Pouring Out My Heart (subtitle: you can run if you want)

Almost every day I open up a my browser and start pouring out my heart into this journal.  And every day I wonder what you are thinking.  And what good does this do?  Me, pouring out my heart and soul onto pages which you will never read.  I owe you an explanation.  You should know what is happening to me.

I worked for a week on that e-mail.  The first thing I decided was that I would not send you some long meaningless depressive masterpiece.  But as the days passed, I would read and reread everything over and over again.  Adding a few words here, deleting a few words there.  And somehow it turned into a long rambling depressive masterpiece.

I keep opening it and reading it, and closing it without sending it.  It makes me sad to read it and it's filled with everything I can't tell you.  How will you react?  I envision myself telling you these things.  But I can never see your reaction.  I don't want to imagine that part.

This morning, as I feel the depressions crushing back down upon me, I realize that the clouds only cleared for 12 hours or so.  And I don't care any more.  I want you to know.  I need you to know.

I pressed Send.

What will you think of me now?

Will you look at me differently?

I Climbed To The Top (subtitle: but nothing was the same)

I wake up with the dark cloak enveloping me.  I thought I had shed you.  I claw my skin, I scold you with hot water, but you remain.  I stare at myself in the mirror.  And I see you, while the others may not.  Now I know that I will never be rid of you.  You only sleep.  You wait.

In my dream I was climbing.  Digging my fingers into the cold earth and pulling myself up.  I'm practically naked and my skin is hardened by the bitter cold.  My hands covered in black filth.  If only I could stand, I would have some traction.  But I grab and pulled my way up through the dark night.  I roll onto my back and look into the sky.  There is a wave of color off in the horizon, and I imaging that is my goal.  I stop along the way and marvel at a tree that still has it's leaves.  I have discovered the only living thing in this dark damp wasteland.  It gives me hope, and I continue to climb.

Suddenly, I realize that I have made it to the top.  But when I look down over the edge I don't see anything.  Whatever I expected to find here is gone.  And it's been replaced with a dark empty void.  And the battle to get here was in vain.  There is no anger.  No fear.  There is only disappointment and sadness.  And you are still there.  Clutching my heart.

And now I am awake. 

And I remember everything.

Why Do I Want Meds? (subtitle: am i only masking reality?)

I keep putting myself into contests that I can't win.  I see it now.  I am setting myself up for failure.  And then I sulk in it.  But what I am really trying to do, is to see if my paranoia is real.  If my depression is justified.  To see if I have the right to be depressed.

I was tasked with finding myself a new desk for my new office.  I picked out a very nice, hard wood desk and sent the quote to my boss.  She called and asked if I "was serious".  I think that I work pretty hard here, and my skills are valuable.  And I have been at the company for going on seven years.  But I was quickly put in my place.  And at the time I was already in that place of worthlessness.  It didn't even seem to hurt.  I was so detached, it all rolled over me.

This morning was your day off.  And I knew you would spend the morning in bed with your toys.  I want so bad to be the one to satisfy you.  And maybe it's foolish of me to think that I can't satisfy you or that you don't want it.  So I offered myself to you for a lunchtime date.  You declined, and told me that you had some housework to do which I knew was bullshit.  But hell, look at me.  I am a mess.  I wouldn't want to have sex with me either.  And so I told you that in a text.  And you invited me out for a noontime date.  But I get it.  It's because you feel bad for me now.  Because I have tried to initiate sex with you for days, and you have declined.  Not because you want me there.  I am just a pity fuck.  But I need you so badly right now that I will accept this pitiful offer.  Is that wrong?

Yesterday I drove to the post office and bought a postcard with some change from my car.  I wrote an excerpt from my blog onto it, and then I mailed it to a website where it will be anonymously displayed.  It thought it would feel good doing it.  Because I felt like I was letting go of that haunting thought in my brain.  But I felt sick writing it and doodling on it.  It was a long walk to the mailbox.  And when I dropped it in, nothing changed.  I expected that I would feel better.  But it just worsened my mood.

I barely ate yesterday.  I put food into my mouth and it tastes rotten and I just want to spit it out.  I slowly ate a few pieces of pizza last night because I felt like I had to.  I had to look normal to my family, and my body was getting weak.  This morning I stepped onto the scale and could see that I had lost another five pounds.  The fat continues to roll away, and I am not sorry about that.  But even my face seems narrower all of a sudden and I don't know what I am becoming.  This morning I took a trip up six flights of stairs.  Because I feel like I am wasting away, and I don't want to be one of those people that collapse out of dehydration and starvation.  It was a test.  And while it was a hard trip up those stairs, I did it.  I was fine.  And it was even a little easier than in months past thanks to that weight I shed.

