Friday, May 22, 2015

Oh woah, state of abnormality

I've been awake for nearly 30 hours straight. I'm not trying to brag or something, just stating the fact. I could go to sleep right now, and I could have at any point in the passed day. I just didn't go to sleep. I didn't care enough to go to sleep. I've just been up, either programming or watching shows. There were some times when I let myself nearly doze off during a show, but I could continue to be up.

Things aren't normal with me, obviously. Maybe it's better to think of normality as less of a single state and more as several states, each with a certain degree of normalcy and comfort, a certain blend and structure of activity. What's different? First off, I'm not going out of my way to help people. I'm hardly even going out of my way to talk to people. Instead, I've been programming pretty intensely. I mostly haven't even been coding with the goal of creating a system or program. I've been coding just to implement concepts, to make very non-specific stuff that has a lot of potential uses. You can call them utilities. For the things that I'm doing that aren't uncommon, I feel like I'm doing them in strange proportions. Programming, watching anime, preparing and eating food, and sleeping are habits that haven't manifested in the correct ratios. Like I said, intense programming and no sleep. Food-making has been less frequent and efforted for me. I'm not iterating through so many episodes of anime in a sitting.

Not all of that immediately appears bad. In many ways, I don't really think any of that is particularly bad. I just don't want to feel lost. I want to stop changing in ways that matter only enough to make life feel different, that don't matter enough to improve living. It's weird to think outside the axis of getting better and getting worse. The easiest way to compare today to a year ago is to say that it's worse, so I expect things to become better again or stay worse. It isn't surprising that the current changes hardly mean anything to me. The surprise to me is that they don't actually do anything to me.

Because of all this, I've decided to revert. No more doing what I feel like. I should regain the structure and composure that I had just a few days ago. Very importantly, that means restoring my writing frequency. I won't try to make up for the posts I've missed. One can't take back time, only use more time to pretend to do it over. This experience isn't worth so little that I would try to cover it up by writing in the stead of what should have been written. Two posts each day again, starting tomorrow.

No all-nighter. I should say hi to my friends. Less programming, more effort into food, a bit more anime-watching, and a good night's sleep. Let's see if I can pull it off, being more normal tonight.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Give in a little

Please excuse me for a while. I don't want to talk. I don't want to talk with anyone, not about anything. I missed yesterday completely, without warning. I'm still here, though. I'm safe.

I know I'm supposed to fight the urge to cut myself off, but I've been feeling the pressure now more than ever. I think it's built up, and I need to let it seep out by indulging a little. I just don't want to force myself to bottle it in any further.

It's been nearly 4 months since I started writing Tell Her Before I Die. I've gained many great supporters and empathizers. I'm glad that they're reading and responding, sure, but I haven't seen a single word from you. I'll keep telling myself that you'll read this and that I should keep writing, but another day.

I'm sorry.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Hey follower, read this

Tell Her Before I Die has over 50 +1s on the main page. Only one person follows it through Blogger, but that's okay because I understand that people who don't blog on Blogger won't care to activate Blogger on their Google accounts. My G+ account is followed by over 720 other accounts. The highest number of +1s one of these messages has gotten is 24, and the lowest is 0. That one with the highest +1s was my Mothers' Day message. I'm sure the reason for this is that I made images in several different languages from that message and shared them on G+ with the link. The message with the highest number of registered page views was The braver, with 34 views.

With that recitation of statistics, you probably think I'm about to complain that the blog should get more attention. No, that's not where I'm going. There's one more statistic that I've left out: every message with no +1s and less than 5 registered page views are ones that I didn't share on Google+. I can make one of two things of this. Either most of my supporters only look at Tell Her Before I Die when they see it appear in their G+ stream, or most of them don't look at the posts individually. I've also noticed that the blog's registered page views appear to decrease drastically when I don't share to G+, so it would seem like the former is true. But that Mothers' Day message has more +1s than registered page views, so obviously the page view count is unreliable.

At first I felt bad about sharing my messages to G+. One of the main reasons I started writing here instead of on G+ was because I didn't want to flood my followers with depressing messages, after all. I still feel a little guilty realizing that sharing may be the only way to get people to look at my messages. It's not so terrible, though. At any rate, I'm satisfied and thankful that people are reading this at all.

Forgetfulness and quesadillas

The quesadillas I make now are always stuffed with goodies. The one I made today had cayenne powder and chopped tomato, onion, celery, and lettuce. It's been hard to keep the quesadilla together when I'm eating with all those things in there with the cheese. One response I've come up with is cutting the quesadilla into thirds. Another that I tried today is adding an extra slice of cheese, since cheese is the glue of a quesadilla. Except it's more healthy and delicious than glue.

Why the heck did I do that? I figured out a while back that two slices of cheese is ideal for the size of tortilla that I use to avoid overflow. Consequently the cheese, and some of the quesadilla's other contents, overflowed while I toasted it. Derp. Seemed like a brilliant idea when I came up with it.

What I'm wondering now is why I forgot the ideal cheese amount. Thanks to depression, there have been many times when I was so wrapped up in sudden sadness or apathy that I forgot how to do what I was doing, or even what I was supposed to be doing. I don't think depression is to blame this time, though. I was feeling fine when I was putting my tortilla sandwich together. I've gotta blame this one on good old-fashioned adventurism and forgetfulness! Tried to break out of habit and forgot why the reason I had that habit in the first place.

That's not so bad of a mistake though. Remember that time you were making a quesadilla for me and you forgot to put the top tortilla on before closing the quesadilla maker? You were so upset when you opened the maker and realized your mistake that you threw the quesadilla - well, open cheese sandwich of tortilla - right into the trash. I still would have eaten it if you hadn't thrown it away, I told you. Waste not was, and to a much lesser extent still is, my food philosophy. Not sure what lead you to that mistake, especially since that wasn't your first use of a quesadilla maker and your previous attempts were perfectly successful. I'm glad you were eventually able to look back at the incident and laugh, especially since I'm immortalizing it on Tell Her Before I Die now.

I still enjoyed the quesadilla that I made. After thoroughly moving the quesadilla and overflow onto a plate, I just ate up the overflow with a fork. From there I was able to enjoy the rest of the quesadilla by hand. I'll have to remember next time that the cheese amount must stay constant. Maybe there's some better way to arrange the ingredients. I'll experiment with that and see what comes of it. At least if I make some grave mistake then I can write it off in the name of science, since stuffing my quesadillas is relatively uncharted territory for me. If I forget one of the tortillas, though, I'll be disappointed in myself.

Monday, May 18, 2015

A hello to our old friend

Today was the birthday of a mutual friend of ours. I called him at the start of the hour to give him my best wishes, and we chatted and caught up for quite a while. It's been months since I last talked to him. I wonder how long it's been for you? He didn't mention that anyone else wished him a happy birthday, but I kinda have doubts that you bothered to do so. You don't really go out of the way to talk to people, though you're better at remembering birthdays than I am.

You always complained about having no real friends. You'd have real friends if you kept up with them, you know. Silly hermit fox, it would only take the occasional text or call to keep some real friends. Inviting someone to go somewhere, even just to the mall, would be a great move too. Considering your regular habit of alienating your friends, I shouldn't be so surprised that you abandoned me when I needed you the most. Yet it's still a shock.

Our friend is currently enjoying his birthday currently with Skyrim. Almost tempts me to play Skyrim again, but I don't have any extra content like you and he do. Perhaps once I've taken my last final for the mod on Wednesday I'll play around with it. Nah, I'll probably be busy with something else. My little brother was discouraged by the first episode of the sixth season of Supernatural, so it'll be a while before we watch that again. In the meantime, I've been working and watching anime. Finally working on that big to-watch list!

I mentioned that he, I, and others we know should all just hang out somewhere sometime. He mentioned that we should chat more often. That's the sort of proactivism that friendship is made of. Those sort of casual suggestions are what can make someone really be a friend to you. Try reconnecting!

Handling regret

I was thinking about the last time I tried to visit you. That scary time. I thought someone horrible had done something to you. I was so panicked and I didn't handle it correctly at all, because I didn't know how to. I ended up as the bad guy, when I was lost and too anxious to change things. It's not something that I particularly want to remember clearly, but I do remember each minute of it. I don't want to talk about it now, but I'll likely make myself write about it another time.

This memory makes me very uncomfortable. I know there was a better way for it to have happened, but I can't blame myself for reacting as I did. I know that, if anything, I should blame that stranger who was at your house, but that's just not how I like to think. I try not to blame other people, because I can't control them. I try to think about how I can take responsibility, how I can handle things moving forward. But that incident is a huge regret and truly resolving this mess is an option unavailable to me. There are times when it's better to defy personal philosophy, but that doesn't make the action feel right.

What I noticed today, though, is that I could handle that memory much better know than when it occupied me in the past. It's usual for me to have physical reactions to those kinds of memories, to deal with the feeling of helplessness. The energy helplessness creates is like a pliable clay streaming to places not quite defined, blurring back through some other unclear edge and creating an exasperating loop around my body. Not so much of that today. I was able to reflect while continuing what I was doing, with not even a troubled facial expression. I'm glad to be at a point where that is possible.

