The Luxury of Sympathy
"Velvet Waltz" by Built to Spill
*If there's a word for you
It doesn't mean anything
I've got some words for you
They don't offer anything*
You cold called everybody
But you haven't sold a thing
A bad idea gone funny
A pinch felt in a dream
*You thought of everything but some things can't be thought
You thought of everything but one thing you forgot is you're wrong*
And you better not be angry
And you better not be sad
You better just enjoy the luxury of sympathy
If that's a luxury you have
And you know no private bad
You know that that's the meaning of you're done
In a world that's not so bad
In a world time was killing in the sun
In a world that's not so bad
In a world time was killing in the sun
In the sun
In the sun
You took all that moment
And you left it in the sun
Now it's gone because you left it in the sun
Was a brave idea
Didn't mean no harm
Now it's burnt because you left it in the sun
Was a grave mistake
But how could you have known
The temperature, the distance of the sun
September 23, 2016 Friday 11:07 PM
Pat told me to track my moods. I saw her on Wednesday and told her a bit about the bad moods. She said the suicidal thoughts were concerning. They weren't REALLY suicidal thoughts – they were just brief musings. I was being dumb. I do that sometimes.
Anyway, she was concerned. She said if this happens consistently, it might mean I'm not on a high enough dose of antidepressant, and I want to cry. I don't know! It's so weird, because I'm happy every day, but I'm also sad lol.
It's just weird. I've been rating my moods 1-10, based on this thing I made up:
1 - 'bout to cry. Thinking – not seriously – about killing myself. Think about running away. Becoming a truck driver or a drifter of some kind. I hate the road ahead of me. I hate myself. I want to leave me behind. I want to disappear into someone else. That's the only reason death sounds OK. It's an end to me, lol.
2 - I feel bad and I have passing thoughts of death, but no. Not serious. I don't feel totally angsty, like in 1 – I just feel exhausted and I need to be alone. It's worse if I can't get away.
3 - Post-social sadness. Annoyed with myself for possible "social discrepancies." Also, always feel like I'm stupid and I say/do stupid things. I just feel like an awful person. I'm tired.
4 - I'm acting like a 10 but I wince internally with every of my words. Usually happens around people and turns into a 3 when I'm alone. I hate myself.
5 - Guess I just feel blank. Feel like everything is just washing right through me. I'm in a meat sack. I'm slow to respond to the outside world. When people try to talk to me, I can't reply properly. This allows for a dash of 3.
6 - I'm good, teetering on the edge of a 5. I feel okay, lightly exhausted by social activity, but otherwise fine... I forget who I am sometimes. This is just very, very similar to a 5, although I think it is a little closer to contentment. I imagine this is how a cloud would feel if it were sentient – cold, thin, shapeless, but light, bright, blank.
7 - I'm good. Don't feel great, don't feel bad. This is like a 6 but I'm less tired and I remember who I am. I'm trying not to think. I'm the color of a sky on a clear day. 6 and 7 are my typical moods, I think, especially if I'm alone.
8 - I'm pretty good. I'm content. I am OK with myself and who I am. I am okay with what I've said and done that day with a few exceptions. I just don't think about it a lot. I am resilient. I love people, but I don't want to be close to them.
9 - I'm perfect. I feel good about myself and life is good. My insides are September-sunny no matter what. I love everyone and everything. I want to help people and I'm ready for everything. Still, I feel like a real person – I feel like I'm existing in a balanced place, between experiencing external and internal stimulation. I'm not stuck inside my head, like 1 through 4, and I'm not weirdly spacey like 5 through 8. I want to help people and I'm ready for everything.
10 - Really, really good feelings. So good I almost feel bad. I'm bubbly and totally happy about the world (I'm "the life of the party") and myself. I want to run and I want to draw and I want to write and talk and do everything. Being a 10 is not my favorite because when it fades, it usually fades into a 5 or a 3, depending on the emotional undercurrents running through me that week lol.
I also rate it based on internal/external, if that makes sense. Like, if the mood is caused by something outside of myself or if it just comes out of nowhere/is accidentally prompted by my thoughts.
So yeah. Obviously, I've only done it the past two days.
Thursday morning: 7 (internal)
11:30 AM: 8 (external)
12:15 to 1 PM: 10 (external??? not sure. I was around people.)
