But I don't.
I had someone say to me at Katsucon they stopped reading my blog last year because it was so depressing. I can't say I took this personally as because this blog is for me as much as it is for my readers, and that is his choice and I respect it; I took it personally by knowing that he was right. It is depressing. I look at last year, for instance, and it seems like one tragedy is strung after another, and this year isn't looking any better. I don't write this stuff intentionally for pity or psychodrama. I write it because I am recording my day-to-day experiences, and I note anything I think is worth noting, hoping to share common experiences.
And it upsets me that nothing is going right.
I spent part of last night just reading things line-by-line. I look back on it in shock, and thought, "Jesus... my life sucks!" I mean, I do have a nice house, a good family, and great friends... but why the other shit? Why all the deaths? Why all the health problems? Why all the job craziness with the layoffs and politics? Why all the friends with their crises? Why all the problems with money? And you should see all the other stuff I don't mention, all the little things like when I try and find the checkbook which has moved again, or I bend over to pick up something and bang my head on the edge of a table, which causes the mail stacked there to fall on the floor, so I try and stop it and get a paper cut, and then bleed on my new shirt, and the stain won't come out. Those "little things," which happen to me about 4-5 times a day, add up. They add to the pile of stress.
I am forced to wonder what I am doing wrong.
I tried, very hard, for a long time to stay positive. But there's a certain line where "being positive" and "denial" has been crossed. There's a certain point where the strain of a smile will crack your teeth. There's a certain psychotic stare as you explain your life is great because today, today of all days, you didn't get shot with a harpoon gun in the neck. Wow-wie! What a great, harpoon-free day! Fuckin' A, man! Your positive outlook goes sour and curdles to cruel sarcasm.
I can't take this anymore. I just can't. Maybe this shit happens to everyone and I am too weak to resist it. I was never very strong, maybe that's my problem. Maybe many of you read this blog, and go, "Yeah, that happens to everyone... why is he so bent out of shape about it?" Sometimes, friends help, and I get a day or so of reprieve because a good friend takes me out or comes to my house and acts silly and I forget my problems for a few hours. But, and I blame Boy Scouts for this, I was told as a kid that "drugs don't remove your problems, they only make you forget them, and then when you are off the high, your problems are right there waiting for you, even worse than before." It's true, maybe something good happens to me once in a while, like a friend visits, or I go to a party, and then I am happy, and when I am no longer happy, guess what? There are the problems, stronger than before. This is the main reason I don't drink. If I did, I'd never stop. I'd be a raging alcoholic on the streets, telling people the Martians are coming, and they are all fools for listening to the government telling them otherwise.
I am so far behind on everything: work, home, writing... Calgon, take me away! Oh wait... I don't even have a tub! [sigh...]
I want to escape. I want to run away for a very long time. This is why I was suicidal as a kid, but I can't be suicidal now because I'd feel real stupid in the afterlife. So I don't have an outlet. I have no sense of control. I have nowhere to run TO, and even if I did, my family and friends are the only thing holding me together at this point, so I don't want to leave them. And I have no money to go anywhere, and if I returned, there would be my problems again... stronger than ever. And running away hosts a new set of problems I don't even want to think about. So I am trapped.
God, I need a drink.