It's a step closer to being the right person again.

Perhaps programming something

So it's past 6AM and I haven't gone to sleep. I could have gotten off a few hours ago when my friend finished with the therapy session, but I have just been so caught up in programming since yesterday. Even though I'd certainly appreciate some shut-eye, a part of me wants to just keep going! That's how hobbies or interests work, I guess, haha.

I think I'm now satisfied with what I've gotten done. There was a lot of, "Let's delete that, it's too complicated," followed by, "Dammit, that's the best way to get it done," and repeat. Once I decided to take on the complication, I had fun seeing it through, and I feel smart for finishing it. Not that I'm finished with my coding. I've got a whole lot more to do.

There's a concept in programming called a singleton. The idea is that there is only one instance of a class throughout runtime. The One Ring could be a good singleton. There is one ring to rule them all, just one in all of existence. Thing is, I don't really see the point of even instantiating a class if there will only ever be one instance. I prefer to make all the fields and most of the methods static, so they can be accessed directly from the class instead of from an instance. The class is the class, no matter what, with no duplicates, and accessible from everywhere, so I think this is the best way of approaching it. Back to the One Ring metaphor, when I mess with the Ring I call it the One Ring, and it is everpresent. Someone who prefers to instantiate would be calling it My Precious, and they may lose it somewhere and have to find it again.

Singletons are just one of the coding concepts I've been employing. I hope the metaphor helped you to get it. Now, I should probably call it a morning. I've got three messages to write today, this one included. Don't worry, I'll keep to it. Time to head to bed...

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Programming nothing much

I don't feel that I accomplished enough today. I spent the whole day coding in Java, but I don't feel like what I ended up with is really much. To be sure, it doesn't do anything yet that anyone would care about. I feel like I wasted a lot of time trying to figure out how to solve a tiny little problem. At least I understand how I solved it. I can apply what I've learned in the future, surely.

I've been thinking about my perception of time a lot lately. I've spent months in depression, and most days seem like forever in burden. Looking back is strange. It feels like everything before we broke up was just a snap. Remembering the months after that feels tedious, but that time is also tightly bound by that tedious difficulty I have experienced. Even trying to figure out how I feel about remembering brings me down.

Today was a snap. It didn't feel like more than an hour. One factor could be that absolutely nobody talked to me in any way. Another would be that I had music playing: the Minecraft OST as usual, and the ~ songs on my computer. Many of my ~ songs are anime soundtracks I've gotten from you. They make me smile.

If my words don't seem so composed here, it's because I don't feel like my head is all into English right now. It's still in Java programming mode, haha. I'm going to pull an all-nighter and keep programming. I'll push off the next message for tomorrow. I'll write before I go to sleep. Programming isn't the only reason that I plan to stay up, though. A friend across the world is seeing a therapist for the first time, so I'm staying up to offer support. My friend it quite nervous about it and needs the encouragement.

That's all I have for today. Hope your days have been meaningful. Take care.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

192

One hundred and ninety-two is my favorite number between one hundred and one thousand. Those with a bit of computer networking know-how will note that it's a common beginning for local IPv4 addresses. I can appreciate it for that, sure. But did I ever explain how the whole one-nine-two thing started for me?

Toontown. The defunct, turn-based MMORPG by Disney. It was the first subscription-based game I ever played, actually the first MMO I'd ever played if I remember correctly. A friend introduced me to it in 5th grade. When I was making my first username, which was just my first name, the server suggested that I tack 192 onto the end. Sure, why not. I couldn't come up with anything good anyway, so I went with it.

I kept the number with me for quite a while in various ways. My Runescape username was Revolt192. My Vindictus home channel was 192. Heck, I even consider 192 to be a lucky number. And guess how many messages are now on Tell Her Before I Die. 192, so I'm making a little fuss about it. Woohoo~

I wonder if that number still means anything to you. Do you randomly throw it into anything? Does it remind you of me, or is it just a nice number? You also gave me a number to remember, which you took from your sister. I guess it's just a testament to the ability of numbers to be memes. Sometimes numbers stick pretty easily, though I'm sure that's hardly true for everyone.

On one hand, it's sad that I've written this much with no response. On the other, we should be glad that I haven't given up. Numbers, like words, receive the meaning that's given to them, so I'll keep this 192 as a good thing.

I keep browsing for ideas

I often wake up in the morning and think, "Let's write a message for Tell Her Before I Die." These days I haven't often been waking up with a negative thought hounding me. It's not like having those thoughts ever got me sitting down and writing, though. I usually stare at the screen for a few minutes, trying to find something worthwhile to say.

In the mornings, I've got a night's worth of friends' thoughts online to catch up on. After a few seconds of staring at my blank message, I give in to checking on them. Perhaps seeing what they're up to will inspire me, even. Before long, I'm worrying that I haven't eaten breakfast yet, and I go out to make and eat a meal. Usually I'm watching a show while I eat, even though it doesn't take long for me to finish my food. Back to check on G+, hoping for inspiration. I do schoolwork and take care of other responsibilities and needs. Finally it's 10PM and I'm fretting that I haven't written anything, and I don't have anything to write. That's a usual day for me.

It's then that I once again sit and stare, investing time into finding in myself what I'd like to say. There is that moment of temptation to be distracted, but it doesn't hold as much weight at the end of the day. With this concentration, I discover my topic and my words. Heh, that's most writers, isn't it? Goofing off under the pretense of finding inspiration, when all they really had to do was meditate on it. A portion of my messages have been inspired by looking around for triggers, but I think I should just look more often right at myself.

After all, I'm writing about my experience. That should be pretty easy. No need to go out and find new concepts, no need to research and cite sources. Maybe I'm just becoming too concerned about the entertainment value of these messages. Maybe I'm becoming too concerned with writing something impressive. I should just let the impressive things come as they will. I should just reveal what's on my mind, no matter how dumb it may seem. This situation is a stupid one to be in to begin with.

Friday, May 15, 2015

Less about me

Just spent a few hours coding the animation I just published. These things always take much longer than I expect them to. At least I got it within the deadline, though now I have so little time to write up another message. ^.^; To be honest, I was under the illusion that I'd written another message earlier this morning. Not sure where that false memory came from.

Doing that made me realize something, though. All these messages may be for you, but they're all mostly about my thoughts. That animation, though? Yeah, I was thinking about you, but that post is about your thoughts. As I've said, I don't normally get anxious. I know that you have a stressful life, though. Plus the end of your school year is coming up, so you must be dealing with the burden of finals huh? I hope that animation helps.

It occurs to me, too, that my readers know a lot about me but not much about you. I'm not sure if I should be describing you more, especially because anonymity is one of the values of this blog. If anything, I wouldn't be sharing any photos nor social media links of yours. I guess there's an idea for a message when I give myself time. It wouldn't hurt for you to see how I see you. Maybe that's something I should have shared with you more often, even.

I might put it up to a poll, just to see what my readers want. I'll still write whatever I feel. Tell Her Before I Die is what I feel twice each day, after all. Anyway, I hope life is treating you well enough! Be well, love.

For your anxiety

calmness
anxiety

tap above

breathe in

breathe out

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Why bother

In the beginning, a plethora dark, torturous thoughts pushed me toward disappearance. In their stead, now, I've found one thought floating around, pushing in a different direction. I will always tell yourself that you will speak to me again. I will keep going forever just on that faith. If you never show up, I'll keep going. If you do show up, you were always satisfied with what I used to be. I've even been trying to accept the possibility that you may never love me enough to be with me again. So why bother improving myself, really?

It's not the urge to disappear anymore. It's not an urge at all, really. This is who I was, too short-sighted, shallow, and indulgent. I usually handled problems just by saying that they aren't problems. I keep thinking that I'm fine as I am, and I know I'm still not. I'm not even just talking depression. This is a normal issue that I can now see.

There's one part where my thought may be wrong, I recognize. I left you alone. We've been without each other. I'm sure you won't accept how I was before. Sometimes, remembering that lets me do what I must. Other times, I admit that I give up. At least I'm still going, though.

Rain today

There have been showers all day today. Interesting how I complained about rain in shows just yesterday, and behold it rains today. Nah, meteorology predicted it, I just didn't realize it. At some points the drops really pounded down. It was pretty fantastic. I'm glad that the only qualm I have about driving in the rain is the over-cautiousness of other drivers. I regret staying inside; this could have been a good opportunity to be touched by the world. It wasn't so bad to only hear the rainfall on my roof, though. I think it's supposed to rain tomorrow, too, so I can admire the weather then.

I saw something peculiar on the roads. In many places, there was a mist upon the wet ground. It hasn't been sunny all day, so the roads haven't been hot, thus it couldn't just be the water evaporating. The fog floated mysteriously along the ground in just certain stretches of road. Maybe this fog wasn't a result of the wet road, but vice verse. Perhaps some of the damp streets were the fault of small, ground-hugging clouds. The answer doesn't actually interest me. I'm just poking at the bewitching images kept in my head of nature.