1:25 PM: 4 (internal. I was alone)
1:45 PM: 3 (internal)
Late afternoon: 6 (I)
Night: 7 (I)
Friday morning: 7 (I)
Noon: 9 (E)
1:08 PM: Mix of 7 (E) and 3 (I)
3 to 5 PM: 6 or 7 (I)
9 to now-ish: 5 with a tinge of the exhaustion of a 2 (I)
All I know is I'm often sad lol. Guess I'll check back in the diary to see how my moods fluctuate over the course of a few weeks or months.
I will be relieved if it turns out that I've got depression.
I will probably be crushed if I don't.
Because, I mean. If I don't, then what is this? How the hell am I going to go on, you know? How am I supposed to keep living life and shit?
That's what worried Pat. My lack of desire to go to college lol. I mean obviously I want to go to college – but I imagine myself being sad, like now, half the time and it's just... horrible. I'm so tired. I don't want to force myself to do these things. God.
If I have depression, great. Fuck me, because it's probably my fault somehow. That sounds weird, like I'm twisting the blame upon myself, but it probably is. It's probably the way I think or something, I don't know. Why can't I just be happy with shit? Who knows.
And you know what. Saying it's my fault is safer than saying it's not. Because if I say it's not my fault and it is, that'll hurt. But it'll hurt less if I expect it. I can steel myself, like Houdini when he got punched, yo. Not the last time he got punched, which killed him, but all the times before haha.
Everything I write has depression in it somehow. Either I'm fascinated or... who knows. Too tired to make a real thought out of that.
I just. Everything. I was trying to describe a hell that wasn't really that hell-ish, but I ended up just... writing like a page on how it was a replica of the real world but smaller, everything fake like a movie set. And like, hell's ceiling was really high up so you couldn't see the top, but you knew you were boxed in if you know what I mean. And it just takes away the openness of the real world. It takes away that moment when you're staring at the stars and you realize you have no idea how tiny you are in the face of all existence. You can't even begin to have that kind of mental capacity. You can't know how much you're missing. And it's a marvel to just be able to acknowledge that.
In this hell I made up, you never have those cosmic realizations. You never feel bursting love and you never laugh so much you turn blue. Hell just takes away your capacity for feeling that much. It's gone and you're boxed in, even with all the comforts of home.
It doesn't matter. The water's dyed blue. There are no sunsets or sunrises. The desert is painted styrofoam in the shape of mesa rocks. There is no sky or wind or movement.
Kinda sounds like that one Jim Carrie movie, haha. I forget what it was called. It was one of those movies I only half-watched as a kid, but I remember that it really, really depressed me. I knew he was in a fake world, and it just. Made me really sad.
Point is, things I write about always end up winding their way around depression. I like approaching it from different angles, but I just – ugh. I'm okay with myself. I'm coming to terms with this self-hate I've been hiding from myself. Well, not exactly. I knew I didn't like myself. I just didn't want to admit to myself that even when I feel good, I kinda don't totally love myself.
I'm talking in circles.
I watched Mr. Rogers before I wrote this. I kinda cried during it. It's so safe. I don't remember much TV from when I was little because I didn't watch it that much (my dad would always come in about an hour into TV-watching and say, "That'll rot your brain blah blah blah lazy blah blah blah go do something constructive blah blah blah")
but I remember briefly watching Mr. Rogers. Not a ton. I didn't like kids shows when I was a kid, haha. They freaked me out. Mr. Roger's puppets were kinda scary, but only as scary as Between the Lions puppets. I remember watching the end of one of his episodes, the little trolly going by and he started talking in that voice and I have no idea what he said. He was wearing a blue sweater and it's just a nice memory.
It was nice watching Mr. Rogers. I might do it more often.
Collateral damage. Co-llat-er-al damage. I like the sound of that word. Who ever said "cellar door" was the prettiest sentence? I never thought so, even when Drew Barrymore said it in Donnie Darko. Nope.
Maybe the prettiest sentence/word combo is "collateral damage."
Man, I wish I could bottle certain emotions. They just kinda go beyond my skin. I wanna share the nostalgia, the regret, the kind of mingling sadness that invades everything, everything, fucking everything of mine.
It's not so bad. Sometimes it's pretty. Kinda like biting wind on a sunny day??? I'm sorry for that metaphor, but that's the closest way I can describe that lingering sadness – as, like. The cold wind. It smells clean but it hurts and just.
All right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
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