Tears of a Clown

It’s kind of wild to watch yourself lose control. It’s like being trapped in a sound-proof glass box while someone else controls your body; you see yourself say and do all these things that you hate, and no matter how hard you punch and kick and yell at the box, you can’t break out of it and stop yourself.

I haven’t worn pants since Sunday. I haven’t eaten much, and I definitely haven’t gone outside. Sometimes I don’t do anything but sit in bed and stare at the wall, hoping that I’ll fall asleep, and that today will be over.

It’s getting worse. Usually I can fight it off, but I’m getting tired now. I know that I should stop drinking, that I should find a job, that I should work out like I used to, that I should reach out to my friends and see if they’re okay, even if I’m not. I know I should do all of these things, but I can’t for some reason. It’s like my car is out of gas, and the nearest gas station is 20 miles away, and I’ve got to crawl there.

I really just want to pretend I’m okay. My mom told me the other day that she feels pain when I’m hurt, even from small things. I don’t have the heart to hurt her by telling her how miserable I am. My parents are amazing, they’ve given me every advantage they could, they’ve loved me even though I’ve been a piece of shit, and they deserve to live the rest of their lives in happiness.

I want to be better. I want to make my family and friends proud, but I don’t know if I can. My friends haven’t noticed that I’m slowly losing my mind, but I’ve worked very hard to keep it that way. I don’t want them to worry about me, and I definitely don’t want them to tell my parents, there’s already enough pain in the world today, I don’t want to add any more to it.

Today, I Wrote About Nothing

I haven’t been posting for a while for a very simple reason: I don’t have anything left to say.

There are thousands and thousands of people who do exactly what I do, and I have enough self-awareness to realize that bitching about my problems on the internet isn’t a good look, so I’ve backed off a bit recently.

What the fuck have I even said here? I’ve had maybe 3 good ideas in the last half-decade, and one of them is already being done by people more capable than I am.

I’m trying to be more honest with people, which is hard because I’m kind of a piece of shit. I don’t really understand the whole “personal boundaries” thing, so I’ll make a really awful joke that I think is funny, but in reality, I would get the shit smacked out of me if I were anyone else. It’s hard to judge the situations where I can just be wild sarcastic and move on, and the situations where I need to actually be nice to this person so that I don’t make things worse for myself. I wonder what my life would be like if I could actually maintain relationships, and wasn’t terrified of the outside world.

This is starting to get all boo-hooey and gross, so I’ll just end it here.

The Yellow Room

I’ve written most of these posts in one of two places, either while clocked in at Dunkin’, or locked in my room. It’s funny for me to go back and read my posts, because I can see which ones were made where.

Usually, the wild depressing ones are made in my room, isolated from everything else in my life. The yellow walls of my room are sometimes the closest I get to seeing sunlight, so I’m sure that contributes to the overall vibe of my writing.

I love my room. It’s where I feel most comfortable. It has all my books, my records, my laptop and speakers, my reefer, and an incredibly comfortable bed that I use as a couch most of the time. I think I write my best work here, because when I’m comfortable, I’m less likely to be self-conscious, and more likely to trust my ideas.

My room isn’t much. It’s not as big as the other rooms in my parent’s house, it doesn’t have it’s own bathroom or any architectural significance, but it’s mine, and has been as long as I can remember. I use my room to escape from a world I don’t think I belong in, so by surrounding myself with things that make sense to me (books and music), I made a place that feels like a sanctuary for me.

My time in The Yellow Room is running out. As life moves on for me, I’m starting the process of moving out of my house and becoming a real person, which scares the shit out of me. Sometimes I don’t know if I can function, or even survive without this place. It’s been my creative oasis for so many years, I don’t know if any other space will stimulate my brain the same way, and that makes me sad.

I’m definitely overthinking this, but the shitty thing about constantly being stuck in your head is that you can never tell if you’re right to think the way you do.

The Release of Writing

Why is writing so helpful for so many people? Does it work for everyone, or is there something that makes you gravitate to writing to decipher your thoughts and feelings? I’m in a really weird place in life right now, I thought I knew what I wanted and how my life was going to turn out, but I’ve been wrong every time it mattered. I thought I was going to work in Advertising, that hasn’t worked, no matter how many campaigns I make. I thought I would be happy, that’s not happening. I thought I’d understand the world around me, which is the most laughable of all the ideas I’ve had.

I have so many questions that won’t get answered, and I’m starting to think that that’s okay.

I’ve been super depressed lately, and it’s definitely fucking with me, but I need to muscle through and try to be a person for a bit. I’m scared, but I think that just means I’m on the right path.

I think having all this time to myself has helped, or at least helped more than it’s hurt. I’ve had time to take stock of what’s important to me, I’ve cut down on my drinking, and I also have an incredible reason to not socialize with people I don’t like.

If it weren’t for this blog, Spotify, and vinyl records, I’d probably be be writing my manifesto in blood mixed with bourbon. Either that, or I’d be writing Tito’s campaigns and drinking scotch out the bottle in my bathrobe. Actually, that sounds like fun, I’m going to go do that now.

