movies are ones that I dearly love.

It doesn't help now, though.

Happy Christmas

The idea of me decorating a Christmas tree makes my stomach flip and flop.

And watching people actually decorate one makes me feel really uncomfortable.

Vomit Free Since 12/16/13

I am feeling very blargh right now.

Two Tuesdays ago, a cold caught me. That Wednesday, I stayed away from work because along with blowing snot out my nose, the membrane back there kept puncturing and my nose would bleed. I hate doing the bloody nose thing at work.

I'm fortunate that the cold never turned into a bad cough, but the thing is still with me, sapping what little energy my rotundness produces.

On Sunday night, sometime after midnight, I woke up to a bellyache. I told myself over and over that I would not throw up. My body said that if I wasn't going to head to the bathroom it would make me thin that the other side needed some relieving, too. I sat down and farted then got sick. I was holding the garbage can on my lap.

There wasn't much in me because I only at breakfast that morning and some cheese (harvarti) and crackers for dinner. Of course that didn't stop my body from waking me up twice more to heave up bile and water. Monday I didn't go to work or see my brain doctor or do much of anything.

This morning, I woke up, still with a bellyache, and went to work because I hadn't been sick for 18 hours and I felt well enough.

Which is kind of funny because that's one of my answers when people ask me how much I like my new job. "Well enough," I say.

One of the best things about this job is that I don't loathe going there. It's just work. The people are decent. I have a great boss and she has a nice number two. The work I do can be challenging, but is never so hard that I want to scream. This job, though, isn't something I care about.

I will never be passionate about posting jobs vacancies online, or collecting and reviewing applications, or logging the movement of hiring paperwork into an overstuffed binder. Never. I wish I were so that I would wake up excited to go to work. I wish I were driven to push myself up through the ranks. I wish I had a goal.

Once, I think, I mentioned that when I was in high school some of my friends had an assignment to show off/explain their bliss. I thought about the assignment for a long time, even though it wasn't my assignment, and came up blank. I still think about that assignment. I still come up blank.

$1,000,000

I figure that if I had one million dollars I would not have to work for the next 20 years.