Valley Village, CA
Today is a down day. Clinical depression is like a monster on your back. You never know if it's going to steer or just tag along for the ride. Today it woke up before me and planned the day's events. Be exhausted. Take two three-hour naps because you can't face anything else. Masturbate to feel something. Not speak a word out loud for over 10 hours. Feel nothing and have tears welling up behind your eyes. Fuck, this is shit.
I went for a run at least. Mustered enough energy and willpower to change my clothes and get outside. Sweat. Now I'm writing.
It seems so difficult to get people to care these days. There seems to be an IG solution to everything, a meme that's supposed to make me feel better. If only that were how this worked. The big D has been plaguing me since I was 18. Not quite half my life yet.
On my run I saw a woman driving her SUV with her phone in both her hands above her steering wheel. It makes me want to cry. It makes me feel like I don't know anyone anymore. Who the fuck are we? Look at what's happening to the environment, to this country, and LOOK at how we're living. Of course it's all going to shit. No one cares because no one lives outside of the screen in front of their face/glued to their palm. It's overwhelming, especially on a down day. Time to volunteer. Get myself out there, sans phone, actually physically doing something for the Earth. It can only help.
You know my best friends don't even read my writing? At least they have never once told me as much. Not once. Some of my closest family members never listened to the podcast. It's fine. You can't make people engage or care. It's just more proof that being alone is the thing. Being your own champion is the only thing.
All right. Enough for today. Tomorrow will be new, even if it's not guaranteed.