4.7.12 But how do you ask for all of the hours upon days you’ve wasted in complete neurosis and anguish? How do you possibly overcome everything you’ve cried and wallowed about and thought to be so insurmountably achievable with a few texts? You don’t and I don’t see how I will. I have a very positive feeling and things are looking up but I have a very long way to go. I’m sick.
1.6.12
I don’t want to go to sleep.
I don’t know if I could if I tried. So much is going on in my head and I’m tired of it. I’m so tired. I feel like I’ve been running for years and there is no metaphor. I’m just so tired, mentally. I don’t know how much of it I can take. I’ve tried scheduling Doctor’s appointments for my depression—to no avail.
Which leads me to serious frustration. I can’t go by myself. I am your son and you’re not calling the doctor for me? What is going through your brain? I’m obviously extremely sick. I’m tired all the time, sad, lonely, empty, all luster is visibly leaving my body. I get so anxious sometimes I can’t even stand it, I want to run through my house breaking as much as I can.
I want to do things I can’t. Like there’s some other way out there to express how I’m feeling but I can’t reach it. It doesn’t even exist and I’m fighting for it and it’s the worst part of all of it. I’m struggling to find some way, I literally feel it bouncing around in my body, putting so much pressure on my bones trying to escape. This awful, awful sadness, anxiety, and anger. God, the anger.
I don’t want to go to bed. Tomorrow is another tomorrow and I’ve had my fill. I need the allure back. I need something new entirely. Struggling with where I’m headed and how I’m going to crawl through every passage to get to my ideal adulthood, the thought of every chance that will be presented for me to miss it, for it to slip away and for me to end up nowhere. At the risk of this sounding like a suicide note, life is hard fucking work I don’t know if I’m strong enough for.
I’ve thought about suicide a lot. I’ve never considered it, though. Backtracking, to the feeling of something else; I want that unattainable in between. I don’t want to die, but living isn’t where I want to be, either.
I’m literally writing everything that’s coming to mind, trying to tucker myself out, I don’t want to get into the habit of falling asleep in art, only to rest my face on an X-acto knife one day.
I don’t want to go to bed. I don’t want to pack up these damned Christmas decorations, I don’t want to go to school, I don’t want to handle relationships, I don’t want to answer “what’s wrong,” anymore, I just don’t! I can’t! It’s become so much more than some wild excuse for attention, I don’t like this anymore! I’m so overly done with crying so often, I have no capacity for anything and the smallest thing will tear me apart.
But I’m fine. I’m so fine. I don’t want anyone to worry. My brain’s just having to make room for a lot of new guests.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
11.11.11
What started with a cellphone note-pad evolved into a 3x6 legal pad, which then finished as a journal.
I’ve started journaling. It’s a lot more convenient than booting up a laptop or trying to dart to a computer whenever (Inspiration?) strikes.
It’s become my personal “Personal Blog” and as I don’t want to delete this (It was never even a consideration, just my fear that I will eventually neglect Swampswan to death) I’m going to scan the pages of my journal in to share with all of anyone who wants to see.
Here goes.
9.15.11
My fingers can’t keep up with my mind, as is the case for many, I’m sure.
There’s so much to write about. (Take notice of my tricky maneuvering around the word “blog” in case a publisher calls and I can speedily copy and paste my manifesto, print-ready in four minutes.)
Let’s start by talking about the theatre crew.
Today was just like any other, and with rehearsals for this year’s One-Act Competition, the year is getting better and better the deeper we go. I love these people with all my heart and I can’t even begin to think about how bleak my life will be when Senior year is over and we all split up. Honestly, the rest of the school can suck it, this wonderful, amazing, talented group of people has been through everything together.
Theatre brings you together like nothing else I’ve ever experienced in my life. We spend more time with each other than at home. We’ve gotten to the point (quickly) where we change in front of each other in one room, gender irrelevant, and no one blinks twice. (For you of the self-conscious sort, tell me that’s not a phenomenal bond.) I don’t even think “sports families” and say that in the most mocking tone possible because they think they’re so special.
This is a group that has countless group-running-through-empty-school-halls moments you beg for. (I’m assuming everyone is like me in that, I like being in thick, meaty groups, doing things together and bonding and your life is like a movie and you love everything and you just want to die from happiness. I love friendship.) and more group dinners, priceless conversations, unbelievable memories, and share-all “circle-time”s than you could imagine.
Individual stories are the worst to try and write because there are so many, not to mention that you want to include every detail, and several back stories because you don’t want the reader to miss a single feeling or emotion of this wonderful relationship you have.
Then…Having this all cut off, being alone in comparison to this homogeneous manifestation of these personalities and people that are just like you and have related to you in ways your own family can’t and in ways that you feel no one else will ever…I don’t know what I’m going to do.
It’s not really the purpose of my blog to complain. Well, it was supposed to be where I could go to bitch about everyone where they couldn’t see, because honestly, Oprah, writing a letter and throwing it away doesn’t work. Feedback from strangers, that’s where it’s at.
DJKAN, REALLY? You’re really going to pull that shit?
DJKAB, if you haven’t read, was Devin, Joe, Karmen, Austin, and Bekah. We were young, happy best friends, so excited because we were like F-R-I-E-N-D-S, and one thing lead to another, and another, and another, now we’re not so hot.
I can’t stand that you would make a whole new page for “DJKAN” Devin, Joe, Katey, Audry, and Nate.
