Carried a coffin today
You’re born with a ton of fucks to give, so you spend them like a kid with a credit card.
You give fucks about your friends, about your grades, about your fashion sense, about strangers’ opinions.
You give way too many fucks about way too many things, you have so many.
Then, as you get older, you have maybe 10 fucks per month, so you learn to budget them.
You allocate fucks to family and career, but there aren’t enough fucks left to give to the newest fads.
Oh, someone at work has something they need my help with that’s outside of my job title?
I’ll do my best to allocate some fucks, but this month is pretty tight.
Then, as you get even older, you’re down to 1-2 fucks a month, and those fucks are damn precious.
You give them to your family and your hobbies and your job, and that’s kinda it.
It’s not your fault – fucks expire too quickly.
I would’ve liked to save my fucks from when I was younger but I can’t. Then, you hit fuck insolvency.
You’re getting like one fuck a year, and you have to make it last.
So you go without, and even previously fuck-worthy things, you just can’t give a fuck.
Some people run out really quickly, some people have a fuck trust fund that pays out a decent amount even into old age. But at some point, the fuck faucet runs completely dry and you’re out of fucks to give.
It’s just basic fuckonomics.
What a fucking travesty. One that I given one year of my life to.
I finally figured out how to use my beard trimmer. It’s harder than it seems.
Sometimes we fall in love with the wrong people, and the only people worth anyone’s time are the ones who give back what they get.
It’s not fun to be single at 41. I was married for ten years. I’m divorced, I got two children. It’s hard to start again after a marriage. It’s hard to really, like, look at somebody and go “Hey, maybe something nice will happen.” You just don’t– I know too much about life to have any optimism. Because I know even if it’s nice, it’s going to lead to shit. I know that if you smile at somebody and they smile back, you’ve just decided that something shitty is going to happen. You might have a nice couple of dates, but then she’ll stop calling you back and that’ll feel shitty. Or you’ll date for a long time and then she’ll have sex with one of your friends, or you will with one of hers, and that’ll be shitty. Or you’ll get married, and it won’t work out and you’ll get divorced and split your friends and money and that’s horrible, or you’ll meet the perfect person who you love infinitely, and you even argue well and you grow together and you have children, and then you get old together and then she’s gonna DIE. That’s the best-case scenario, is that you’re gonna lose your best friend and then just walk home from D’Agostino’s with heavy bags every day and wait for your turn to be nothing also.
The streets were wet and the gate was locked so I jumped it and let you in.
You stood at your door with your hands on my waist and you kissed me like you meant it.
I knew that you meant it.
Sometimes all I need is someone to talk to, or to spend time with to deal with depression.
The sad thing about reaching out and opening up my heart to other people is that I realize most people don’t care, and they pretend to care without realizing their true feelings: They don’t wanna be burdened by this part of me. The more I realize that, the more I’m hesitant to open my heart up for the next person who comes along.
Most people think I do what I do as a call for attention, and that I’m selfish thinking that it’s all about me. They don’t realize that this is a cry for help, and that I would give up everything to snap out of this. But at last, I can’t control how I feel no matter how hard I try. I just manage or deal with it in my own way.
Imagine being down or depressed. I suppose most people do feel that way from time to time, sometimes for multiple days in a row, whether it’s stress from work, relationships, etc.
Now imagine feeling 10x worse than that for every single day of your life. That’s the baseline for people with depression, at least for me.
Now there are things that I do to escape or temporary distract me from feeling this way but it’s never for long. Having people to talk to or spend time with makes living more bearable because I know that there are people out there who appreciate talking or spending time with me, so if I continue living, I can still impact their lives and make them happy, and it means a lot to me if I can make them feel an emotion I don’t get to experience often.
Telling someone with depression that you’re glad that you can spend time with them and ask them out to show that you want to spend time with them can go a long way in helping them deal with it.
For me, I guess I’m done with this. I am shattered. I have to go through this myself, picking up pieces of me one at a time, and here’s hoping that I can be whole again and better days are coming.
Nice poem I found that I can relate to
I can think of
a hundred ways to die
and a hundred ways to do it
But I can’t think of
a hundred ways to live
or a hundred ways to do it
So I lock myself away
for hundreds of hours
and hundreds of days
and try not to think at all
Sometimes I wonder if other people ever think ways to kill themselves and the most effective means of doing so.