Yesterday I called my doctor to make sure that I still have an appointment for next week.  Maybe I should have moved it up.  Because I feel like I am dire need of some sort of antidepressant, ASAP.  Although, my paranoia doesn't want me to take the meds.  If this is reality, what good am I really doing by taking happy pills?  I'm still the same person.  Nothing changes.  My brain just stops sending me signals to remind me of what I am and what I have become.  And then every fleeting moment of bliss will be followed by my brain asking, "am I only enjoying myself because of the medication"?

And now it's lunchtime.  And I feel like I should be eating something, even though I have no desire to.  I obviously need food.  My body is weak, and my brain is starting to malfunction (does someone have a radio on?).  Maybe I should get a case of that stuff that old people take so that their skin doesn't fall off and their bones don't shatter.

What My Brain Tells Me (subtitle: sulking depression)

Strange how you wake up sometimes with a song in your head, and you realize that you have been quoting it to yourself from the back of your mind.  Because something that you committed to memory, meant nothing at the time.  But suddenly, it's all makes sense and it's an undeniable truth.

Don't - tell me what I wanna hear
Afraid of never knowing fear
Experience anything you need
I'll keep fighting jealousy
Until it's fucking gone

And I've got this friend, you see
Who makes me feel and I
Wanted more than I could steal
I'll arrest myself, I'll wear a shield
I'll go out of my way to prove I still
I still smell her on you

I buy you fancy toys so that you can enjoy yourself with them.  But I want to be your fantasy.  I want to believe that if I can become that thing that drives you crazy, it will make you want me.  It will make you lust for me, the way I do for you.  So I spy on you.  I abuse my skills to electronically spy on you so that I can know what you really want.  What you dream about.  Who you lust for.

But then I realize I can never be what you want.  I'm not the right shape.  Not the right color.  Not even the same class of human being.  And then my world comes crashing down on me, and my brain goes on reminding me that it's obvious that I am not what she wants.  That she needs her toys, and her fantasies to be fulfilled sexually.  And my poor attempts to recreate them are just awkward and unwanted.  When she gives herself to me - is it because it's what she wants?  Or is she only doing it for me?

I feel like I am becoming a ghost.  Just some nice guy that people knew.  My office is being remodeled, and I had to move out so that it could be painted.  I could have moved into a desk in the main office where all my old coworkers would have welcomed me.  Instead, I have locked myself away in a wiring closet where only a few people know to find me.  I sneak in and out of a back door for bathroom breaks and water.  I continue to do my job, and listen to music that I like.  But something is just not right.  I am wasting away.  And I want to waste away.

At first I was impressed by the weight I had lost.  Diets have always failed me, and suddenly the pounds were just dropping off.  I lost 20 pounds before I had noticed the change.  I had just thought that it was the new medication, and the drowsy effect it has on me.  But I now know realize that I have just not been eating, and this is a 'red alarm' for depression.

Signs of depression according to WebMD:

• Decreased appetite and/or weight loss, or overeating and weight gain
• Difficulty concentrating, remembering, and making decisions
• Fatigue, decreased energy, being "slowed down"
• Feelings of guilt, worthlessness, helplessness
• Feelings of hopelessness, pessimism
• Insomnia, early-morning awakening, or oversleeping
• Loss of interest or pleasure in hobbies and activities that were once enjoyed, including sex
• Persistent physical symptoms that do not respond to treatment, such as headaches, digestive disorders, and chronic pain
• Persistently sad, anxious, or "empty" moods
• Restlessness, irritability
• Thoughts of death or suicide, suicide attempts

I am not quite to the thoughts of suicide, but the rest of this is spot on.  The only part of myself that I could ever consider killing, is my attachment to you.  I fear that one day you will realize that you don't want me, and really never have.  I wonder if it will be someone else that you meet.  Or perhaps you will see that you love me, and need me (at least financially) but I am not what you want in life.  And God I love you.  And I need you so much.  But I would give you that freedom.  And I would leave you alone.  And I would know you could finally be happy with someone else.  And I would fade away.

Oh, and another song just came to me (if only it read 'you will love') ...

You'll be loved you'll be loved
Like you never have known
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams
Just a series of blurs
Like I never occurred
Someday you will be loved
Someday you will be loved

I'm Dying to Please You (subtite: but you don't want the attention)

I work so hard to earn your attention.  And I keep telling myself to work harder at it.  I try to beat you to all the cleaning and shopping.  Because I want to spoil you.  I rush home and cook lavish meals for you.  Because I want you to relax and enjoy your time at home.