Surely you saw some of this, too. If you did, I wonder what you thought of it. I wonder what you felt even just about the rain. I hope it didn't catch you too badly while you were walking. I don't think you care as much for the rain as I do.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Tide falls

The tide falls away.
Drenched beach will dry to powder.
Then the sea returns.

Rain in shows

As you know, I love rain. For me, they justify grey skies. So the screen time for rain in shows bothers me. From live-action to cartoons, I feel that too many productions include rain only for a few minutes and only to set a dark, dramatic mood. It's always full-on pouring, too, that picks up within seconds and dies out just the same. Not to mention that, when the rain stops, the clouds instantly part. It's simply cliché.

I don't have anything against shows using precipitation to actually drive the story. While a storm causing conditions too dangerous to travel in is its own cliché, this honestly doesn't bother me as much. My problem is simply that rain is too often just a cheap mood-setter though. Why can't it be treated as a normal event? Why can't it rain for half an hour without some tragedy going on? Why can't it rain multiple times in a single day? Can the rain still fall softly? And how about those beautiful conditions where part of the sky is clear and sunny but it's still raining from the clouds overhead? Precipitation shouldn't be saved solely for clichés!

I'm not about to switch to a career in film or animation to implement these changes. I'm going to keep my wishes in mind for any stories that I write and videogames that I develop, though. That's where I'm headed, so that's where I'll take my ideas.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

The braver

Of one who braves death
and one who braves the abuse
who is the braver?

Blue exorcist

In March, I came across this image on Google+. The words speak my desire, and that's not the only way that it got me thinking about you. We watched the first episode of Blue Exorcist together once. I wasn't fond of it back then, because I was big on the concept of multiple devils and Blue Exorcist insists on there only being Satan. I could be pretty rigid with lore back then. Thus, I didn't care to pick the anime up again.

Seeing this image, I just had to share it. I asked for opinions on whether to start watching again, and the overall response was yes. I put it on my to-watch list. My very long to-watch list, mind you. It wasn't until just a day ago that I started watching Blue Exorcist. Over a dozen episodes in, I've ended up enjoying it immensely.

I remember that my mom was driving us somewhere later that day when somehow I ended up mentioning that we watched the anime. I explained the basis of the show to her: a kid who has been raised by a priest in a church discovers that he is actually the son of Satan, and he decides to use his newly found power to become an exorcist. The fact that the protagonist is the son of Satan triggered her concern. I defended the series by saying, "The moral is that, no matter what you're born into, even if you're the son of a devil, you can still receive God's love." Well, that's one way of seeing it, after all, and it got that awkward moment out of the way. Mainly I wanted to prevent my own mother from associating anime with satanism. I think I got it right.

How about a deeper refresher? Rin and Yukio Okumura are 15-year-old twin brothers who've been raised as a wards of the church by father-figure and priest Shiro Fujimoto. Yukio is a model teen who's gotten a full ride to True Cross Academy, and at the series' start is packing his stuff to head off. Rin, on the other hand, is a delinquent who doesn't want to continue school, can't hang a job, and is easily brought to wrath. That's how they're seen through the lenses of a normal life, at least. This normal life ends when Rin's supernatural powers begin to stir and he begins to see demons in the world around him. Father Fujimoto is compelled to reveal to Rin that he is the son of Satan, and curtain of normalcy starts its rise to reveal a whole other world of truths and dangers. Or perhaps it's Satan's blue flames that are consuming that curtain.

If you didn't keep watching this series without me, you should spend some of your spare time watching Blue Exorcist! I remember you really liked that first episode, so why not pick it up again like I did? Have fun! ^.^

Not the time to say

I have a lot of things to say. That should be clear by the number of messages I've left here. But there's still plenty that's on my mind. I sit and think about how to say it, but the words don't quite come. I look at the clock and think that I won't have the time. I twiddle my thumbs and wonder if I should leave that thought for another day. I forget some of those thoughts, and others stay with me indefinitely because the time isn't ever right.

My life is about knowing when to wait. It's about having faith that time will have wounds heal instead of scar. It's about staying still so that I can't make another mistake with you. And so I become paranoid about how I say things and when I say it, even when I know that saying it as I intend would be inconsequential at worst. For a long time I had a guilt complex, but you buried it. Since you abandoned me, it's made it made its way back up. I've done my best not to blame myself completely. It wasn't easy at first, and it's hard to be sure when I should externalize.

I'm waiting for any number of fantasies. I'm waiting for you to send me a message, or to make note of something I posted, or to appear on my doorstep. A large part of me says that I shouldn't be important enough for you to do that for me. The only realistic thing I have to wait for, though, is March 2017, when I'll be legally able to talk to you again. On few days am I able to look happily toward that future, though, so I indulge myself in my fantasies instead. When the question comes to mind, "What are you doing?" I answer, "She could reach out today, or at least soon. I need to be here every moment so that her effort won't go to waste."

Of course, if these months all pass then I will reach for you. I will risk it, because one way or another I deserve to take that risk. I truly hope that you're the one who will break the silence, though. Please return to me my peace with your hands, because I'm so scared to try to grip it myself again.

Monday, May 11, 2015

A figurine's story

On the shore of a lake where the water is calm, a figurine left on the ground unattended has a good chance of simply remaining until it is found again. However, life is not a lake. Life is an ocean. with crashing waves and engulfing tides. A figurine left on this shore will likely be swallowed up by the ocean. But as life isn't a lake, I am not a motionless figurine. I've dug my fingers into the sand as I was swept away. I've kicked and struggled toward the surface and back toward the shoreline. The ocean seems endless, and my figure naturally sinks. Despite this I know that you could find me when walking near the place where we parted.

If the one who was left behind is a figurine, then you were one too. I wouldn't dare to leave you by a shore, though. I opened my hand with you in it. I tilted my hand until you slipped off, into the hands of someone I thought should have you. A girl who held you while I held you, but slipped her fingers between mine while dreading my touch. I knew you were safe in her hands. I never wanted to stop seeing you, so I didn't. I stroked your head as it appeared above her fingers. I smiled, and cupped my hand behind your head. Feeling wrong, trying to move on, I took my hand away. You were fine, but I was gone and I was alone. The day came when I rushed back and my hand held your head too tightly. You left to a place far away, in her hand. I was left as a lonely figurine.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Inevitably apart

My little brother and I spent today making our mom happy. We started just past midnight with "Happy Mothers' Day!" to her and our grandmother. I showed them the previous message I put together. After hours of sleep, my brother got me up to prepare a plentiful breakfast of french toast for them. After breakfast, we presented our gifts to them: a floppy white hat for our grandmother, and a wooden wall ornament for our mom. I expected the ornament to be put up in my mom's office at school, but my mom had me put some nails into the wall above her computer, and we hung the ornament there.

Afterward, my brother, my mom, and I spent a few hours on Coronado Island. When we hit the beach, I was the only one in the water. It was pretty cold. My brother admitted to acting like you. Ah well, we had fun exploring the coast. We came across the Hotel Del Coronado and explored its shops. Yes, the hotel has its own mall. We came across a sweets shop with an intoxicating smell, and I got such a filling caramel & sea salt fudge block that I couldn't keep it all to myself. That's both because I wanted my mom and brother to share its deliciousness with me and because it was terribly filling.

On our way home, we ordered some pupusas, and we visited a small rose garden while the order was being filled. We went home to eat, and I poured cayenne all over my pupusas. Watched TV with my brother, watched TV alone, now I'm here at the end of the day. It was fun, and I'm glad that our outing made our mom quite happy.

Normally after these things I say, "I wish you'd been there." Yeah, I do wish that. To my understanding, my brother and mom would have liked that too. However, I realized as quickly as I'd thought it first that you couldn't have spent the day with us anyway. You'd spend the day with your mother, just the same as you probably spent it today. Maybe you could have come over in the evening, but you would have missed the main events. Perhaps you could have slept over yesterday to spend the morning with us today, then I'd have dropped you off with your mom. Still, it was inevitable that we would have spent most of today apart. So, this is one of the few days when I truly could't regret being separated from you; it would have happened this way anyway.

I hope that you and your mother had a lovely day together, sweetie. =]

Happy Mothers' Day

Happy Mothers' Day

Saturday, May 09, 2015

I've done lots of writing

Well, that's what blogging is all about, isn't it? It's a whole lot of writing. This makes the 178th message, 2 messages for nearly every day since I've started. Some messages are a few sentences, and some are a few paragraphs. The one I just wrote was a few paragraphs. I don't think this message will come near a match to that.

I have so much to tell you. Well, if you've read everything up to now, then I had so much to tell you. You had a whole lot to read, in that case. I'm so grateful if you've read it all. I'm grateful if you've just read a little. Thank you for putting in any effort at all to understand what I've been dealing with. Not just the simple synopsis of, "You broke a relationship, now you can't let her go. Soldiers and the poverty-stricken have much worse problems than you." Actually trying to understand how I feel, or how I can't feel, and how I'm trying to understand and manage that. Understanding how depression and suicidal thoughts aren't helped by abandonment, and how holding on to even the most unrealistic threads of hope can help to bring a person out of their personal hell. I know there's so much more to understand, too, but I'm not trying to list off what I think you should be getting from this.

