Musings, ideas, what are you thinking about?

For years i've been driven mad by the intro to a cartoon i watched as a kid. I could remember the tune, but not what show it was. Today i finally found it.

It was the X-Men intro. It was fucking X-Men.

how to get the energy for 1500 miles of solo driving

I've always knew that I was to live through a war or national emergency or something.

I have been pondering on why it is so difficult to actually act on suicidal ideation. When life is mostly pain (physical and mental). When there is no reason to get up in the morning. When finances suck and you can barely care for yourself. When age constantly brings more problems such as pain, lack of ability to do what you used to do, lack of finances to do what you used to do, lack of friends as more and more of them die, lack of interest in just about everything. And the knowledge that things are only going to get worse and worse. Why is it still so hard to act on suicidal thoughts.
Is it fear that the method will fail and leave you in worse shape. Fear of social consequences of surviving. After all it is very much frowned on. Fear of going to hell. Fear of death even when life sucks. Just the fact that it has been pounded into you that such an act is unforgivable. Or maybe there is some vague hope that if you keep trying you will have a few moments of pleasure left. Whatever it is, I guess we should be grateful. There would be a lot more holes in this world if that reason did not exist.

Thinking about the disease of depression, that it doesn't need a reason
I seem ingrateful, that my physical and companionship needs of a year ago have all been fulfilled. I used to think that missing those things was the cause of my depression, that if only I had those things, I would be happy
I still went to bed early yesterday afternoon, considering the pluses and cons of the methods I have available
The disease doesn't care, the only thing it has to do is be a disease

peace

Wishing I had a single friend, a single connection, a single pursuit, anything to occupy this unsolicited excess of “free time” that is the weekend.

One thing I hate in my mind is how I have those "small crushes" or parasocial relationships with woman celebrities or woman that I barely know.

I get embarrassed even by admiting it to myself.

I know that everyone does it. Women do it even more than men in some cases.

But in my mind those thoughts are more "real" because I felt loneliness almost through my entire life. Sometimes it feels like I'm deluding myself to survive, daydreaming to escape the reality that everyone just forgot me.

How delicious breakfast was.

I have two lives. One is the life that I'm living now, the other is the life in my dreams that I've never had.

The worst thing is when you want to talk to someone about your problems, but don't have the strength to do it and feel that nobody cares anyway.

I feel like if I talked to a camera or some audio, at least someone someday would listen to me.

I may not be able to promise you much, but one thing i can promise is that we care when you talk. You're as much a part of our little community as anyone else, so you matter to us.

I understand.

But somehow in my mind I feel like I need to really tell my history to someone (I know it doesn't make sense, but for me it feels right).

If I'm gonna "die" soon enough at least someone took their time to really "know me"

I mean, i'd certainly hope you're not going to die soon. But i get your overall point, i can relate.

Excited about going to the beach later on today.

Maybe you could put it writing. A good way to leave it behind and share it with more than one person.

Relationship challenges, the trauma history parts we both bring into one and how on guard we can become, reacting in our own learned ways even with all the healthy awarenesses we may have in place. And doing our needed work while not losing our good boundaries while letting the other know we continue to care very much at the same time.☺️

Just frustrated I have too many worries in my head

History goes full circle.

I’m mentally preparing myself to disappoint my therapist tomorrow.

To make therapy work, I convince myself that I’m ready to change my life and willing to do the work, but during the weeks between our sessions, my will to live ebbs away into total darkness. I don’t seem to know what it is I actually want. My inspiration for coming here may just be rooted in fear of being left to rot in my home, and free falling into another mental health crisis. Every other motivation I have for living, like finding my calling, falling in love, starting a family, and not dying alone, is half-hearted and empty. I want these things because what else is there to want? My only desire that I’m certain of is an (everlasting) end to my torment. I know what you’re thinking. No, I’m not suicidal because if I were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

That is the gist of what I want to say. Am I going to say it? I think so. How is a therapist or, better yet, anyone supposed to help me if they don’t appreciate the gravity of what’s unfolding in my mind? I trust him to at least not freak out, as I have provided him regular glimpses into the true state of my mental health without his causing me any issues; he merely asks in a composed manner whether or not I have a plan, and doesn’t interrogate me further.