Creature Comforts

I tend to revisit things. I’ve been thinking about why, and I think it’s because I know what to expect. I know how the book ends, or how the album sounds, or what the dish tastes like. It’s comforting, and right now I kinda need comfort.

I try to try new things, but it’s really hard for me. I need to know what I’m getting myself into before I jump into something. Whenever I want to try something, I have to research the hell out of it before I try it, so I can mitigate any potential issues, and so I’m not going in blind. Now, that might sound boring to some people, but those people also say that you should just jump into things, and I think that’s fucking crazy. We’ve evolved as a species so that we don’t have to die because we ate a random plant that turned out to be toxic. We have to technology to research things, so what’s the harm in using it?

It’s important to be comfortable. It’s the time where we fully relax, and let our minds wander. That is super important right now. With thousands of people dying every day to something we can’t fight, we’ve been on edge for the last 9 months, so it’s important to find comfort wherever and whenever you can. Those few moments where we can sit back and take a breather might be the one thing that keeps us from doing something permanent.

So what makes you comfortable? I’m trying to start a discussion here, so comment below and share the wealth. You never know how much someone might need it.

10 Bukowski Quotes To Live By

Charles Bukowski was the fucking man. He was a drunk, crotchety old man that just wanted to be left alone, and I respect the hell out of him, and his writing style. Let’s see the hits.

1) “Find what you love, and let it kill you.”

2) “An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.”

3) “The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.”

4) “Things get bad fir all of us, almost continually, and what we do under the constant stress reveals who we are.”

5) “Stop insisting on clearing your head-clear your fucking heart instead.”

6) “If you have the ability to love, love yourself first.”

7) “I wanted the whole world, or nothing.”

8) “Beware of those who seek constant crowds; they are nothing alone.”

9) “We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone shoukd make us love each other, but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.”

10) ” I want so much that is not here and do not know where to go.”

Mental Tripwire

Every once in awhile, I have a moment of profound clarity, or so I think. I realized that two words I wrote while taking the Browns to the Superbowl may have been the smartest thing I’ve written on this page. I’m refering to my previous post, where I say that money isn’t the root of all evil, fear is. Those last two words, seemingly plucked from thin air while taking an egregious bowel movement, have been running through my head all day.

Fear is the root of all evil, but it’s also the root of all sadness, guilt, and insecurity. Fear makes you think that you’re not good enough, and then bombards you with reasons to believe it. If fear was a person, it would be Grima Wormtongue from Lord of the Rings.

“Your friends don’t really like you, they just feel bad for you.”

Fear changes people. It makes them think the worst of other people, and themselves. It makes you think that everything you’ve worked for is a second away from shattering and leaving you with nothing. That power makes people do terrible things. I’m trying to be more empathetic, so whenever I see someone who can be considered evil, I just picture a cornered animal- terrified, hurt, with nothing to lose. I know some people are just dicks, or think they are on the right side of history, or whatever, but I think most evil people are just scared.

If the personification of my fear was right in front of me, I’d beat the brakes off of that smarmy bastard. Fear has robbed me of so many things; potential jobs, relationships, friends, hobbies, my self-confidence, and it probably contributes to the deep pit of depression I have to crawl out of every day. I’ve definitely succumbed to it, and as much as I hate to admit it, it has definitely changed me as a person. I used to like meeting new people. I used to be fearless and talk to pretty girls way out of my league at bars. I used to not white-knuckle the steering wheel whenever I drove. All of that is gone now, and I have fear to thank for it. Thanks a lot, asshole.

I don’t know how to overcome my fear, it’s like I’m at Helm’s Deep looking at the army of Isengard creeping closer, and I know that it will overwhelm me and kill everything I love. I just finished watching the Extended Edition, so I’m probably going to throw in a lot of Lord of the Rings references for the next few weeks.

I know that there is medication that can clear up whatever fear I have, but the more I research these medications, the more I realize that 1) benzodiazepines are awful, and I’d rather not take them, 2) I’m crazy, but I might not be crazy enough to need (additional) medication and 3) Xanax is for Golf Moms and SoundCloud rappers, and I am neither. I guess I’m going to have to nut up and make a concentrated effort to change, which is funny because I have ADHD, and can barely concentrate on anything.

Green Rectangles

The most powerful item in the world weighs about a gram. It’s not sharp, it can’t kill anyone, and you can’t eat it. It’s a tiny little object that has the power to change your life. Need a hint?

Money.

Money is the most powerful thing on the planet. For all the shit Wolf of Wall St. gets, it was right about one thing: money can achieve anything.

We’re all greedy pricks when it comes down to it, it’s in our nature to be animals, so when given the chance, we jump on it. Look at all of the pharma executives who have more money than they could ever spend in a hundred lifetimes. Do you think they got to where they are by being nice?

Money has the power to change everything about you. You can buy new clothes to look the best you can, you can hire personal trainers and nutritionists to help get you into shape, you can support whatever hobby you’re into at the moment with enough money. It also has a negative effect on your mental health, interpersonal relationships, and the overall health of our planet.