For all the effort that I put into my messages, I am grateful for the effort you put into reading and comprehending them. Whoever is reading, thank you so much.

Obedience

My dog bit my brother for the first time today. Yeah, probably the one you'd expect to do it. It wasn't a bad bite; it didn't even break the skin. Of course, my brother is too cool to get upset over something like that, too. Still, that's a big deal, and the dog kept growling afterward. See, when that dog really wants to be in a certain place, he'll defend his right to be there. That's probably what led to the bite. So, like a good owner, I scolded him. I told him to stop growling, putting my fingers in a ring over his snout. This wasn't dangerous for him, of course, because he can still breathe through his nose when that's going on. If anything he could slip out of my hand and bite me easily. He was better than that, though.

My stepdad and my mom have a different approach to the dogs' misbehavior. They prefer to let them be or to distract them with treats. Obviously, they're not interested in correcting the dogs' behavior. They just want the dogs to stop, they don't want to train them. So of course while I'm scolding the dog my step-father is telling me to just let him go. He didn't want the headache of hearing me scold the dog, though he didn't say that. He only ordered me to stop, just as I was ordering the dog to stop. I didn't stop. Often I'll oblige because giving my step-father problems means my mother will have problems later. Today, though, I knew the dog would listen soon enough. I ignored my step-father, and he sulked off into his office, slamming the door behind him.

The dog stopped soon, like I thought. Then more noise started up. When my step-father gets frustrated, he likes to sit in his office in front of his computer and blast music. That's his coping mechanism, and many teens are likely to be able to relate. He always does this, usually only loud enough to bother my mother who sits at her computer across the wall. Today, though, he took it too far. My little brother and I wanted to sit down and watch Supernatural, and we could hear the music as clearly as if it was playing from the television. I couldn't stand for that, knowing my mother had to deal with it being even closer. My little brother went to ask him to turn the music down. My step-father told him to just close all the doors. My little brother did so and, of course, it didn't help at all. So I went to his office to ask him to turn the music down, because we could hear it clear across the house. I reminded him how we always turn our volumes down when he asks us to. He largely ignored me, with his two responses being "I don't want to hear you" and "go ahead and turn it down yourself".

I knew that turning it down by force would accomplish nothing, so I simply threatened to stand over his shoulder until he turned it down. I didn't want him to just settle in and get comfortable while screwing with the rest of us. I told him that this was not the right way to handle his problems, and that he should stop being so inconsiderate of his family. My mother came in and started yelling at me to just let him do what he wanted. I just stood still. She took me by the arm and literally dragged me out of the room; I didn't want to hurt her, so I let her do it. I realized that my step-father would feel justified, given my mother's actions, so it was now pointless to play the mind-game of standing in his space.

I wasn't finished yet, though. I went outside to the fusebox. I could still hear the music clearly from outside. It wasn't locked, so I tried to get open it, but I couldn't get a good grip on the cover. Before I could open the box, my mother rushed out and got between me and the box. She argues her hand-off position, I argued my take-action position, and my brother stood with us outside. Eventually, understanding that I couldn't convince her, I walked away from it. But she wanted to make me understand, so she asked me to come back. I did, and she talked a bit more. I didn't try to convince her, though, and she sure didn't convince me of anything. My little brother noticed that we couldn't hear the music anymore. With that, we went back inside, and my brother and I watched our show.

The irony in me training the dogs to be obedient is always that I disobey when my mother or stepfather tell me to stop training. I used to feel guilty about that. However, I realize that, first of all, my obedience doesn't set any sort of example for the dogs. Second, I'm training the dogs because I know better than them. I know that growling and biting is the wrong thing for the dogs to do, so I scold them for doing it and pet and baby them for playing nice. However, I'm not a dog. My little brother isn't a dog. We're not pets of our parents; we're intelligent, thinking beings. In this case, they simply don't know better. Perceived wisdom through age doesn't trump logic. We're all human, and at the least we should be able to see each other equally. I don't try to train my parents to train the dogs correctly, because I don't have a place over them. Of course, my stepfather thinks he deserves a place over me and my brother, the power to give orders without question. I'm not saying that he's wrong because we know what to do better than he does, I'm saying he wrong because he's treating us like we can't think for ourselves.

When you thought for yourself, thought to try to stay my friend, you made the right decision. Then you gave in to others' wishes for you to abandon me, and I doubt that was the right thing to do. I don't want you to regret that decision to not think for yourself, and I know that I have learned so much from what I've gone through because of that decision. I just want you to know that you're a smart, loving, driven girl who should be respected for the decisions that she's made in kindness.

Friday, May 08, 2015

To bathe or to blog

Around 10 I made myself a decision. A little decision, but one nonetheless: should I write a message now, or shower? Late at night, my folks don't like me splashing water around. On the other hand, of course, midnight is my deadline for my two messages each day. I chose the shower.

Why do I feel the need to tell you that? Well, I'm just spouting everything I can find any meaning in. Allow me to explain that meaning. Tell Her Before I Die has helped me to pull out of the darker depths of depression, so I keep writing for it a priority obligation. But I realize that this is less about defeating depression and more about living my normal life. The bad feelings will probably not go away without you. I've been working toward not letting those feelings impede my life. To do that without lying to myself too much, yes, those negative feelings have had to diminish. In the big picture, that's a stepping stone. It gives me a foothold toward normal living. And, of course, normal living is a stone toward spending time with you again. You see how that all goes.

I think that in that decision I prioritized living normally over living with depression. I'm here banging out this message last-minute, but I may not have ended up able to do this. I'm clean and taking care of my body, and that's important. I realize that my head still needs work, so I'm not going to stop writing, but I think it's safe for me to put it on the backburner sometimes.

Better yet, I should learn how to manage my time better. Also how to take shorter showers.

I keep forgetting the spice

I keep forgetting to spread a good helping of cayenne powder on my food lately. On everything where cinnamon is appropriate, I certainly don't forget the cinnamon, but the poor cayenne has been neglected or at least nearly omitted. Piece by piece, I place the nourishment on my tongue, chew and swallow. The whole time, to the end, I feel like it's lacking. Only at the end do I realize what was missing, and I get a little frustrated. The person I'm returning to being didn't bother spicing his food. So as I get closer to normality, I suppose that I forget the extra steps I've been trying to take.

Similarly, it's become more difficult to replace an extra meal with a glass of water. It's more tempting to pick up a sweet instead of preparing a healthy meal. I can't say that my family's habits help; they're always getting temptations both casually and as gifts. This really frustrates me. You understand what it's like to not have what you need to be healthy.

I have a choice though. I do have the freedom and finance to just go and buy what I need. Near the end of our relationship, I took you grocery shopping, and you made good food choices for yourself. Leeching off my mother's money, I could drive to any market in town to buy the food that I'd prefer. There's a few excuses that discourage me from doing this, though. First, I don't keep that good of a catalogue of the food we have. I don't want to waste money on what we already have, especially if it's perishable or best when fresh. But my grandmother could help me take inventory before I decide to go. Second, going grocery shopping has always been the responsibility of my mother and stepfather. I don't want to infringe on their responsibilities. However my stepfather often uses the argument that, if I'm not happy with the way someone else does something, then I should do it myself. Maybe that's why I'm the one who makes noodles around here now. Third, I don't want to be any more of a financial burden than I already am. Then again, my household pays for my food anyway.

And since simply saying that I don't want to be fattened up hasn't been clear enough, I should let economics take its course. I should let the unhealthy food ruin, because it isn't a waste to have not eaten it but a waste to have bought it in the first place. The fact that it's there doesn't mean I need to eat it. That's a dieting truth that I came to myself, not learned through reading and certainly not learned by my family's habits.

That reminds me, I never ate that greek yogurt they wanted me to eat. It's too sour for my tastes. I'm sure she loves greek yogurt, by the way, given what we know about how poorly she perceives sourness. Guess she and I both have pretty wacky taste buds. Yeah, I don't know how to bring this post back to the point from here. I guess it's not so bad to end on a completely different note, is it?

Thursday, May 07, 2015

Playing videogames again

Well, I think I made an improvement. I actually wanted to play a videogame today. So I went ahead and did it, and I had some fun! It even helped me to feel normal again. I didn't feel like playing for long, but that's not a bad thing. I do have responsibilities to attend to, after all. I'm just glad that I enjoyed involving myself in something, instead of just sitting and watching something.

Perhaps this is the same sort of involvement that I have with making those art messages and coding in general. I probably should try not to game too much, though. I should do it just about as much as watching shows, since those are both just entertainment. Whatever gamers may say, I'm not really gaining life-relevant skills from playing, at least not with the games I play. But making art messages and coding do give me practice skills I intend to put to work.

