Heartbreaking loss. I'll be here next year, cheering them on again, and the year after that, and every year, win or lose, I'll always love the wings.

No Restore From Saved Draft?

Maybe thats for the better, it was probably a depressing entry anyway.

As much as I would like to think I'm past all this. As much as I try to pretend that the in-between times are alright, bearable, and worth holding on to. As much as I try to change things. I can't change the feelings that bog me down. I am depressed.

Who cares what set me off. Does it even matter anymore? Its something new all the time. I don't want to take anything. Last night I wanted to kill myself. More so than other nights. I was reading about this place in England I think it was, where they will allow you to commit suicide easily. I watched a short report on it, and it was this guy in bed drinking a cup with one of those bendy straws. A man handed him the glass and said "If you drink this, you will die". The man took the cup and sipped it dry. I wonder how he felt the moment after he drank that? I have often wondered how it feels to know you are going to die, for sure.

I performed a little thought experiment, I pretended to take that drink. I listened to what my emotional response was. It was regret. I regretted taking my own life even in a thought experiment. How pathetic. Doesn't want to live, but too scared to die. I once wrote to myself, that life and death are the only options, and since death is not attainable, I have to try life. But honestly, is life attainable? A decent life that is.

I'm such a goddamn phony. I'm such a goddamn phony! I need to wear my depression on the outside again, at least that way I'll be safe. I hate how there's no help for me. I hate how I can't reach out to my therapist without paying 150 bucks an hour, something I feel like I don't even deserve. I feel so embarrassed by my problems, and how they're nothing in comparison to people with real ones. I feel hopeless. I feel like things will never get better and I feel like I can't change.

My friends are all members at the gym. Like all of them. I want to join them, but I couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle the social aspect, pretending to be happy, meeting new people, etc. Granted, sometimes I can fake it, but I am broken inside when I do. I often think I'm incapable of being normal, so I have to use alcohol for people to accept me. Such a typical male response. I hate being so predictable, but I am. I am a fucking lazy sloth. No wonder, they don't love me.

Sometimes I wish this world would just end.

No one probably reads this, and I'm feeling like self-destructing and bringing back painful memories, or perhaps I'm just looking for validation for my pain, or pity - therefore, I'm going to detail the events of June 2006, the shameful suicide try.

Down for no good reason again, for the whole day, I sat down at my computer table with my head in my hands. I cried. Forever. It was a dry cry, not a good cry, pain is released during a good cry, for me it was like the pain had a foothold, and wouldn't come out even through my crying. I was sick of my life, and sick of my body, and my face, and my personality. I hated myself, and I hated my life. I hated God for making a creature like me. I hated the cage I was in, locked into pain that endured for many years, and that showed no signs of going away. In fact it showed every sign of getting worse. My mind started turning to thoughts of death, murder, and rape. I started hating everything that wasn't miserable. I figured that I would soon loose my mind and do something I regretted. I was a ticking time bomb, basically.

At around 1am, I opened up a word document, the suicide letter I had been working on. I wrote it out to my parents, and friends, and to her. I wrote a separate one for her. Looking back at those letters, I could not imagine how much that would have hurt my parents and friends to read what I wrote, it was harsh, and blunt, full of despair, defeat, and humiliating self destructive feelings.

I printed it, found an envelope, and stuck it on my bed. I grabbed my keys, my hat, my tranquilizers (which I had been using to get to sleep), and my anti-depressants. I got in my car, and popped a sleeping pill in my mouth. I drove off. Not sure If I'd see the house again. I got on the highway, and started driving recklessly. I popped another pill in my mouth. Ripped the crucifix off my rear view mirror, and held it tight. I sped... I'm not sure how fast I was going, and I was starving, and drowsy. I was also terrified, but calm at the same time. I closed my eyes, for a few seconds at a time, hoping, to fall asleep and just have it end painlessly. It was the scariest 20 minutes of my life. I thought at any moment I would crash at that speed. In the end, I couldn't do it. It was just too hard. I called my friend and just didn't say a word.

I was well east of Toronto, even past Scarborough, when I decided to get off the highway. I finally cried tears, and some relief came over me.


No one ever found out about my letter. I still have it on my bedside, for whenever I need it again. I would like to write a new one, but its a painful exercise. I wish, there was some other kind of solution. I wish, things would just be good.

If you read this, you probably don't know anyone I know, which means I trust you.

Jon

"How many times have I told you? Never Leave the house! Maybe now you'll listen!"

