joshie’s blog

So, I've been thinking

And I've been seething.

This isn't gonna be good.  It's not.  I'm drunk.  I'm half in the bag.  And I'm not that kinda hemingway-esque inspirator of booze. 

Here's my whole thing.  I'm lonely, and shit.  Right?  You could call me desperate, but that's got all kinds of fucked up connotations.  I prefer not to refer to myself like that, though in actuality I'm pretty hard up for girls.  You know.  I'm very tired, of not bhaving someone to hold, and whatnot.  I'm very lonely.  I'm very cold, and shit. 

See,  I could make a girl feel amazing, and whatnot.  I just nee dthe opportunity.  I don't get that, a whole lot.  that's my problem.  i need a girl who will accept my looks.. I don't think ?I'm that bad looking...but I donno.  That could be overidealization..that coulsd be denial.

See, the thing is.  If you think your'e attractive, other people might think you're just fucking proud.  It's a negative.  If you don't, people think you're depressed, and they won't listen to you anyways because they assume you're just some emo piece of shit.  There's nowhere to go but content.  not expecting, not let down.  It fucking blows.  This is how it is. 

"Beats any meat inject.  Beats any fuckign cock in the world"

I'm so.  Fucking lonely.  Need to get my dick wet.  It's fucking killing me, for serious.  there was jen, and I was ready to wait to invade her pink fortress.  I was.  For serious.  She was special and shit.  I find myself forgetting her recetnly.  Thank god.  Fuck her.  She's such a bitch, so misguided with her one sided love bullshit.  Fuck that fucking shit. 

I dono  I don't think I can find myself in a moral purpose wihtout begging at the opposite sex for long.  It's a torture, it's mortal.  It's that kind of mortal flaw that Shakespeare's character had. 

How many girls have I messaged tonight, ever hopeful?

I don't know.  I go now, a little depressed, attempting to deal with the phrase of fuck you.  Goodnight, motherfuckers, and I hope to say that I'm what's important, and not you douchebags.  But goodnight, nonetheless, even if I know it's not true. 

-Joshie

Here we go.

The literary connection tonight is: Moby Dick. 

Moby Dick is about a man, Ishmael.  It's not important to elaborate too much on the character of Ishmael, except for the fact that he's faced with a lot of decisions.  he's the neutral force, and trying to decide what he believes in.  The question there is action or intent, as relating to the white whale, Moby Dick, as a pure accidental force of nature, or as a transcendentalist motion of evil. 

It's these decisions' abilities to affect our lives that spurns so much indecision.  Why would anyone want to travel a path looked down on by others? 

So too, in a manner where we're in so deep, the only way seemingly to get out is to grind a little deeper.  Why not, shit?  If you're a man in the box, why not take big gulps of air while you can.  If you're stuck ina  hole, might as well drink yourself till you drown.  Sometimes, falling further can be fun. 

Some peopel call -ics weak, that they have to rely on a vice to keep them afloat.  I don't know, I think that might be a little presumptuous.  I'd say as a whole of a people we have an addiction to pain.  The ones who drink or cut themselves or do whatever are just looked at believed that they think it's going to solve their problems. 

Noone thinks alcohol is going to solve their problems.  It's only going to distract, or affect the situation in an otherwise different effect; something you'd rather deal with than what you're fightin with right now.  I'd say, a lot of times, I get depressed after I drink, even though I might not be beforehand.  It's not important. 

What I meant to say is, -ics don't make you weak. 

Weakness is letting others see you try to improve yourself.

How they say the first step is admitting you have a problem.  The hardest thing is trying to improve it.There's a fear with difference, with changing yourself.  But moreover, you dont' want to be seen as someone who tried and failed, not by your peer. 

I totally went of fon a tangent. 

Sorry, the thing about Ishmael.  Deciding what's important, what he believes.  Ishmael saw that the whiteness of the whale was symbolic.  It meant this to one person, that to another.  It could represent one thing or another.  He decides that it's everything, that by the collective beliefs of everyone, something could become anything, because it exists in consciousness.

I'm deciding right now if I'm happy with who I am and what my life is.  In essence, I spose, am I happy?  That would be the focus of what I've been trying to obtain.  I'm on medication.  And shortly after going on I was having a spurt of some really good days, but I can't really identify what caused it.  I dont' believe it was the medication, because then I had a series of very bad days.

While people may see my grades as a positive thing in my life, while my parents are hopeful going back on medication will help me feel better, while I can be hopeful for next semester and activities, while I'm cast out of someone's life as a demon, while I'm excluded from importance, while I'm told a positive thing one minute, but feel opposite another...what am I supposed to believe?  You can't control hwo you feel.  But I feel so often that phrase is used as an easy way out, in order for someone to nto try to feel any differently.  I still say results dictate emotions.  Outwards->inwards.  Ishmael, I vote action.  So, what am I; happy, depressed, hopeful, hopeless?  Like the whiteness of the whale, I am all that and more, based on the point in time you find me in.  I can have a series of good days, then I can fall.  Another day I can miss an ex, then I can find hopefulness in a different one.  Here and ther,e I spose, I can even be proud of my schoolwork.  Imagine.  Still feel like a geek for saying that.

One thing I will not do.  I will not be retrograde.  I will force myself not to look back, even if it means wearing a collar.  The constraints of self control are too easily bent when unsupervised, that I must take measures in mental sobriety to prevent them.