You probably fill your spare time with gaming. Could you imagine if we met in an MMO, oblivious to each others' identities behind the masks of our characters, and became friends again that way? Ah, that's certainly not something I'm aiming for. Considerations include the unlikely odds, the times and durations we'd play, and finally the awkward moment where I'd have to tell you who I am or suddenly abandon you. All in all, I actually hope we don't meet in a game. I think I might be playing more single-player games anyway.

I don't think I'll write any messages about multiplayer games that I'm playing. If for some reason you're reading this and still avoiding me, that could drive you away from a good game. But I'll probably make recommendations for single-player games just like with anime. Whatever you decide to occupy your free time with, I hope it's fun or that it helps you. Take care.

An itch passes

In previous message, I said that I'd been filled with an anxious energy. I titled the message Itchy. It's kind of absurd when you can so easily find a physical sensation to describe emotion, but it helps when there's physical symptoms of that emotion. That hand fidgeting, sometimes it was a scratching motion. Pretty direct link there to an itch.

There's two ways to get rid of an itch. Either you indulge it, by scratching it or bathing it or whatever else, or you ignore it. I did a tiny bit of indulgence, making pointless movements to oust energy. I mostly ignored it. An ideal of weakness got me through it. It wasn't a struggle, but a numbing. That apathy that had dried the meaning from my life drowns near everything, and that itch was no different. I still feel in creeping, but now it's something I can work with instead of being worked up by it.

I remember now that my true problem isn't with anxiety. What I manage is my depression. I am low, not high-strung. I'm closer to nowhere than I am to anywhere. But what's even more important is that I've never even had a problem with anxiety, depression or not. I'm going back to where I should be, neither nowhere nor anywhere but somewhere safe. That place where we'll smile together again.

Wednesday, May 06, 2015

Some disgusting walmart story

At the middle school that I went to, where my little brother goes now, there's this one history assignment: make a shield for class. I painted mine with a yellow background and an green trim, with an orange tabby on it and some M-looking red symbol at the top-center. The shape I chose for the shield had one point at its bottom and three on its top. My brother's shield is a simpler, classic three-point shield. Both shields are made of plywood. We both used duct tape to make handles on the back of the shields, but he also covered his shield in duct tape for a metallic well not really but you know look. He cut out a star in the duct tape and painted it red and blue.

Before he was able to get to that point, though, we had to buy some paints. So, we went to Walmart. We wandered around and until I became too lazy to look any further. I stopped to ask an employee where the paints were, jokingly disclaiming that as a guy asking for directions isn't my thing. The employee started to lead us to the paints, but we turned a corner to find a load of crap. No, literally, there was crap that I believe came from a large dog and was left there on the floor of Walmart. Another employee was scooping it up. Well, our employee was so flustered by the sight that she couldn't even continue leading us to the paints. "Welcome to Walmart," the other employee said. We got some incoherent directions and managed to make it to the isle ourselves.

I simply never thought that I would see Walmart's reputation present itself in front of me like that. I'd actually begun to wonder if my local Walmart was somehow immune to the oddities presented on the internet from locations across the nation. Wow. I don't even think there's a lesson to be learned. Just, things you don't expect will happen!

An old thought on crying

Crying is something you do alone, or with your best friend. You shouldn't stop crying, or eventually you won't be able to anymore. You'll need to cry when you need the drowning feeling at the bottom of your ribs to go away.

Tuesday, May 05, 2015

Itchy

Today was difficult. Internally difficult. Everything around me was fine, but as usual I'm not. I was filled with this uneasy energy, with directionless anxiety. It seemed mostly like a torrent of negative thoughts that I couldn't catch and think out. When one thought did rise into focus, it didn't stay long enough for me to come to a conclusion. I couldn't find something that I wanted to do, because I just felt so unable to grasp anything.

I decided to make myself watch some YouTube videos that have forever been on my Watch Later list. Most of them were music videos, so I started with the ones that weren't. Those did redirect my attention, though it felt meaningless to watch the first few. The last non-music video I watched was about a transgender suicide. It made me think about the various reasons for suicide. I also felt guilty because I have a great life surrounded by people who accept me. I feel bad that the fact that you no longer accept me is the cause of my suicidal and depressive thoughts. A little more self-loathing, you know. To be clear, I didn't start considering suicide again, by the way, I was only considering its reasons.

Then I watched this video:

I probably wanted to watch this for the adorable box people. I can't remember when I found this. But now I'm watching it when it's got my words. Which means, of course, that it's now in that playlist, They Sing the Words I Couldn't Find.

After replaying that several times, I went on to play some other songs from my playlist that I've memorized the lyrics to. Namely Drown, Rather Be, and Iris. I was able to sing along, but my singing reflected how I felt: rough, shallow, distracted. It wasn't as heartfelt as my usual attempts. On my way to school, Drown played on the radio, so I sang along then too.

My hand's been fidgeting. I still don't feel quite right. I hope that I can sleep tonight. Are you anxious about something, love?

Don't just

Don't just stop talking. Don't just quit.
Know what you're saying. Know what to quit from.

Monday, May 04, 2015

An old work from an old heartbreak

I remember that I showed you my deviantArt once. You didn't care for it. It doesn't mean much to me now, either. I usually only go on dA to look up some random things. I don't check on anyone I'm watching, never replied to comments, and haven't posted anything on there in years. I've only got a few deviations from 2009 to early 2010. I haven't even bothered to update anything on my profile to reflect how I am now, or to let anyone know that I'm not there.

This one is from 2009. An internet girlfriend had broken up with me. The trigger was that another guy wanted in on our relationship, and she was not down with that. Things didn't really come together between myself and that guy. I don't think that was the underlying reason, though. We had great chats on the internet and the phone. She'd sent me pictures of herself, and she was one pretty girl. But I never showed her a picture of myself, because I thought I looked unattractive in comparison and it would drive her away. I just don't think I showed her enough of what she wanted. In retrospect, I'm sure she was just waiting around for a reason to leave me. At the time, I didn't see it coming, though.

I wasn't happy that she'd left me. However, I knew that I didn't need her. We were still friends afterward. I felt bad that we couldn't keep being a couple, but I easily went about my life as I always had. It was more a bummer than a struggle. I was just waiting to stop feeling somber, and with time and her companionship I eased back to feeling completely normal.

I don't relate to this image at all now.

Tinkering around, falling behind

I've been working today on another art & poetry post. I thought I'd be done in a three or four hours, but it's taken much more time. If I were to approach it in a straightforward manner, I probably could have it done. However, I like to code in a very reusable manner. That's to say that I like my code to need as few changes as possible when things change around it. I know that I won't be changing the posts on Tell Her Before I Die, but I still practice this. It's just me being a perfectionist.

I don't think that I'll pick up that project again tonight. I'll get too caught up in it and midnight will pass without a result, or I'll just publish whatever I've come up with that works the best. I'll leave it for after I write again, hopefully to put up tomorrow. I want to learn to have it done as I envision it. Maybe I'll make the code more straightforward, after all. Maybe I'll cut out the JavaScript and just rely on CSS3. Whatever I decide, I'll try to get it done my tomorrow. No real need to set a deadline, though.

Like I thought, though, I've been very motivated to do that art post. I guess right now I need more than just words. That's another reason why I compiled that music playlist, isn't it? They're words, but they're also rhythms and melodies. There was a time before you when I did some art to express how I felt after a breakup. It was word art with a few doodles to go along with it. Perhaps that's what I'll show here later. I just need more to express and involve myself, because it's honestly difficult to dig into how I feel using words. However it gets done, I'll keep expressing myself to you.

Sunday, May 03, 2015

Do something else to waste time

I've been thinking about why I often put off writing these messages. I know that I'm uncomfortable with not quite being depressed nor fine, with not knowing whether I'm slipping back down. I'm even skeptical of my feelings, especially the ones that say that I don't need help anymore. I know that I'm not alright because I haven't stopped feeling bad; I know that I can't write those feelings off. So why is my mind trying to tell me o pretend? Especially when pretending is what breaks me?

I'm not in danger right now. But if I start lying to myself again and I crumble once again? I could be right back at square one. I could want to hurt myself again. I'd lose the ability to go about my life again. I'm not downright scared like I was when I was at my deepest point, but I am afraid of going back. No, saying that it's okay does not help. I can't be complacent again, after all the progress that I've made.

And so I think this is why I often write these late at night. All day I hear the thought, "I'm just fine now. I don't need to write anymore. I should waste my time with something more fun." It's not true. This has helped me, it's still helping me, and it's even helping others. I'm not fine, and there honestly shouldn't be anything more worth it than writing here. Maybe I should set aside more time to write messages under the art & poetry tag. Tinkering with those little projects is something that I've found fun lately. Maybe that'll be two birds with one stone. I'll have to try.

Another thought: "Its all meaningless. This is just to waste time until she comes back. What does it matter what I do, as long as I do something?" But you're not coming back unless I get better, and I'm not good enough yet. There must be a purpose to what I do, and that purpose is you.

