Im running on empty. And I have no idea how to get full again. It just feels like Im wasting more gas rather than saving it. Because Im expecting way too much from something that can’t give me any of it.

There’s that type of anger that you can’t explain to anyone. You can’t describe to them just how infuriated and enraged you are inside, how your blood boils at the thought, and how you wish you just never met certain people. People who never did admit what they did to you, how they portrayed you, how they set out to ruin you. How do you explain that type of anger to people? How do you explain that kind of betrayal to people? You can’t. You can’t explain it without seeming bitter, seeming crazy. You can’t describe it without people giving you the speech of ‘do not let it have power over you’ or ‘do not let it consume you’ because that’s the type of thing that people who don’t understand do say. Like you’re not allowed to feel this way. As if you’re not entitled to feel this way. They don’t understand so why bother wasting your breath?

Bounding.

It’s been awhile since I’ve poured my heart out. It’s been awhile since I’ve sat down and thought things through. It’s been awhile since I’ve been alone with my thoughts, surrounded with nothing but silence. I’ve been on the go, kept busy, kept my mind busy, kept my hands occupied, kept my thoughts focused. Because it’s easier to keep my feelings in check when I’m.. busy. But then I start to ignore the phase I find myself settling into again. That deep crevice in the portrait of my life that I try so hard to jump over so many times, but then find myself swallowed into it once in awhile. That dark crack in what seems to be a perfect, flat land that I sometimes have to claw myself out of. I never realize how deep I am in that crevice because my eyes are kept upward, paying attention to what’s happening above me. And then I finally get a moment to look down.. realizing that I am far too deep with paranoia settling in that if my foot slips, I will fall until I can no longer see above me.

Some people have a legitimate reason to feel depressed, but not me. I just woke up one day feeling sad and helpless for absolutely no reason.

It's disappointing to feel sad for no reason. Sadness can be almost pleasantly indulgent when you have a way to justify it - you can listen to sad music and imagine yourself as the protagonist in a dramatic movie. You can gaze out the window while you're crying and think "This is so sad. I can't even believe how sad this whole situation is. I bet even a reenactment of my sadness could bring an entire theater audience to tears."But my sadness didn't have a purpose.  Listening to sad music and imagining that my life was a movie just made me feel kind of weird because I couldn't really get behind the idea of a movie where the character is sad for no reason.

Essentially, I was being robbed of my right to feel self pity, which is the only redeeming part of sadness.And for a little bit, that was a good enough reason to pity myself.

Standing around feeling sorry for myself was momentarily exhilarating, but I grew tired of it quickly. "That will do," I thought. "I've had my fun, let's move on to something else now." But the sadness didn't go away.I tried to force myself to not be sad.

But trying to use willpower to overcome the apathetic sort of sadness that accompanies depression is like a person with no arms trying to punch themselves until their hands grow back.  A fundamental component of the plan is missing and it isn't going to work. 

When I couldn't will myself to not be sad, I became frustrated and angry. In a final, desperate attempt to regain power over myself, I turned to shame as a sort of motivational tool.

But, since I was depressed, this tactic was less inspirational and more just a way to oppress myself with hatred.

Which made me more sad. 

Which then made me more frustrated and abusive.

And that made me even more sad, and so on and so forth until the only way to adequately express my sadness was to crawl very slowly across the floor.

The self-loathing and shame had ceased to be even slightly productive, but it was too late to go back at that point, so I just kept going. I followed myself around like a bully, narrating my thoughts and actions with a constant stream of abuse.

I spent months shut in my house, surfing the internet on top of a pile of my own dirty laundry which I set on the couch for "just a second" because I experienced a sudden moment of apathy on my way to the washer and couldn't continue. And then, two weeks later, I still hadn't completed that journey. But who cares - it wasn't like I had been showering regularly and sitting on a pile of clothes isn't necessarily uncomfortable. But even if it was, I couldn't feel anything through the self hatred anyway, so it didn't matter. JUST LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE.

Slowly, my feelings started to shrivel up. The few that managed to survive the constant beatings staggered around like wounded baby deer, just biding their time until they could die and join all the other carcasses strewn across the wasteland of my soul.I couldn't even muster up the enthusiasm to hate myself anymore.

I just drifted around, completely unsure of what I was feeling or whether I could actually feel anything at all.

If my life was a movie, the turning point of my depression would have been inspirational and meaningful. It would have involved wisdom-filled epiphanies about discovering my true self and I would conquer my demons and go on to live out the rest of my life in happiness.Instead, my turning point mostly hinged upon the fact that I had rented some movies and then I didn't return them for too long.The late fees had reached the point where the injustice of paying any more than I already owed outweighed my apathy. I considered just keeping the movies and never going to the video store again, but then I remembered that I still wanted to re-watch Jumanji.I put on some clothes, put the movies in my backpack and biked to the video store. It was the slowest, most resentful bike ride ever.

And when I arrived, I found out that they didn't even have Jumanji in.Just as I was debating whether I should settle on a movie that wasn't Jumanji or go home and stare in abject silence, I noticed a woman looking at me weirdly from a couple rows over.

She was probably looking at me that way because I looked really, really depressed and I was dressed like an eskimo vagrant.Normally, I would have felt an instant, crushing sense of self-consciousness, but instead, I felt nothing.

I've always wanted to not give a fuck. While crying helplessly into my pillow for no good reason, I would often fantasize that maybe someday I could be one of those stoic badasses whose emotions are mostly comprised of rock music and not being afraid of things. And finally - finally - after a lifetime of feelings and anxiety and more feelings, I didn't have any feelings left. I had spent my last feeling being disappointed that I couldn't rent Jumanji.I felt invincible.

And thus began a tiny rebellion.

Then I swooped out of there like the Batman and biked home in a blaze of defiant glory.

And that's how my depression got so horrible that it actually broke through to the other side and became a sort of fear-proof exoskeleton.

Running..

Have you ever had one of those dreams where you’re just running? And you have absolutely no idea what you’re running to. But no matter how many far you run it’s still the same environment, the same surroundings. And you just can’t escape, no matter how much faster you run or how much farther you run. And you find yourself breathless, but you just won’t stop. You can’t stop. You don’t want to stop. Because if you dare to stop then you become stuck. Stuck in the middle of nowhere. Helpless and vulnerable. You can’t yell for help, you can’t break down and cry, because no one will hear you. You’re just this helpless human being in the midst of nothing, in the middle of nowhere.

It is what it is.

Things I like about coffee:

• Coffee is hot.
• Coffee makes me excited.
• Coffee is good enough to have everyday.
• Coffee smells good.
• Coffee makes me nervous sometimes.
• Coffee gives me the warm and fuzzies.
• Even when coffee is too sweet or weak, its still good.

Things I like about you:

• Pretty much the same thing as coffee.
• And who knows, maybe you taste good and will keep me up all night too.

Keep your feet on the ground when your head's in the clouds.

If it's not real, you can't hold it in your hand, you can't feel it with your heart and I won't believe it. 

But if it's true, you can see it with your eyes, even in the dark and that's where I want to be.