A depressed night. A sad and depressed night. God, if you were ever planning on making yourself known to me, please do it now. Take this heaviness and hopelessness away from me. I have been carrying this for way too long and I can’t do it anymore. You are supposed to hear my prayers. Please don’t make me think that all those years of attending Mass were pointless.
It was hard to hold back tears tonight. What’s the point of my life? I have been struggling with my belief in you lately – you haven’t been making it easy to believe in you. Please. Can you help me now? I am almost ready to give up on you. I have no desire to attend Mass anymore. No strength left to pray. I am afraid to use the gas money to drive to Mass.
I am just plain depressed, God. I have nothing left anymore. Please stop testing me like this. Please. Stop. I deserve better. I am always worried about money and everything is so far out of reach for me. One happy day. Just 24-hours of happiness would be a good start for me. I am empty inside, and it hurts me to think that a loving God would put me through all of this.
So I am begging you, God. Please help me. Take this depression from me. I still believe that you are stronger than my depression. I am not stronger than it. Please make tomorrow better. I don’t want to be sad and hopeless tomorrow. Give me a 24-hour break from it. I have no strength to ask or believe in big things now. Just 24-hours of not feeling miserable about my existence. You better act fast before you lose another one.
I saw Lina briefly today. She leaned in close to me to show me something on her phone and she smelled young, blonde, sunny and I wanted to touch the faded blue t-shirt she was wearing because it looked so soft and I wanted to sort of be it. She had just finished working out and I wanted to touch her flat stomach, sticky with perspiration. She leaned in close to me without hesitation and she was unaware that the closeness made me nervous and excited. Her youth is what I see so many older women trying to hold onto about themselves but failing so miserably and publicly.
I’m out of food and grocery money, so I’m drinking a two liter bottle of Pepsi because it will make me feel full. I have an apple for later.
All damn day today, I sat in that chair in my bedroom and read and drank half a pot of cheap Target brand coffee while Whiskeytown radio played on Spotify. I took a break twice to masturbate and then I crept onto Krissy’s Facebook page. She’s currently on a ski trip in Colorado with husband and two kids. I could never afford to have given her the kids or the ski trip, so I read in my Goodwill chair while she wintered in Colorado. And I didn’t speak to anyone today. Last week was days of sadness filling my head, not specific sad thoughts, just a fog of sadness between my ears without any explanation. I don’t know what is worse: the sadness in my head or depression, which is the absence of any feeling at all, even sadness. In my worst episodes of depression I wished for some sense of feeling, even sadness, but it was just indifference to any and all things.
That chair was for so long un-used in my apartment. It was a catch-all for my unopened mail and girls would put their coats on it, which I liked because it left the chair smelling like perfume. I had sex on it once years ago, but I decided to take advantage of the natural light in my bedroom so I moved it. I think I’ll get drunk in it next weekend.
Some co-workers passed on happy hour last Thursday, saying they were tired and they probably were. I needed some drinks more than anything at that moment, but I passed because three beers honestly meant I wouldn’t have money for lunch the next day. And driving home Friday, I hesitated . . . dreaded even, returning to the solitude and do-nothing-all day of my life for an entire weekend. I don’t even like the way I write sometimes, especially as of late. It’s un-directed and self-doubting, mirroring the thoughts in my head.
The winter wind-chills and skies the color of ash has me fearing depression again. Looking down into that pit with my feet hanging ten over the loose dirt edge. All the experience of having been down there before and all the knowledge of never wanting to return.
I struggle to make small talk with polite strangers. What seems natural to them feels labored and awkward for me. It probably comes across that way to them too. I can go an entire weekend without using my voice, and when the cashier at Walgreen’s tries to be nice to me I struggle to string two sentences together.
What I am proud of though, is that I can stand in line anywhere without thumbing my phone to pass the time. Other idiots bend their neck and look like a candy cane while they stare at old emails and text messages for the 30th time, trying to look like their lives are important at that moment. They’re not.
I woke briefly this morning around 9:20 and thought of the weekly staff meeting that was happening without me. It was elation and self-satisfaction that I had the discipline and eventual success to land a new job. No longer would I sit every Tuesday morning around an old, chipped conference room table with mis-matched, stained chairs next to people who I didn’t like. Not only that, but they agreed to keep me on the payroll for the rest of the month, thus financing my current stay-cation at home. I passed time today lying on the living room floor, head propped-up by blankets and pillows, reading while eating microwave popcorn. My buttery fingers turning each page.
In bed this morning, my mind quickly drifted to when I slept with Jessica last month. She mentioned the next time her roommate is out of town I can come over and we can take a bath in her claw-foot tub. I wanted to masturbate, but I turned over and returned to sleep.
I got a massage today at an AMP (Asian massage parlor). Some so-so attractive Chinese girl got on top of me in reverse cowgirl, so that her ass rested on my rib cage and she was facing my feet. She really jack-hammered away at my cock. She was stroking so hard and fast that I barely felt the orgasm. If you think post-orgasm talk with a stranger is awkward, try it with a language barrier while you’re attempting to put on your underwear in a dimly lit room with atmospheric massage music playing too loudly from an iPod speaker dock. From what I understood and heard, she said she would be working there until September when she goes back to China for a month. And I think she asked me to come back and see her, and then she hugged me. I handed her two $20 bills for the “extras.” I can still feel the baby oil on me.
My latest crush works at Chipotle. She looks like an only slightly shorter Maria Sharapova. The last time she made my veggie bowl she had fresh hickeys on the right side of her neck. The time before that she had fresh cut marks on the inside of her left bicep. They were red razor marks that looked like messy hash-tag symbols. She’s an obvious hot mess.
It’s 12:45am and I’ve only just started drinking. I have a sixer of Miller tall boys that I will work my way through before dawn. Kim texted me that she will be in town the first weekend of February and wants to see me. We have a long text history, but the last time I saw her was 2009 when we got drunk at Green Mill, passed out on my bed and had sex twice in the morning before she left. A nostalgia fuck would be nice, I guess.
Money and groceries are scarce again ’til next Friday. What used to be called struggling is now called intermittent fasting, I guess. Either way, I’ve dropped six pounds in the past month from involuntarily skipping lunches, microwave popcorn dinners and black tea to stop the hunger pains and cravings.
Today at work, the boss bought in fresh donuts for the break room. The office decorum is to take one. I waited ’til it was clear, walked in and snatched two and rushed back to my cubicle, the bounty hidden in two napkins. I hurriedly shoved them in my mouth not even caring that the glaze was making my fingers sticky. I immediately returned to the break room under the guise of getting a cup of the cheap, bitter (but free) coffee. I poured the black sludge into a styrofoam cup, thinking of the Saving Private Ryan scene when Tom Hanks watches the officer pour coffee into a tin cup after the allies have secured Normandy. I grabbed my third donut.
Walking back to my cubicle, a lady I rarely talk to had set out a tray of Halloween candy on a file cabinet outside her cubicle. I’m sure others have walked by and taken a dum-dum or a Hershey’s kiss. I grabbed three mini Hershey bars, not believing my luck of free dark chocolate. They’re in my bare fridge now resting alone on the top shelf, and the pic below is how I feel about them…
she cuts my hair
I saw on Instagram last night that Kelley is now engaged. Jesus f’ing christ – depressing. I met her before she was even 21-years-old, and I’ve now seen the cycle of her young life now lead to marriage. She’s in her mid 20’s. She’s young, blonde and happy. She’s young, engaged and she’s never had to spend one day completely alone. Today, I won’t talk to anyone and I’ll beat off at least twice to porn stars that I will never meet.