Stupid response to a stupid saying

Someone asked about us today. I said that we weren't together anymore. It was hard on you, now it's hard on me. I didn't want to go into detail. Guess what the response was? "There's plenty of other fish in the sea." Yes, that.

It's not the first time I've heard that, but most people I've talked to know better than to use that cliché advice. Well, it's not even advice. It doesn't say what to do, really. It just belittles love and relationships. Trust me, if you truly cared then that is not the way to go.

I just responded, "Yeah." But I finally got down to thinking, just how is it wrong? And how can I explain it in the same sort of metaphor? Well, here's my attempt. We swam wonderfully together in beautiful reefs. I love your scales no matter how the light shines on them. Through so many waves, despite so many predators, we nudged each other through. With you, I felt that no hook would ever make it into my mouth. We swam in lovely circles and excitedly flitted over sand and coral. The water a always felt just right when you were in it with me.

I could swim with another fish. But the ocean will never feel the same when your fin isn't fluttering against mine.

Saturday, May 02, 2015

Blogging can be important

Each of these posts is a message to you. I remember important thoughts from the day and let you know about them. Sometimes I have to tell myself, "Nothing meant anything to me, but it'll mean something to someone else." This is especially true when it's come to the last hours of the day and I haven't written anything. I think I've had no thoughts worth knowing about, yet every time I conjure one up and write.

Social networking is for a range of interests that a person has. In contrast, blogs have themes. I believe this blog's themes are important: heartbreak, isolation, and living with depression. I don't always feel obligated to jump onto Google+, but every day I feel obligated to write for Tell Her Before I Die. It isn't an obligation to you, not directly at least. You may never read this, which I hope isn't the case given the name of this blog. It's an obligation to myself, so that I can keep myself thinking meaningfully, not let myself disappear.

So far I think that doing this has helped me so much. I think it's a regular reminder that I'm trying to stay alive and to help myself. Holding on to something can destroy a person if there isn't anything that person can do. Yet holding on can save a person if it'll drive the person to do what is needed. Holding on isn't destroying me; letting go is what destroyed me. So I won't let myself stop writing.

Friday, May 01, 2015

It's faith, not trust

I used to think that the one I needed to end up with was a person I could absolutely trust. For years, I thought I could absolutely trust you. You kept every secret that I asked you to keep. You would tell me everything that came up about yourself. You had trouble telling me things about her, but I tried to understand; she's shy, distrustful, and she gave you her own secrets that I had no right to know. Plus your love for her rubbed off on me too, so it was easier to let it be. This was still the equivalent to me of absolute trust. Most importantly, I trusted that you loved me more than anyone else.

Then that November day came. For years I'd been letting you two take it as far as you wanted, expecting something in return. You revealed me that she couldn't love me back, because of my sex. She wasn't as open as you two had me believe up to that day. So I told you that you had to leave her in order to keep me, just to test your love for me. You kept saying that you'd do anything, but you refused to do that. I ended up leaving. And, as I told you the next month, if you'd decided to keep me then I would have let you keep her as well. My trust in you was broken, and I convinced myself that, because of this, you weren't the one.

When we spoke again a few days later, you asked if we could get back together. I told you that I needed to learn to be in a healthy relationship, and you needed to learn to be independant. You stayed close to me, yearning for my attention. I let you have it, because I enjoyed it. We were happy. I tried to get into relationships with two people that I trusted. Neither of them wanted me, but the second one didn't properly reject me; you had to tell me that she wasn't interested. On New Years' I found a new relationship, and I tried to let you go. You went just fine, sure. The person I had found lied to me, though, and I ended it with her. All alone, I crumbled, with nobody to love me that I could trust. I tried to trust you with my feelings. You fulfilled my trust for a few days, then cut me off.

Now, going through all of this, I sure as hell don't trust you. But I've put my faith in you. That's kept me going. I should have known, as a religious person, that it's all about faith. I honestly can't trust everything in the Bible, but I put a lot of faith into it anyway. Trust didn't get me anywhere with anyone. But even if I can't sincerely trust you anymore, I can put my faith in you and just run with it. It's kept me running this far. It'll keep me going.

I'm waking up early why

I've been up since around 3:30. That makes 3:30 the earliest that my depression has ever woken me at. I wish I could get some more sleep. That was only 2 hours of sleep, seriously. Maybe I'll be able to sleep later.

I've sometimes wondered why this is a symptom of depression. Maybe it's to save me from nightmares, or from simply unpleasant dreams. Well, that's unfortunate, because I'm also being deprived of wonderful dreams of you. Then maybe it's to keep me from getting too attached to sleep? That makes sense, but I don't like it. Many people are restless because they have too much on their minds. Like I've said, it's often difficult for me to sleep without being occupied by prayer or with a video, distracted from bad thoughts. I know that I've awoken with those thoughts, but maybe it's those thoughts that wake me to begin with? I've got one last hypothesis. When you wake up and fall back asleep within 5 minutes, you normally forget having woken up at all. Maybe I woke up and I would have fallen back asleep if these thoughts didn't instantly start buzzing in my head?

A quick Google search suggests it's about the dreams. Depression leads to more dreaming, those dreams lead to more active hormones, the body reacts by waking up and staying awake. No poetic distinction between nightmares and fantasies. Well, I wasn't anxious to find out the answer, but it's nice to know anyway. At least this isn't my mind waking me to go and change something, because there isn't anything to change any earlier in the morning. That could be frustrating, but I probably wouldn't care much for it anyway. I slightly care about the sleep deprivation. It's not healthy, and I want to have whatever dreams. I'm at the mercy of my body on this one, though. Ah well.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Habits are difficult

To sustain a habit takes motivation. You have to really feel comfortable, good, or otherwise pushed to keep doing something. Yeah, there are some things that we do regularly that we hate. But there's something underneath that hate for those habits that keeps us doing them. We could be comfortable with the fact that at least everything is in order. We could be relieved that at least we're avoiding doing something that would pain us. We could be doing it because it'll pay off one day.

Then there's depression. Apathy and emptiness are my favorite words to associate with the condition. And do you know what that means for habits? Well, let me discuss something else. The phrase "old habits die hard" means that breaking a habit can have difficult repercussions, which can motivate a person to pick up the habit again. However, when I think of something dying hard, I imagine it dying quickly, brutally, and even irreversibly. Not quite what the phrase means. Applying that meaning to that phrase is pretty appropriate for a person in the throes of depression, though. Nothing really feels comfortable, or good, or motivating, because nothing really feels meaningful.

So, all those habits? The good and the bad, they just drop like flies. My habits all dropped, I remember that. It took time to start picking them up again, to make more habits. New habits can come up from things that can bring temporary and false relief, such as substances or self-harm. This blog became that habit that relieves me from my depression. Yes, sifting through and sharing my thoughts here is such a relief, no matter how much the urge to disappear tells me it's a burden. Disappearing is the true burden, though, and communication is my salvation. Keep talking, and eventually I'll get to keep talking to you, after all. You're my meaning behind all this.

Was a good beach day today too

Lucky for us, my weather app was wrong. Today was warm and sunny, so after school my little brother and I packed up a bag and headed down to the shores. I didn't really think about it much before just now, but this was the first time he and I went to the beach on our own. What other times he'd gone, our mom or grandparents had come with us. But lately mom's been giving David some room to spread his wings, with me keeping him under my own. Well, he's the wings guy, not me, but I think it sounds nice to describe us as birds of a feather.

So, first time at the beach on our own. Thanks to some last-minute interwebbing, we'd known that the water was in the lower 60s. Chilly. We didn't bring wetsuits, but we did take the caution of bringing swim tops. Actually, we don't have wetsuits. Anyway, apparently he's not resilient to temperature like I thought. He just gets used to it after a while. Meanwhile, I'm the one who charges into freezing water and dives into a wave before anyone else is ready. It took me a little longer than usual, though, with 30 pounds of insulation off me since the last time I'd gone in. We agreed that you wouldn't have been able to bear this water. I'm pretty sure the water up north was at least in the upper 60s back when we drove up there with you.

We chatted quite a bit while we were diving around. He asked me whether having tap water touch your eyes while they were open hurt. And that's how I discovered that he'd never washed out his eyes before. Wow. Misunderstanding, I told him that water with a low concentration of chlorine or salt doesn't hurt much if at all. And of course I told him that tap water doesn't hurt, it just feels weird. I thought it was a silly question, but apparently he was being quite serious. Well then!

But we had deeper conversation as well. I explained to him a few after-death concepts from different beliefs: paradise on Earth, heaven and hell, heaven without hell, reincarnation, even Valhalla. And he asked what I think happens. I told him that I think many things can happen, revealing my belief in spirits; from reincarnation, to roaming as a spirit, to being released to an afterlife. I said I trusted the Bible on what the afterlife is. He said he believes in reincarnation; the body is a machine, and when the machine breaks the energy moves to another machine. And I tried to come up with my own metaphor for it; if you've got the Minecraft launcher on a USB drive and you plug it into a new computer, the data for the launcher itself will stay the same but the game will have to be newly installed on this computer. Yes, I linked Minecraft to spirituality. I'm so silly.