The paraphrased words of my overprotective and sometimes masochistic unconscious.


What Happened?

I just came home from a weekend cottage trip with a few friends a day early. My official reason for coming home this early was because I was "sick".  By the end most people suspected that I meant "brain sick". My trigger occured at the campfire the night before. We were playing some stupid question game, where you ask the person on your left a question about the person on your right. Long story short, I ended up being asked how many people another friend of mine slept with. Long story short I was reminded quite publically, that this friend of mine slept with her. Her as in the girl from my previous entries. As if running into her at the mall wasn't bad enough. I had to be reminded of which of my friends have slept with her.

As soon as I heard her name I got paralyzed again. All the juice came out of me and I just felt like lying down on the ground and dying. I walked away from the game into the cabin, throwing my beer into the river - I'm a drama queen yes. I stayed on the couch for a while, staring at the ground. It was like I wasn't even controlling myself, but watching myself through my own eyes. The voices of my friends seemed muffled as if I was underwater and they were yelling from above.

"Come back outside Jon" = "muff muff muff"

I felt awful. So weak, so embarrassed, so annoyed that I could trigger on something so dumb. Whats worse, none of my friends would understand that I was having a depressive episode. To them it just looked like I was wallowing around because I heard her name. While technically true, it was my trigger, the chemicals flowing through my body, and the awful feeling that persisted the entire night had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.

I told one of my closer friends that I needed to go home. I needed to be away. No one really seemed to care though. I did have my car, but I couldn't just drive myself home because there were 7 people and 2 cars. I decided to try to sleep on it.

Horrible night. Lying in my bed writhing in pain for what seemed to be an eternity. The pain never subsided for hours.

The next morning, I told them I had to leave today. No one seemed interested in coming. I didn't want to just leave and abandon 6 people with one car, yet at the same time, I had to get out of there. Of course, who would want to leave their cottage vacation a day  early for a guy who seems to just be pissy all the time? I get it.

Eventually, I got scorned three ways from sunday for being "stupid", and "fucking everyone over". I had to pay one guy 100 bucks to come home with me.

What great friends I have. I hate to rely on pity, but jeez. Give me a break. How much pain do I have to be in before some empathy kicks in? I would do that in a second for any one of them. I ate nothing all day and just sat in one location for hours while the cackling hyenas laughed. Why would anyone bother to say "what's wrong", or "Yeah sure Jon I'll come home with you, sucks that your episoding again." Instead I had to buy compassion from 6 of my closest friends.

I finally ate something just now, but I'm feeling doubly depressed now. I'm more depressed from my friends showing how little they care about me when it matters, and about how embarassed I felt crashing in front of everyone. I guess I maybe I can see that I'm ruining someones fun... but I can't really control when shit like this happens. Whether it be from a campfire game, or another profoundly upsetting link to my past, or any other trigger (which my 6 close friends are well aware of), I just can't help being a downer when it does happen.

Right now my unconscious is spanking me, telling me thats what happens when I decide to leave the house. And its warning me about my planned vacation to Cuba later on this month. I hate how things that are supposed to be fun, like my vacations, are so dangerous for me. Its like I'm cursed to be depressed every time I want to have fun.

I don't know why I am writing about this. I feel so stupid doing it.

I was just out with my friend, heading to the mall to find a travel agent to book our vacation. My Ipod was playing random songs through my car's MP3 player. The song Cold Hard Bitch - Jet comes on, and I think of her immediately. I had told her once that that song reminded me of her, I guess as a joke, but partially true. My friend said something along the lines of, didn't you say once this song reminded you of someone? Which I kinda brushed off to avoid saying her name. After all, 4 years without seeing someone who you have been utterly obsessed with for the better part of your modern life is a streak that I would be foolish to break, or even mention her name in public.

Its been 4 years since I've seen her, and almost 2 years since I talked to her on the phone or MSN. Things were very clear. She wanted nothing to do with me, but a casual conversation every 4 months. I eventually decided that I didn't even want that. So I have been tormenting myself for 4 years, or 5 if you want to count the beginning, over this girl who I was so in love with.

Is that sufficient background info?

So my friend and I walked towards the entrance to the mall and about 2 meters (6 feet) in front of us was... her and her sister. I guess you could say my heart fluttered, and the awkwardness took hold. I just continued walking in, knowing they were right behind me. At that moment, I couldn't believe it. After all, she moved away and I so rarely go to the mall. I so rarely go anywhere, so as not to see her by chance. What are the odds? That we'd walk up to the door at the exact same time, the one person in the entire world I don't wanna see, the same person that I would have (and still do) want to see and miss terribly.