Money provides comfort. That’s pretty much it. If you’re Old Money™️, you can do whatever you want; you can hire a personal chef so you don’t have to cook, which saves you time, you can hire a chauffer to drive you around, which removes the stress of being stuck in traffic, you can also hire an assistant to do all the annoying shit you don’t want to do, giving you more time to work on your golf swing, or to give you peace of mind before you go to work, or because what’s the point of having “fuck you” money, if you never say “fuck it” and do whatever you want.

At a certain point, I think aquiring wealth becomes an addiction. Why else would Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, and every oil Sheik work so damn hard to get more of it? For their legacy? So their great-great-grandkids can grow up so detached from society that they become so hedonistic they spend all your money? I’m trying to understand it, but it’s escaping me at the moment.

Money is like oxygen: you don’t notice it, until you start to run out of it. The things people will do when they are poor and desperate only go to show you how powerful the almighty dollar is. Why else would someone sell heroin on a dangerous street corner, or take a chance and rob someone in a country with 400 million (legal) guns. Money isn’t the root of all evil, fear is, but the fear of running out of money can drive someone to do terrible things.

Fuck The Civil War

First of all, fuck all of those HeHaw Outlaw assholes who are trying to intimidate people who don’t think the same way they do. We used to go to war with dipshits like them, but now there are GoFundMe’s supporting them. Now, I’m not that smart, but even I can see that these mullets with assault rifles would get fucking slaughtered by actual soldiers who can run a mile without having to lay down after.

Personally, I don’t know if I could pull the trigger on a fellow countryman. I may want to pistol whip you, and knock the stupid out of you, but I think putting a bullet between your eyes isn’t the way to go. I have complete faith in my countrymen, I really don’t think we’re all that different when it comes down to it. I keep reading the comments on news articles, and it’s shocking to see the awful, disgusting opinions of the people who comment. I really think they must be horribly depressed individuals who’s only joy in life is to piss off as many people as possible in order to get that fleeting dopamine kick that keeps them from hanging themselves. I know I have the urge to piss people off from time to time, usually when I’m having one of those days where I’m desperate to feel anything, regardless of the effect it has on others.

I’m trying to be more positive and hopeful, and to make some changes in my life. It’s a huge pain in the ass. It’s not fun to look inside yourself, and hate what you see, but it does give you some motivation to better yourself. I hope that after the whole ‘Rona crisis is over, more people snap out of their bullshit and realize that they have to change their ways if they want to be happy. Or maybe they won’t.

Limbo

There is something special about the time between 12 and 4am. It’s like the world stands still, and everything is in limbo. I get my best work done during this time, I don’t know what it is about limbo, but it crystallizes my thoughts, and gives me a different perspective on life. Since the ‘Rona struck, I’ve been staying in my house and trying to ignore the constant suffering that seems to have bled into every aspect of life in 2020. At first, I thought that I would adapt, and thrive, but that isn’t the case anymore.

In order to keep from losing my mind even more, I’ve started looking for ways to get out of my head, which for the front half of the year meant mixing bourbon with more bourbon, and writing whatever came to mind. This worked for awhile, but like all things, the usefulness faded over time until I looked at that fucking blinking pixel I hate so much, and had nothing to say. As the weather got warmer, and my insomnia got worse, I needed to find ways to tire myself out. This is where I discovered limbo. It all started one night when I was having one of those days that turn into one of those nights, that turn into that delightful feeling where you stare at the clock at 3am and count down the hours, minutes, and seconds before you have to wake up and be a person again. Obviously, my ” Go to Sleep” cocktail of 20mg of melatonin, a 100mg edible, 6oz of Eagle Rare, and a Zzzquil wasn’t working. At around 3:30, I had an idea: get up and go for a jog. Now, since it was the dead of night, and I’m a degenerate, I figured it’d be fun to roll a joint for my jog, so I did, and after a half-mile and a gram, my eyes started to feel the much-needed embrace of sleep.

This went on for a few days in a row, until I realized that while I was trying to beat my brain into submission, some interesting things came out. First and foremost, I had to make a playlist that encapsulates how I felt, because life is so much better with a soundtrack. After making a 4-hour long “‘Rona Radio” playlist, I started thinking about why people are afraid of the dark. I think it’s because they are afraid of what’s out there, and as I walked around my safe upper-middle class neighborhood, I started thinking about how many people are ruled by the fear of the unknown. I know I definitely am, but the more I walk around at night, surrounded by bears and coyotes and God knows what else, I started to become less afraid. After a few more weeks of nightly walks, I became more comfortable walking around at night than during the day.

As quarantine continued, I started to look forward to these night walks, they were a stable, crystallizing moment of my day where I could think clearly for a change. I think there is something beautiful about night time: it’s incredibly peaceful to be able to walk around by myself and not be bothered by anyone, to have complete silence in a world where everything is so loud all the time.

I’ve been thinking about why this time is so special to me, and I think I can finally put it into words: this is where time stands still. Since most people are asleep, it seems like time freezes, which gives me time to stop and think. I need that now more than ever, and since I’ve had crazy bad sleep problems for a long time, I’m already up, so it fits together very nicely.