I mean, it’s not like I outwardly hate them. They’re all my friends, and they’re all mutual friends to us…but not close enough to pull this shit and have it not make me completely pissed off.
Really, what the fuck, I know it was some fucking group effort, and it’s not some coincidence, and at the same time, I know you didn’t want to make it look like one.
Sure, I also feel left out as hell! I’m closer to you five than anyone, we all hang out together, we’re all friends, and you leave me the fuck out and replace my initial and everything. Bravo, fuck you.
I think it’s downright shitty and honestly, just fucking embarrassing. You made a group just like us right as we fall apart, and two of the original group left and brought this shit to the table. I can just see you coming up with that, “Let’s make a group name just like they did, they couldn’t stick, wouldn’t this be hilarious, we’re so fucking cool, look we have almost the same initials, this is going to be so funny” and just the fact that you would fucking do that, there are so many things I can say about it, but this rant would just be going on far too long. Fucking twats, there’s no level of twat to describe how you’re being right now.
Don’t just follow and step on toes without caring.
Just grow a fucking backbone.
Knew you’d do anything just to fit in.
Always trying so hard to try not to try hard, and it’s obnoxious.
Nothing else to say about you.
09.09.11
I’m sick of people that are mean “just because.” Or even the people that are just inexplicably bitchy because they get some kick out of it.
I don’t need you making sarcastic comments on my facebook, or giving a snarky, back-handed reply to something I post on tumblr. If you don’t like me, leave me alone.
I hate that you think you have so much power, and what bothers me most of all is I feel like you think I don’t realize what you’re doing. How you just look down to me.
It’s frustrating.
Stop acting like you’re so much better than everyone, it’s a really ugly shade on you.
9.02.11
Delayed about 45 minutes thanks to the low-brow-but-captivating inherent humor of Americas Funniest Home Videos.
Anyway, I’ve been trying so hard to be overall, a nice person. Honestly, I’m too acrimonious. I’ll elaborate on that second half, later.
I don’t want to be just a nice person. I want to be sickening. Perhapsfor my own, sick, Svengali-oriented purposes…I haven’t really found the definition for what it is I’m trying to describe, but I’m pretty sure I might be a terrible person.
Explanation through a non-concise, brevity-lacking paragraph: I want to be known as the nice dude. Another thing to elaborate on “Personality Layers”. (I’ll make that a click-through link when I have the chance to write it.) Because that has a lot to do with this. I want people to know that I’m not a pushover though. I want to be respected, and nice.
Basically, I want a mild following. We’ll call them friends, and I want to be able to convey every emotion through solely, eye-contact.
And if someone makes me mad, I want to be able to look across a crowded room at aforementioned friend and with a single glance, show them how uncommonly upset I am with them. I want my anger to mean something, and I want them to understand that.
8.25.11
The Platonic Adventures of Emily and Austin
I like how that sounds. “Platonic” is one of those words that just sounds awesome like this, but you don’t really know what it means, but when you find out it’s still pretty awesome anyway.
ANYWHO. Emily and I are so much alike so of course, she’d be so wonderful as to share my sort of depression.
We were both feeling one of those awesome cocktails of sadness, loneliness, and anger, we were texting and decided to wallow in our puddles together. She invited me over and to spend the night because she was all alone.
Not asking my mom and knowing full-well I was sleeping over, I packed my car full of what I needed for the night and drove off, saying I’ll be home by 10. (I’ll call her later.)
Instantly when I got out of my car and saw her, I felt better. I don’t think we even gave it a second thought.
I was helping her clean when, before long, we decided to start snapping a few pictures and have a bit of a “photo shoot”, because it’s just something we always like to do. We dressed up as weird as we could, but strangely cool, and took a ton of pictures.
We sit around sipping YooHoo’s and taking ironically tacky pictures in our cool makeshift outfits. By the end, my face is painted like a day-of-the-dead skull and she’s a dead doll.
Skipping through a lot of ramblings that mean nothing to you..
After we’re all washed up, we fall asleep on the pull-out sofa bed during the first 15 minutes of “The Box” (That’s not to say we don’t like the movie.)
When we wake up, we spend at least thirty minutes putting our hand in sock-puppet-form and talking to each other’s hand-puppets. She had Sparkles and Herbert and I had Sprinkles and Clarabelle. It was just lovely how we don’t need anything to entertain ourselves when we’re together, and how she can completely make me completely happy and we forget about everything when we’re together.
Today during class we spent five minutes reminiscently acting out more with our puppets in our little voices and all of our complex inside jokes, weird little quirks and Remember-whens of previous nights. “If they kiss, they die!” “If you kiss too much you get the wombat award, and everyone hates you.” All of our friends were slowly crowding around and watching, I could see the white of their teeth all gleaming in my peripherals while they watched in silence. I really hope they were jealous. It’s one of those things.
It was just so great.
8.25.11
If I could start this in a really creative way, I would. It has the potential I know it, but sometimes a smiley face is a smiley face.
Whenever anything’s dusty or dirty, most people’s first reaction is to draw a smiley face in it. Same with foggy windows or sweaty cups.
There are so many words I can feel in my head bouncing around trying to describe this, but I know I don’t know them. It’s just the way a sloppy smiley face can project unto you such emotion. I sound like a psychopath.
I never knew how happy it makes you until I drew one when I was sad.
I don’t know, It struck me as…beautiful? In a way.