Just when I seemed to get my life back in order just a bit. I graduated, I'm going on a vacation, I have some jobs lined up. i have to be reminded of this shitty feeling waiting for me in the back of my brain.

I almost started to hyperventilate, although my unconscious somehow moved me deeper into the mall. Again, ashamed at my own immaturity, I started to ponder the usual high school girl questions. What if she saw me? She SO saw me. What if she saw me see her? What will she think? Are they talking shit about me now? Do they even care, do I even affect her at all?

ugh, I aborted my travel agent mission, and decided to just go home, the long way. I don't know what to think of myself after this. Clearly, shes not as affected by seeing me as I am by her, which does wonders for my self esteem.

So what do you do when evasion doesn't work? I guess I can't avoid her forever. Or maybe I can but there will always be isolated moments that I'll just have to deal with. I would have honestly rather died than dealt with that confrontation if it had occurred. If I had got out of the car one second later, it would have been a forced confrontation. I wish I had those suicide pills that they give military ppl to use in case they're captured, so they don't get tortured into giving up information. I was almost captured.

Tho I'm still being tortured, by myself no less.

Current Mood: contemplative

I can't believe it!!!!

30 secs till the cup, and a guy named maxim ( A name I commonly associate with seductive pictures of michelle branch) sends the game into triple overtime. Whats more, they LOSE.

My heart rate must have been near its maximum. The anxiety juices were flowing in me for the longest time. I know its only game 5, but I can't help being so affected by my beloved Detroit Red Wings.

This is a team I've loved since I was about 9 years old. Growing up near Toronto made it even harder to remain a Red Wings fan, since all friends and family members were all adamant Leaf fans. Still, I just liked the team that I liked. Simple as that.

I am emotionally invested in the Red Wings. I feel great when they win, and I feel horrible when they lose. Last night was awful for me. I couldn't sleep. It was like having my heart broken.

Does God answer prayers for hockey teams to win? How bout the devil?

I graduated.

After having to drop out twice, and spending six miserable years of my life commuting to that God awful place. I'm done.

I have a job interview tomorrow. I always seem to journal the night before some big event, like an exam or interview. I guess I feel the most introspective at times like these. I'm not particularly worried about this interview as much as I am worried about finding the place.

I haven't had much in the way of prospects lately. An old high school friend here, a new small cute Asian girl there, potential avenues, but nothing concrete. I never ended up seeing that girl from my thesis class again. I guess she'll never know. Ah well.

I had to buy a suit for this interview. My first suit. I survived 25 years without needing one, or I rented. Anyways, me in a suit is like a chimp in a... suit. Bad analogy. But although it may look good, its really not my kinda thing... yet.

I had no idea what to look for in a suit, so I asked my mom to help me out. I immediately found a suit I liked... then I found about 100 that looked exactly the same to me. I discovered that I'm suit blind. I don't see the difference between them except for the color. At that point, like your stereotypical man, I was ready to grab it and head for the register, pay, and do something less tedious. However, apparently you have to get the suit "hemmed" before you can buy it.

I was willing to skip the whole "hemming" business, mostly because I didn't know wtf it was. See how clueless I am?

I grabbed the suit and looked for the changing rooms. I saw a lady at the counter folding some pants and I asked her if I could use the change rooms to try on the suit.

"Oh, I don't work here"

.... fack

After mumbling something incoherent in my humiliation, I shy'd away to the changing rooms.

An hour and 400 bucks later, I was back at home.

I wish I had something interesting to write about.

Last night I had the worst sleep. My random aches and pains were a little more intense than usual. Spiking though my arms and legs, to my crotch, to my stomach - burning and clenching tightly. I never figured out what caused these things, and neither did any Dr.

To contradict myself slightly, I had an INTERESTING revelation on the weekend. I went downtown with a small group of friends to some bar. On my suggestion, we left the bar early because it was too packed in favour of another, less frequented bar off my campus. I walked upstairs to the "club" portion of the bar, and it was just surreal.

There was nothing particularly special about this mini-club, it was dark, small, with a house party-type feel. The music was reggae, or reggaetronic, or whatever the fuck you call it. i began to, I don't wanna say hallucinate and I don't want to say fantasize, but somewhere in between, imagine even, that this is what hell looks like. I got scared. The music pumped into my skull as I watched the generic people dance. I felt like I would go mad if I were to stay there for more than a minute. The fear of being trapped in a place like that really freaked me out. The fear of the doors slamming shut, and of this party going on for an eternity.