**added as of 10:25 of the same night**
But I think, after dwelling on it a little bit.  I am happy.  Or, I'm committed to moving positively towards happiness.  I'm hopeful, for the next semester, you know.  I'm anxious for the break, to be done with finals.  It's that romantic desire to start all over, to rise, to fall.  All that shit.  Romance or cliche, it's a blurred line.

But I contend to myself, happiness isn't a thought; it's a feeling.  So, what am I feeling? 

I don't know.  But I think I'm happy.

And romance, hope, ambition, rises into the top of my eyes.  I've made promises to myself about someone else, and I aim to keep them.
****

And till then, let's go, finals.  I promise I'll study eventually.

'

"Enough," he nodded, his lip twisting to a smile.  "Enough now," he whispered as he walked off into the snowy road on Christmas Eve.

I woke up today (admittedly, at first, feeling sick and tired) with a new breath of life.  Kind of a happiness. 

Despite the cold.

Chilliness :(

But it's good.  I'm good, and have energy.  There's some kind of life in today, a positive energy, that me to leave the cold november rain behind.  As far as it goes for me, December starts on the third, this new chapter starts on the third.

It's possible that the antidepressants are kicking in.  But it's also possible that maybe today is just a positive day.

No matter how cold my feet are.  Or nose, or fingertips.

Anyways, Joshua Day is coming up in a week, and I'm very excited :)

I know there's something that I should be doing.  I know that. 

I'm a bad depressive, you could say.  I'm only motivated when I'm happy, and I'm only happy when I'm doing something I can be proud of, and I can only do that when I'm motivated to do so. 

So when I complain and ask someone what I should do, how I can get over something, I guess you could say it's really foreplay.  Nothing said is going to help me get up and do something.  Tell me to get some excercise, i won't.  Tell me to forget about her, I won't. 

I don't deny the power isn't within me, but something is always restraining me.  That I will live on my own terms, in my own way, even if that means being lost and stalemated.  But it's not even a conscious stubborn choice, more that I can't do it any other way, that I'm unable.

So basically, i want to be able to be able to make myself happier. 

What does make me happier, outside of brief periods of drunken haze (which, admittedly, give me more misery than it's worth), are not my grades, or any other petty accomplishments I could fathom.  My happiness at times like these is random, inscrutable.  I'll wake up one day and feel a little better.  The next day I'll feel like shit and hate myself.  The next day I might be content and want to write or read. 

"
I was regressing.

My former video game obsession ended with my first serious girlfriend, who was also who I lost my virginity to.

It's been so long since I'd had a girlfriend, and even longer since I had sex last.  I wondered, silently, was it possible to regain your virginity?  While my desire to fuck was as strong as ever, there grew an ever deeper trench isolating me and the other sex, as time went on.

And all the while, I turned to video games, i turned to tv, masturbation, napping, to take my mind off it.  'The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close-up. The shortcut to closing a door is to bury yourself in details.'  By doing that, i could forget my pain as long as it would draw my attention.  Wasting time becomes your entire life, as the voracious hunger for more and more stimulation is required to eclipse your worries. 

In my case, that stimulation is not only seperating me farther from my problems, but heightening them, as well.

Because, I think what I was afraid of, most of all, was to face my pain, and deal with what I was dealing with.  Underlying that fear, however...was the thing that made me hopeless.  I'm not able to face my pain.  I can say, yes, i think I'm overweight and ugly, I'm lonely and desperate, I have an unattractive personality that I dislike myself, I'm lazy, I can be a dick, i'm self centered, I'm self conscious, i'm depressed, I hate who I am, i may or may not have an alcohol problem, I think I know way more than I do.  I make fun of those who have cut themselves, but I've done it, too.  I call people fat but I am myself.  I tease people but can't take it.  It's called hypocrisy. 

But it's all just words.  And maybe because they're not eliciting any kind of response right now inside me I don't really believe any of them.  Hubris, pride, in it's purist form, won't even allow a person to listen to their own words, because it may sway what they actually believe.

"

But I think I've gotten too far off track.  I had the idea to create a character who's trying to deal with all these influences in his life, while not able ot believe in anything, who didn't know what he believes in.

I guess it's not a mystery that the character is me.  I think it shows in everything I write that I have no bases of thought, ethos, beliefs, you know.  I did really wake up happy today.  And I still am.  I have a motivation today, to go do shit, to go about my daily shit unfettered. 

But I have no goggles, so I can't go swimming yet. 

I think that when you watch a movie you really like, or finish a book that had you marathon reading.  When you finally finish it, it's kind of the orgasm rewarding.  Pending a good ending.  

I always feel positive after seeing something that sates my entertainment purposes. It's the strangest thing.  I was all sadsackey before I went to the movies tonight.  But I feel a little better now.

The word leech comes to mind.

Sustenance on consumption.

Feeding on the ending, the death of something.

These noisaholics.  These quietophobics.
Maybe ole Orwell got it wrong.  Big brother blinds your mind with tv and radio to keep you in order.  Obsessed with our media.  Insatiable. 

Because afterwards, your mind is paralyzed, and you fall back in line.  I paraphrase Lullaby.

What books are on your nightstand?

Choke (erica's favorite), and also Deadeye Dick