This is the second attempt at my depression log post. My tablet rebooted and lost the first attempt. I was having difficulty blogging today, and it was especially disturbing to see the reboot lost it. The one thing it seems the new DIVI web development tool isn’t ideal at recovering from an autosave and forced reboot. I’m still not certain why I lost that text.
Loss is a recurring theme, but recently I realized that writing is the joy or the therapy. Reading isn’t that important, so a loss is really just the way. Most people live life and it’s gone. It makes my life blogs more realistic to have it vanish.
Its hard not to at least consider the idea that loss is part of the universal plan for me, but I have not really given myself into that belief structure. I’m still the main player in my universe, and although I can spot things around me and call them signs, I’m still on the side that believes life is not predestined. MY failures are mostly my own fault.
Is fault the right word? Undecided.
—take 2.
Hello. My name is Jeff, and this another Blog. This time, written midday on a Wednesday as I sit in my bed in my orange shirt and blue sweatpants as if that has become the uniform of my secret life. In the outside world, I seldom wear Orange, and nobody knows I’m a drug user with depression and esteem issues.
In recent times, through the therapy of my writings, I have almost separated the persona of Orange Jeff from the regular life of myself. The Jeff I am when interacting with people seems to be a person I can’t quite relate to anymore. I like that guy. That Jeff that deals with life LIFE but has no care of consequence in the aftermath. It’s easy to be happy when you’re living life as it comes to you in front of … LIving life with others. I like that Jeff.
Sadly, I am the Jeff that deals with it all alone, later, usually high enough on weed to inspire me to take to the keyboard and type or speak into my cameras. I don’t have a companion to vent to.
I look up and see that whole paragraph is … oh. I see. My drugs are kicking in now and that will affect my writing. More distractions, but then – that’s kind of what drugs do, right? I’ve often said my usage of drugs isn’t as stereotypical as the average stoner. However, if I am more honest with myself, its pretty much the same. Although I do take some drugs medicinally, it seems I am running away as they say after all.
It seems I may be using them to escape a reality I’m not …
I’m not sure. I take them for many reasons.
From the outside, however, I have let a few more people into this secret circle. I have shared with my friends the truth. Perfect Jeff is not so perfect.
I don’t really call myself Perfect Jeff. The perfection obsession is something I’ve only recently come to terms with.
—
take 3.
Hi.
It’s 4pm on a Wednesday. Time has passed quickly since I started typing take 1 just past 1pm. I’m in a bit of a stressful position and so the ecstasy I dropped about 40 minutes ago will probably start to change my mood and my writing style shortly.
It might just be enough to stop me from my worry depression, but more likely I will view it as a failure, and use the mood shift to be more depressed about how I have a very serious situation to deal with, and no clue, no friends, no hope of how to handle it. My first… I’ll say my first ever, but know in my head somewhere I probably was delayed a few ..
Today is March 28. I have a negative amount of money in my bank account. In two days, my rent will be due, and I can’t think of any way to finance that within this short time period. I have known about this for a long time and watched each day pass hoping today would be the one the Universe will provide me with a solution. I see the similarities to
I’m sorry I just stop sentences like that. I know it’s rude and I can try to pass it off as first draft annoyances but sometimes I just decide I don’t want to finish that thought, and it is freeing to move on. Most of the endings to sentences I start on these topics will have bad endings.
It is a hard position to place yourself in. I do not believe in the Christian God and admit to having a lesser opinion of those people who do. I have a hard time conceptually understanding how a person can make statements that show they actually believe Jesus was the son of God and he still exists in the sky and has any say or control over their lives, and yet millions of people apparently do. The problem is, in hard times I can see it’s a handy belief. It gives me hope and allows me to do absolutely nothing about my problem under the general heading; Jesus will protect me.
I’ve grown rather fond of saying pretty much exactly the same thing, except using the term Universe instead of Jesus or God. To me, I prefer to identify the unexplainable as unexplainable. That way, when something does happen that might be considered a miracle, I can still work out the story in such a way I don’t seem as crazy as those Jesus freaks.
Of course, when nothing happens, I’m not surprised or disappointed. I just adapt to me new now and move on.
But the life change coming up April 1, which by coincidence but of no value to the story, happens to be both Easter and April Fools this year… is rent.
For the first time, I am unable to pay rent and have to immediate plans to figure that one out. It is the first, in what could be a tragic string of broken promises and bounced cheques. I have already received the email about my phone bill bouncing.
All in all, I am so much below zero this week that — and there is the sentence I can’t finish.
I don’t know. I am on my orange canoe moving down my life’s stream without a paddle, and I can see the waterfall ahead. I know I’m going over it… we’ll see how I land.
or not.
There is still time. Cramming before the exam. I could figure it out and pull $2000 out of somewhere… but I’ve got time for that. 2 more days.
I’m still waiting for the Universe to provide… kind of.. secretly… or Super Jeff to figure it out and save the day.
but today… Wednesday… 4pm. I get high and watch TV.
More news, as it happens. Thanks for being a fan.
I say that knowing full well I may never share this with anyone. It’s just all a part of the hope. If I could figure out how to share my secrets… to share my life.
Hell. Let’s be honest. I need to be taken care of. I need to not be alone.
Maybe I’ll find solutions at the homeless shelter. That fear I’ve had for 30 years.
I hope I amaze myself in the next two days. I am not sure I even have enough drugs and the option to spend the money I do have on drugs is always there. That silly philosophy I have used many times in the past – if I don’t have enough money for the vital thing anyway, then spending what I have is an easy YES because the only way to pay off the main thing is to get more money… and so getting even more is irrelevant.
— toke. snort -swallow. Yay. a few hours where I don’t have to think about that.
End of part 1, the second time.
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