The water became too cold for us after a little more than an hour. We sat on the beach for a while hoping it would warm up again. Walking back in, no, it'd gotten even colder. We pressed on, noting that were you here you wouldn't go any further than ankle-deep. I probably would have splashed you a little just to tease you. At this point my brother perfectly imitated the screech you've given when I did that before, I swear to God. And here I thought your memory was only vivid in my mind! Anyway, we determined not to give in. But we gave in anyway and left for Pizza Hut. We got a little cheese pizza, cheese-covered breadsticks that might as well have been a second pizza, cinnamon sticks, and a 7-Alarm Fire pizza. It was all delicious, but that pizza was just not spicy enough for me. My taste buds are scary, aren't they? We had a Supernatural marathon, and I probably ate enough to bump me back up a few pounds. I've got to make up for that tomorrow with more spices, absolutely no sweets, and a walk.

It was a nice day. It always is, going about with my brother. But I came to realize that I'm not the only one that misses you. He does, too.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Would have been a good beach day

Today my brother and I planned to go to the beach. The days have recently been warm, sunny, and just lovely for a few hours in the sand and waves. But we weren't able to go, because I was told while he was at school that I needed to stay to take care of our great-grandpa. I insisted to my little brother that he should ask some friends, even you, if they wanted to hit the beach with him. He didn't want to put in the effort to set something up with anyone else. That's my brother alright.

I'm entirely unsure how warm the water is. I intended to brave whatever temperature on account of the lovely weather. My brother probably wouldn't have noticed; he's always so warm, you know. I remember that the last time we went to the beach with you, at the coast up north from us, the water was pretty cold. Miraculously, you got in and got mostly used to it, something that's not very characteristic of you. Thinking back on it, you must have been trying so hard to enjoy yourself with us. Thanks for that.

Remember how you got tired of swimming and I had to carry you in my arms as I kicked through the water? Yeah, you probably remember that I admitted afterward how that exhausted me. I complained about how difficult it became with the rough, cold water and the voluptuous girl keeping me from using a stroke to swim. You felt so guilty after that, and you were frustrated that I didn't tell you at the time I was struggling. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner about it, but you were enjoying me ferrying you around so much and I didn't want to spoil that. Even though I did afterward. Anyway, that didn't put a damper on the rest of our trip. We still had lots of fun and ended the evening happily.

Remembering things like this, I feel less guilty about our separation. We did go out and make a few memories together. Not enough memories, but much more wonderful than nothing.

How this grinds on

How this grinds on... precious time is wasting away.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

My state doesn't sit well

I've been sleeping in until around 9:30 lately. That suggests that I'm having it good. Though I am going to sleep past 1AM, so maybe that's pushed my sleep schedule over. However, that is at least 8 hours of sleep, which I couldn't get normally before. I still wake up early. I fall right back to sleep. But the sleep I get after waking doesn't feel restful.

For all that I say about getting rid of binary thinking, I can't help but think like that with my depression. Am I well or unwell? Recognizing that I'm somewhere in the middle is strange. Being in this middle ground feels confusing, but I know it should be straightforward. I'm not all better, and I'm not all gone. Something in me rejects that notion. Maybe it's just the discomfort. I'm comfortable with not being depressed. I became comfortable with being depressed. I'm still not used to being in between.

I'm not constantly asking myself, "Am I or aren't I?" It's just this omnipresent, subtle unsureness. It's replaced that constant, obvious apathy. I can't just think, "This is how I am now, but it isn't how I really am." The question creeps in: "Was that really me?" It isn't the static of thinking that I'm a monster or failure who should die. It isn't the trickle of a stream of satisfaction and positivity. It's an ominous hum that I can only just barely recognize the presence of. I feel like it has meaning, but I can't understand at all.

I want to bring this message to some sort of conclusion, but it just isn't coming to me.

Spaghetti

Whenever someone else makes spaghetti around here, I'm not satisfied. They salt the water, pour cold water into the strainer to cool the noodles, and butter the noodles when they're put away. I like my noodles freshly-cooked, too. So I made some spaghetti for myself earlier, since I haven't had any in a while. When I make spaghetti, I keep them plain from water to storage. At room temperature spaghetti in open air cools very quickly, so I put the strainer in another pot and pour the water and noodles into it; the steam keeps the pasta warm for a while, and I can heat the water if it stops steaming. Once I've served myself some into a bowl, I pour a little vegetable oil and cayenne powder into it and mix it in. Today we had some marinara sauce in the fridge, so I added that, too.

Spaghetti was something I cooked often for you. You didn't have it as often as Hot Pockets, chicken strips, or potato fries, but those are things we didn't cook after all, just heated. You like your spaghetti with mizithra cheese sprinkled on. I used various other shreds of cheese. I really liked mizithra too, but I never told you or used any because I didn't want to deprive you of it. I'm not very quick at preparing food and hadn't thought of the steam trick at the time, so the noodles always went cold too quickly and needed to be microwaved for you to finish it. You know, I think it was also the fact that the bowls were cold. I'll use my head sometime and think about how to warm the bowl on the edges before serving. Otherwise we could just warm the bowl completely and place it on a cool plate.

You left a container of mizithra here. I saw it the other week in my fridge. It had gone bad. We threw it out.

Monday, April 27, 2015

Not revealing all

I talked to a friend today who I haven't talked to in a while. We caught up a little. I told him that you weren't talking to me anymore. I mentioned my depression lightheartedly, and it probably seemed like I was just joking. Actually, he was wondering whether I was still with that girl I got with at the beginning of the year. Yeah, I haven't talked to him in months. I didn't tell him very much about how I have actually been doing. I felt bad even saying what I did say. There's a time and a place.

He could have already known how I was doing just by looking at my Google+ profile. We're in each others' circles. He could have easily found Tell Her Before I Die through my posts. So I don't feel guilty about not saying everything. It's convenient that the people who care enough can easily find what they want about me, while I don't have to say more than enough to anyone myself.

Another thing. When you repeat something over and over again, things get lost. Putting my thoughts into these messages avoids that. Every time they're read, they will say nothing less. I may forget exactly how I once felt and why, but those feelings and reasons are preserved in the words here. No matter how many people will seek to know, the response in these messages will remain the same. No matter when or where, people will be able to learn what it's like. I think that's a beautiful thing.

What I would like to say will rarely come out of my lips, but it will come from my fingertips. Until we speak again.

When hope slips

Yesterday I felt really meaningless. Nothing I did felt worth it. I did it just to be who I was. I thought, maybe it wasn't an extraordinary mood after all. Maybe I really am getting better, and all I have to do is hold onto it. So I told myself that I was fine, and I acted as if I was fine.

Now I recognize that, no, I'm still not fine. I'm still depressed, and that still governs how I truly feel. I can't blame myself for my wishful thinking. But how dare I be stupid enough to delude myself again? I probably wouldn't be feeling so bad now if I'd been honest with myself earlier. Once again, I'm not even sure how long I've actually been down. I've covered it up by saying that I'm better than before. The fact is, I may be better, but I'm still not good enough. Like I said, I can't blame myself for wanting it, but I'm foolish for believing it.

I was putting hope in the wrong thing. I was hoping that I was okay. When I realized that was wrong, that hope slipped away from me a bit. I can hope that I will be okay when you see me again. That won't be for quite a while, so I've got a lot of time to fulfill that. No need to force it. And if I'm wrong, at least I can hold my hope until then. I'm not lying to myself, because I know that I could be okay. I can hope that you will be okay, too. That's not a lie either, because you could be getting all the help you need. If you aren't okay, then I can help you. Ha, imagine me helping you? Like I used to, being the person you turn to for everything that you want. I can hope that I live long enough for you to speak to me again. By the time that's proven wrong, hope won't really matter. So those will be the things I will hope for.

I missed my second post yesterday. I thought that I didn't have anything to say. It's concerning how easy it's been for me to lie to myself. This scaffolding I've constructed out of the depths of my depression is shaking and splintering as I jump for joy on top of it, celebrating a victory that I haven't yet achieved. If I am to proceed, it must be with caution; I don't want to slip and fall.

Sunday, April 26, 2015

Id fail

Remember in February I wrote a message about how I run Tell Her Before I Die? One of the things I mentioned was that the ID attribute of each article element "is the date and daily post number, in the format of DD-MM-YY-#". Turns out that's bad naming convention; IDs shouldn't start with a digit. I found this out while messing with CSS3 animation.

Starting today, I'll be adding the letter a to the beginning of each ID. I could leave the old messages as they are and simply move forward with this convention in mind. But, gah, I have a huge urge to correct all the other messages I've written. I mean, come on, all those screw-ups! The deterrent is that this is the 153rd message I've written here. I've got a lot to revise if I take this on.

I'll do it, after all. At the moment, I'm pretty sure it doesn't benefit anyone but me. This could help keep things simple for the future, though. And this is one of those cases where rewriting the past won't hurt anyone. Why not seize the opportunity? Better to turn something negligibly wrong into something negligibly right, especially when you're grasping for everything right in your life. For that matter, I will edit that February post with my updates convention. Nobody needs to know, muahaha! Though they can still find out here.

