My last entry only makes grammatical sense if you imagine that it is a transcript of a Russian who doesn't speak good English.
And though this is not what I came on to write about, I will say that the theory that depression makes someone a better writer or artist is utter bullshit.
Depression gunks up one's writing. It makes it choppy and chunky. There's no flow to it. No metaphor. No poetry.
That said, the experience of depression can and does make excellent fodder for creative pursuits. You usually just have to wait until you are out of your slump before you can really make something out of it.
Now, on to what I am actually here to write about:
I have been suicidal several times in my life, and in my experience this comes in two different forms.
The first and most common for me is existential in nature.
"Life is meaningless and it doesn't ultimately matter much whether I live, die or ever existed at all."
Something like that. Every time that I have tried to take my life (and I believe there have been three honest attempts) this has been the reason why. I just don't feel like I matter. Or that anything matters. I want to end life just to stop the meaningless pain that is existence.
The second kind of suicidal tendency is one that I have never personally felt until last night, but is probably more common to other people. It is suicide due to circumstance.
I didn't feel particularly depressed last night as much as I just felt that I was out of options.
I am stuck working a job that causes me intense physical pain in a restaurant that is barely in business and I make no money from it.
And I know this doesn't seem like the end of the world, but sometimes I get overwhelmed. I've been stuck in poverty for sometime. I keep trying to get out, but only ever seem to make things worse.
So last night I wished that I could commit suicide. I knew that I never will because of what it would do to my parents and the people I love, however I wanted to. It is (still) the most practical solution to my problems.
Today though, I was given a few tiny rays of hope.
It was actually busy at the restaurant today (to everyone's surprise) and I made a decent amount of money. Not enough to solve all of my problems, of course, but enough for me to pay off the past due amount of one of my bills. Which is really encouraging. If the rest of the week stays like this, I might just be able to barely survive a little bit longer.
And then as I was walking home from work, I received a email from an old friend (and apparently avid reader) who just wants to give me some money.
I don't know if he reads this blog, but he reads my other ones and wants to make a "donation."
I just might be able to survive after all.
So thank you, Jesse.
Thank you, Jesus
Thank you, Santa
Thank you, whoever it is that's out there.
I've now got a bit more strength to keep digging my way out of this mess.
6:33 p.m. - 2012-12-24
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
I remember me. - 2014-10-17
The Paper - 2014-10-13
A Post About Not Doing Anything - 2014-10-12
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