I bring you little surprises.  Buying your favorites snacks.  Hiding them where you will find them later.  I bring your flowers.  I go out of my way to try and impress you.  And when that doesn't work, I resort to trying to shock you.  But it's all in vain.  You really don't care and you just wish I would leave you alone.

I went to three different stores looking for a zipper to fix your favorite coat.  When I couldn't find a matching replacement, I went to thrift stores and dug through racks of coats until I found a matching doner.  The time I had free between cooking dinner, washing all the dishes, and doing the laundry I spent carefully removing zipper seams from winter coats.

Tomorrow I will go out in search of scarlet thread and I will stitch in that new zipper.  I will spend the evening sewing your favorite coat back together.  I wonder if you know how much work that is.  I wonder if you even care.

I have felt so alone lately.  I lock myself in my office and focus on work.  I try not to let paranoia and depression steal me away.  I check the clock all morning, waiting for lunchtime to come so that I can see you again.  To steal a kiss in the parking lot.

I tell you how noisy my office has been with all the surrounding construction.  I know you will want to eat lunch with your co-workers.  I ask if it would be awkward if I join you and your work friends for lunch.  You tell me it would, and you leave me in the parking lot holding my salad for one.

I eat a couple spoonfulls of my lunch and my stomach begins to churn.  I toss lunch into the garbage and stare out the window for a while.  I go out and buy you two floral bouqets, a vase, and some ribbon.  And in my office I carefully peice it all together.  You seem to appreciate the flowers, and it breaks my mood for a while.

But I don't know how to make you laugh any more.  I can no longer make you feel spoiled.  I am a stalker that you cannot send away.  A house guest that you can't evict.  An unwanted friend that follows you around like a lost puppy. 

I sometimes wonder how it will end.  Will there be someone else?  Will my paranoia become real?  Or will you simply tell me that you aren't interested in me any more and that you want to move on with your life. 

As the days go on, I feel less like your husband, and more like a pest.

I'm a Lapdog (subtitle: worst party ever)

I found myself at a party I didn't want to be at.  I was there too long.  You said we wouldn't stay long.  We did.  My meds wore off.  Suddenly, manic onset.  Heart racing.  Can't find anything to do with my hands to keep them busy.  Watching TV with some guy I don't know, who I share nothing in common with.  Start talking incontrollably about a television show that he cares nothing about.

I look at my hands like a mirror.  I look over at him.  I wander into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror like a teenage werewolf about to take form.

Now we play a board game.  I hate board games.  And I am trying to hide my obvious mania as it pumps through my veins.  You keep drinking.  This will end badly I just know it.  You tell your friends that you ate lunch with me for months because you didn't think that they liked you.  One of them says that she thought it was because you wanted time with your husband.  You look at me like a stranger, and shrug your shoulders.  My heart dies inside because all this time I thought you enjoyed spending that time with me.

Then, I am scrubbing your vomit off the walls of what had been a prestine bathroom.  Vomit dripping down the blinds.  Running down every porcelain surface.  Drops spattered everywhere like the scene of a viscious murder.  I scrub until I can't see the color any more.  The stink of rotting vegetables and red wine stain my hands.

I help you into the car and drive you home.  I help you into the house and put you in bed.  I bring you ice water.  I run downstairs and scrub the vomit out of your favorite clothes.  I use some stain treatments, and I soak it in burning hot water.  I hold my hands under the scolding hot water until my skin hardens but the stink is still there.

I carefully climb into bed and roll you onto your side.  I stay awake for two hours watching over you to make sure you don't roll onto your back and vomit.

You wake up and vomit for the next day and a half.  I patiently cook for the family, clean and continue to scrub up your vomit as it appears randomly throughout the bathroom.

I try to cheer myself up.  But depression is setting in.  The paranoia clouds my brain.  I was so mad at you, because I feel like you don't know everything I do for you.  And I see these other men my age act like children.  They couldn't fathom cooking meals, doing laundry, or spending a few hours scrubbing a bathtub.  I was mad because I don't know why I bother.  And now I am crushed because I know that you don't care.

The anger is leaving me now, and it's being replaced by a dark sadness.  And I wish that I had a friend right now instead of an online journal where I send my thoughts to die.

Tomorrow is your birthday.  So today I will bake you a cake.  I will spend hours on it.  Making everything from scratch.  I want it to be perfect.  I will give you the shitty gifts that I bought you knowing that you already bought yourself what you wanted for your birthday.  And I will wonder why I continue to try to please and impress you.  And as the sun goes down, I will stare out past the trees  into the dark autumn sky and try to think of something that my mind can do to keep busy.