You know the taste of vodka, and the smell of it being puked out? The creaking of the floorboards as the "heavy" people danced, and the crappy low-budget, seizure-inducing (if I'm lucky) strobe lights? I became so aware of it all. I felt that any spot of goodness I had left in me would shine through like a neon light in a dark alley, attracting all of the cretons to the warming glow. Needless to say I felt like I didn't belong there. I felt like if I stayed there, I would be "raped" of any uniqueness I have, or of my identity, and changed into just another clone, wallowing in the dark. If hell is personal for everyone, then, without hyperbole, this was mine.

----------------------

The Next Day

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Today was my thesis class again. And again I looked forward to seeing the cute girl, if only for an hour. She didn't look particularly amazing today, she dressed like a bum kinda, which I liked for some bizarre reason. Maybe its because I unconsciously give myself permission to look like a bum if the object of my affection is doing the same. Anyways, no ice breaking for me as usual, although I did have a very awkward moment passing her in the hall. This was perhaps the LONGEST hall in the history of halls, and we were the only two people walking down it, in different directions. I don't know if it was awkward her her, but she did seem kinda, anxious to pass me. To my credit, I TRIED to smile at her, but she just wasn't making the eye contact.

And yes, I am 13 years old.... and a girl apparently.

Ugh.

Today I walked by that very same "hell bar" I described last night. Its right across the street from my campus so I see it on the way to my car. I thought about what I wrote last night, and laughed a little inside, though you wouldn't notice if you saw me. It got me thinking about how polarized my opinions are... or rather, how quickly I jump to the extreme end of the emotional spectrum. I see a bar I don't like, I'm in hell apparently...  I have a bad confrontation with a person, and I hate them. I come in contact with someone who sparks my interest, I LOVE them.

My therapist seems to think I have a warped sense of reality, skewed in such a way that I react the way I do. I guess the worst part of it is that, just like the radiohead song says, I do it to myself. I'm going to see her on saturday, hopefully she'll patch up my brain wounds till next time. I've been telling her to hypnotize me or something, take away my skewed perceptions, but she says they're too strong. I have a sinking sensation that she won't give up on me because I'm the best kind of patient there is...

The kind that doesn't get better.

Why aren't I studying or sleeping?

I'm right in the middle of a "three-exams-in-three-days" extravaganza. I am a bit worried about failing, since my exams are worth like 90% of my final mark because I had to push all the weight from all the work I missed (due to my infamous one-month episode ) to the finals.

Ugh

I'm worried. And I need to vent it out. I'm scared of the fail---


----------------------

2 months later

--------------------

Restore from saved drafts is a wonderful feature. Besides letting me continue entries after closing the window, it also shows me (and my sexy readers)  aborted entries from the last time I attempted a post.

Well, I passed everything, although barely. I needed a 60 avg to pass the term, and I got a 61%. My first reaction was "Thank you GOD!!", my second reaction was "pfft, I'll never fail. I'm a monster". That kind of swing would make a bipolar jealous (I'm allowed to make that joke, trust me).

Anywho, I just gave the WORST thesis presentation ever. To put it in context... I didn't do shit for 3 months and I presented 100% pure BULLSHIT. Needless to say I was called out on it by the smart ass professor. I think I held my ground pretty well... when he asked me when my thesis was due, when he was supposed to be asking me technical questions about it. I must say tho I handled the embarrassment like a pro, using my jittery wit to mutter out a sarcastic comment or two, which didn't amuse any of the bright young engineers in the crowd. What's worse is that the cute girl was in the audience watching my every slip up. When I realized she was in my class I knew the goal of my presentation was to get her to notice me, which made me regret choosing to do it on multivariate regression analysis.

She was dressed so modestly, but her neck line was a little low, and she looked so sweet with those cute glasses. I paid extra attention to her presentation, as I undressed her with my eyes.

Yeah I can multi-task.

Feeling pathetic as usual, I sat in my chair watching boring presentation after mind-numbingly boring presentation. This dude came up, kinda looked a little like me actually. He started giving his presentation, and I noticed that little miss cute was all googley-eyed. Apparently this guys presentation was "interesting" and included "audience participation", I dunno I wasn't paying attention.

Just an aside. I disagree with this whole audience participation thing. I mean, if the goal is to keep your audience happy, then just hurry up and finish the damn presentation so I can go home. Don't pass around a piece of paper, or a carpet sample, or any other "interesting" token. You don't see me passing around pages with regression equations on them do you? Cuz I could if I wanted to be a mark grubber.

