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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.