So, off to make edits!

Saturday, April 25, 2015

I've been very blunt

I've been very forthright with people. When I have complaints about what they do, I haven't been holding back. I come off as ungrateful when they've done me a favor but done it wrong. Well, I am pretty ungrateful, after all; I would be grateful if I were well, but how can you be grateful about something that doesn't mean anything?

It isn't like I want to hurt someone. It isn't as though I believe unbridled honesty will always do less harm than good. It's mainly that I feel so misunderstood and I say everything too clearly to make up for that. Sometimes I've complained repeatedly and somehow the other person still hasn't gotten it. One option is to stop accepting that person's actions by ignoring them or by not asking for them. The other is to simply be more blunt.

I don't feel like this is a huge issue for me. When I'm better I'll just say, "I was depressed and apathetic. Being so rude isn't who I really am." I can't get away with everything just by blaming depression, but I think that's an understandable argument. You would always be clear about your feelings because that was your way of showing your love. You've hurt me a lot in the past with that thinking. When I'm clear I also hurt people. Yet I've learned that some things need to be out in the open, for my own good.

I hope you feel like you're well-understood. Don't be too frustrated if you aren't. One can never be fully understood neither by oneself nor by another.

Just bring it back

I stay still, avoiding depths and death
I push on, rebuilding my foundation
We can stand; just bring it back

Friday, April 24, 2015

Thankful for my brother

I'm very thankful for my little brother. He's so cool, though he's a bit derpy sometimes. Well, same goes for me, but in much different manners. He's much more subdued and shy than I am, and that makes all the difference.

There are many things I could praise about him, but there is one thing in particular that I am so grateful for. Before recently, the only times I would take him places, you would always come with us. It's already so likely that you're in my thoughts, but it's simply inevitable when I'm out and about with him. "She would really like this shirt." "What kind of food do you think she would have wanted?" "This is why I don't get lost like you and her in Minecraft." I always bring you up when we're out. He never points it out or even seems to mind. He goes along with the questions and comments as if there wasn't anything to it, just a regular conversation. That's so much more than anyone else can do. Feeling guilty that I was talking so much about you, I apologized to him. He said it was fine.

He's 13, but I believe that, despite his lingering naivety, he knows and can understand what I'm going through. I don't have to hold back any more for him than for anyone else. I don't depend on him, but I feel like I could if I needed to. I guess that's what having a loving sibling is.

Bring it back

Yesterday, I told you about my friend. I turned my back on my friend who wouldn't seek help. But by midnight I'd turned back around, because my friend called an ambulance after suffering the repercussions of a failed suicide attempt by overdose. I was honestly surprised. I thought that it would take hours, even days. I was pleasantly surprised, and so relieved.

I also mentioned my grandpa. After my little brother and I went clothes shopping today, we stopped by my grandpa's house to visit. I knew he'd be happy to see us. I didn't realize that my uncle is staying with him, so I saw him for the first time in a very long while and introduced him to my little brother. If I'd held some sort of grudge against my grandpa, I would've passed on this opportunity.

I'm glad that I haven't left anyone behind. I remember that, when I broke up with you, we stayed very close friends, and that worked well for us. Yes, I kept lying to myself, but maybe I could have done that longer if I hadn't tried to move on from you. If I hadn't stopped trying to see you, hadn't tried to leave you behind, maybe we could have made it more comfortably. Instead, all this happened, and you're further from me than ever.

Maybe people need boundaries, but trying to leave behind love can make it twist and morph into something horrifying and painful. Don't leave love behind. Keep going for love.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

I hugged my grandpa

The other day my grandpa was at my house when I drove home with my little brother. I knew he'd be there; my grandma gave me a heads-up before I left. I've already told you that I stopped working with him and why. I'm not ready to work with him again. He's not able to help me with my depression.

But I walked into my bag yard, greeted him, and hugged him. He may not have the empathy that I need, but I still love my grandpa. He isn't constantly trying to hurt me. He wants me to be better, but his way of trying to help is ineffective. I don't think that I should stop caring for him completely because of those things. After all, it doesn't hurt me to give him a hug. It helps him when I do.

I'm not talking with him. I know that I'll inevitably be hurt. But I think that what I did is enough. He can dismiss the idea that I'm angry at him. He doesn't have to worry that I don't want to ever see him. That's all I can do, and that's what I will do. When I see him, I'll greet him, and I'll embrace him.

I wish that you could give me at least that much.

I just did it too

I had a friend for the past few months. I've been trying to help my friend. Self-harms, lashes out at the people around her, is suicidal, self-neglecting, self-loathing. That's okay with me. What isn't okay is that my friend would not get help. My friend just can't see a psychologist. My friend just can't go to the hospital. Of course my friend could, but can't... I'm across the world from my friend, so I can't do a thing either.

Look. I've made a decision. I've been trying to help you for months, but there's nothing I can even do. The only thing that I've changed is that I've built up frustration and despair in myself by being involved in you.
"I'm not going to talk to you until you seek help. I don't care what you seek help for, whether it's your physical problems or your mental problems, I just need you to take a step forward. Feel free to keep messaging me, but I won't message back until you tell me what it was like to finally get help.
"I love you. But I can't carry your burden if you'll never try to make it lighter. So, goodbye for now.

Tonight, I left my friend. That is what I said. After weeks of feeling helpless and slowly having my hope trampled, I realized it. I said that I don't leave a person unless they've hurt me. I'm hurt. My worry and helplessness has been growing and it's been digging into me. It hurts. My friend just recently tried to commit suicide, even though I pleaded not to be abandoned again. My friend has been paining me so badly, and can't do anything to help. I didn't want to leave my friend all alone, after so many people had done so. I didn't want to be a hypocrite for leaving like you left me. I've left.

I think I can say that I'm not a hypocrite, though. I'm not leaving like you did. You left after 3 days, after I had gone to a psychologist like you asked me to. I left after several weeks, after my friend refused to seek help over and over again. I've given a condition for me to speak again and said I'd still listen, while you simply left me scared and directionless and aren't even listening anymore. I don't want my friend to let me go, I just want to see my friend start fighting to improve. Would you truly even care anymore if death dragged me away from my goal?

No, I will never put my friends through what you've put me through. Maybe I can't take feeling responsible, but I'll never my friends away when they need me. Perhaps this can't be counted as leaving; I've only turned my back, standing in place. You're gone, except that I grip you tightly in my heart in order to stay alive, despite the fact that you refuse me all hope. My hope is the only thing I actually have left that means anything to me.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

My mother's worry

I leave my university at 11PM at the latest to get home home in around 15 minutes. The first few times I stayed so late, my mom was concerned. After a while, she understood that it was okay. Now she's concerned again, for some reason. I feel like the concern is different this time, though. It's a little more frantic, maybe?

She's also become concerned about me walking about at night. Honestly, I'm doing something good for myself and there she is worrying about... what, exactly? It's clear that I'm nowhere near hurting myself. It's clear that I've been obeying the law. Returning home at 9:30 isn't late, and it never has been until now. Where is this sudden fear of the dark coming from?

I've lied to her before. The last time that I tried to visit you, I lied to her and said I was just getting gas. There used to be days that I told her I was going to school when I was actually going for a walk. During the short time that I stopped eating, I told her that I'd had my meals and nobody had noticed. But now I don't keep those sorts of things from her. Anything that I've planned or that's made me feel better or worse, I tell her. She is my complete confidant.

Well, it's a mother's job to worry about her children. Maybe there are so few things to worry about with me now that she's finding new things to fret over. That's a good thing, I guess. I'm just glad that she isn't very forceful or upset when she complains about me being out so "late". I love my mom. She's so caring.

Too good

I've been told that I'm too much of many good things. Too sweet, too kind, too funny. I remember when I told her that your love for her had rubbed off on me, and explained what I would be okay with you two indulging in, she said I was too good for her. Do you remember that? You were sitting right beside her. I'm always flattered when I'm told these things, and at the same time I find the people who say them to be cute. I'm wondering if it's me seeing cuteness in response to being flattered, or if only cute people happen to say those things.

I also remember that I told her soon afterward that I'm not as good as she thought. "I'm not afraid to take advantage of you," I said. If I'm too much of any good thing on its own, then I feel my negative traits bring those things down at least enough that I'm not so amazing anymore. I don't like being amazing. I don't like thinking that I'm better than everyone. I'm uncomfortable with being looked up to; I'd prefer others to see me eye-to-eye. So every time I take these compliments a quiet voice in my head is reciting what's wrong with me. This isn't a bad thing; it keeps me humble, and it makes me comfortable.

I'm sure that she doesn't see me as too good anymore. Being the self-protecting, reclusive, sensitive person she is, I've surely torn apart any hopes of being her friend through my actions with you. I'm not sure whether you see me as too good, either. I try not to think about that. I just keep going for love, and keep going with the love of the people who support me.