Anyways, she was so engaged by his mark grubbing, fake laughs, and smiles - that it made my droll, horribly embarrassing, jittery performance look weak. I felt defeated on my drive home, even tho I felt like I was the better looking one... I can't seem to put a smile on my face.

INFERIOR!!!!

I don't know why I talk to random internet people. Maybe its because I'm looking for human contact outside the 2 hours of school I choose to attend each day or the forced socializing I partake in every now and then.

She's in my thesis presentation class. I've had my eye on her for some time now, but until recently I didn't even know her name. Nilufar. Why do I always like girls with exotic names? I don't think I really even like her, I think I just find her looks interesting. Like, I want to look at her, its somehow... pleasing to me. Shes not really well endowed, or to put it more bluntly, she doesn't have much of an ass or tits. However, she is tiny and cute. She wears glasses, has long black hair, and a darlingly insecure disposition. I think I'm attracted to her because I'm not even interested in sex, I think I just want to cuddle with something aesthetically pleasing, like a pillow. I wish this girl was my pillow. And who knows, maybe in the middle of the night I'll feel the urge and ruin the whole innocent cuddle-scene with some violent sex. After all, is there anything sexier than robbing a girl of her innocence.

Ah, who am I kidding? I'm pretty innocent myself. I'm as introverted as they come, and I abstain from sex just like I abstain from happiness. I can always think though, and shes on my mind. Hah , better her than .. her eh.

Flashback to 4 years ago. I'm on the couch, cuddling with my future heartbreaker. It was only... it was nothing. But for me, at the time, it was everything. The feeling of closeness I hadn't felt in ages, the feeling that love was finally happening for me, all in that moment. I wrapped my arm around her and said how proud of her I was, that she took her liqour like a champ. She put her legs on me, and I grabbed her cute little feet and kissed them. She rested her head on my shoulder.

Unfortunately for our hero, things went downhill for the next 4 years. My stomach hurts just thinking about it.

Today I skipped class to sleep in my car. After my thesis prof gave me shit for not showing up to the meetings, I decided to take a quick bum-nap in my car in the parking lot. My Dad's office is right around the corner from the parking lot, and he knew where I was parked that day because I was to drive us both home later that evening. However, my Dad had an unexpected meeting and had to stay later, so he went to the parking lot to leave a note on my car telling me not to wait for him. I think you can see where this is going. In the middle of my nap, I woke to the sound of someone touching my car. I was lying down on the back seat with my hoodie on and a sweater over my body. I rose up to check it out, and there was my Dad, scared as hell at the bum asleep in his car. After an embarrassing explanation as to why I wasn't in school and ASLEEP, I went back to sleep.

This is what school does to me. I had an assignment a few weeks ago. A group assignment no less. Ugh. It was one of those 5 hour assignments that the other students in your group INSIST on stretching to a good 15 hours to make ABSOLUTELY sure they get their 90% mark. Unfortunately for them, the groups are randomly assigned, and I don't give a shit about marks above 70%... if that. There was a student named Wallace Law, pretty decent guy, asian, smart. His name was the only one I remembered out of the people in my group, so it stuck with me. As I was going to a meeting with my group to work on this assignment, I kept thinking...

"Wallace Law, Wallace Law, Wallace Law. Fuck Wallace Law, I want to sleep. I hate getting up early for these stupid meetings, they're so pointless... FUCK Wallace Law. Its like the Wallace Law is to get 90% on every damn assignment even if its worth 2%. The Wallace Law also states that Jon will not be allowed to sleep EVER!! and must wrack his brain to find the optimal answers. The third Wallace Law states that we must scrutinize over EVERY SINGLE decision we make as a group, second guessing eachother's EVERY MOVE. We must spend 30 mins deciding whether or not to put a little note on a chart explaining an assumption to the prof. Fuck Wallace Law. Fuck it. I hate you. The Wallace Law also makes my stomach hurt, and the Wallace Law causes traffic jams. The Wallace Law causes heartbreak, AIDS, and the fucking War in IRAQ. Wallace Law is efficiency. Wallace Law is the optimum. Wallace Law is the fucking way of the world. Wallace Law is... FUCK WALLACE LAW."

Poor guy, doesn't even know me, yet I've said fuck Wallace Law about 12 times. I feel better after that rant, I really do. I feel even better to know that there are a handful of sweet, caring, albeit promiscuous girls reading it.