Breaking Point

I don't like considering the prospect, but literature, and psychopathology indicate that people can break. No one can be sure what their's is or where it is, but they can be sure that it is, that it does exist. I feel like, on nights like this, that I may be approaching my breaking point. I find my mind, dredged by insomnia, reaching some critical point, the breaking point. I do not look forward to this.

I Realize That Eventually I Will be Compelled to Defend my Negative Posts

To which, I respond, "I owe you no explanation." When did positivity become the only cultural trope? It definitely is not the only human emotion. I realize that being negative is not, on the whole, a positive direction to take society. But I do believe that honesty is, and that honesty, no matter the cost, will lead us to a greater happiness than we ever thought possible.

Understatement

That last post, the one revealing that I am depressed, was a gross understatement. The depression is but the title given to a deep and abiding loneliness that I feel. I just realized, as I was walking to this spot where I planned to write this post, that I would do anything to banish these feelings of loneliness. As I write this I feel a crushing loneliness, a loneliness that threatens to consume me from inside. The scary thing is it is only likely to get worse. We just covered a section in psychology that talked about social support groups and I realized that I do not have one. I had so many plans for how I was going to expand my social circle. What happened? I guess you could say there is still time. But I don't even remember what I was going to do. Join the college democrats. That hasn't really worked out.

What Else Is There To Say

I am a student. Living society's dictates to the 't.' But who really cares about all that, what matters is who I am. And I am an interesting and dynamic person. Moreso than I let on to most. Many people proably think me an eccentric, which I am, but that (though they don't care) is a little bit reductive. I am a shape shifter. I traverse social groups, albeit not very adeptly or adroitly, but with knowing tact and wisdom that belies my years. Most kids my age don't know how to handle me. They are too wrapped up in their own heads to comprehend mine. But mine is a magical carnival, a light show of the first order. If only they could see.

I am depressed

I guess I forgot to mention that. It is kind of important, it colors over my consciousness, it confounds my soul. (I don't believe in souls). So there's that.

Still Hiding Something

I don't know from where I get the idea. But even after that last post, with all its details. I feel like there is some big secret that I am not sharing with you. Not shared out of any conscious intention, but hidden and inhibiting. The thing is, I want to tell you everything. I want this to be the intimate portrait of me that existed but never existed. Because, though I know that everyone is complex and unique and worthy of a novel, I want this to be mine. You are free to make yours. In fact, I encourage it. I just want to find my voice, here on this page, with these words, in this particular way.

But it still feels like there is something that I am not telling you. I'm not gay, if that's what you were thinking. I am quite sure of my heterosexuality, which, believe me, is something of a lifted burden. No, it's not that. It's something else.

I don't really know what to tell you. If anyone is listening, I could use some prompting.

Dire Posts Should Be Deleted

While they are valid, in that they do reflect my mood at the time, they do not represent the image, the digital face, that I wish to portray to the world. The image that I do want to portray, you may ask, is a clear and calm face, a face free of the lines that ravage mine, a faceless face that tells everything without a single image. A face made of words, and not a beautiful face either, a face marred by the ravages of time, these are the faces I wish to portray.

Once again, I must pause to reflect on the strange phenomenon that is my ability to be honest, on this blog, but not on any of the others that I have. And, I have started quite a few. I would tell you about them, but that would betray my anonymity, my precious shield against the world. I am not ready to give that up yet.

But, I am ready to tell you about my newest sex toy purchase. Finally, after weeks of waiting and a call to the company to inquire as to its whereabouts, my new anal probe arrived. And, I must admit, I did not accurately gague its size from the picture online or the given dimensions. Nonetheless, it is quite fun to use. Hopefully, with time I will be able to get the bulk of it in. For now, I am limited to the first few rungs.

If that bothers you, you might want to leave. This is a completely honest and transparent blog. Something that, in another age, would probably be kept as a diary, never revealed to anyone but its owner. But the times have changed, and I get a certain thrill from knowing that someone may read this and know of my life, in all it's dizzying and intimate details. That thought gives me great comfort.

I have been alone for a long while now. Not alone in the physical sense, but in the metaphysical sense—in the way that eats at my everyday consciousness and makes me feel that death is just around the corner, which he well may be. But the point is that these are merely the musing of someone who wishes to escape, for but a few words, into the tranquil bliss of confession, of voyeuristic intimacy with strangers, and, but for a while, feel their nameless bodies envelop my soul.

Change in Intention

I have decided, that, since my other blogs have been overtaken by my inability to honestly confess my deepest internal conflicts due to my parents' censure of my public persona, I will convert this blog into the confessional I had wanted my other blogs to be. I had wished that they (which had better names) could have served that necessary purpose, but, as the most important thing—I believe—that a blogger should be able to do is to be honest, compounded by the fact that I was unable to do this with my parents watching over my shoulder, I have deemed it necessary to change venues.
I do appologize for this lengthy prelude to the real subject matter of this post, of which I will deal with shortly, which is the state of relationships within my life, and, where possible, within the sphere of the dating world as a whole. I will not, however, presume to know anything about the state of the dating world, but will try to make some reasonable deductions from my observations. These will be, as is everything on the internet, open to the criticism of all who choose to volunteer it.
But, moving more quickly now, I wish to discuss several aspects of my life which are particularly pressing at this current day and time, realizing, as I do, that the importance of things within anyone's daily life vacillates as the shifting tide. That should not, however, serve to discount the importance. The world of human value does not depend on any objective standard.
These days, I find myself confronting a particularly daunting task, as well as the concurrent grim metaphysical connotations. The topic is my health.
I had always been told, and, for the majority of these reminders, this was probably true. But this narrative has collided with the grim truth that my health is (though thankfully not failing) or has deteriorated. I am now faced with a markedly high blood pressure, with depression, anxiety, and even with the attention deficit disorder I once believed myself free of. These problems, while not insurmountable, have nonetheless become a daunting challenge in my life. But, and herein is the fascinating aspect of this whole ordeal, despite these intrinsically physical problems, the problem that has challenged me the most is the challenge that these medical problems have posed to the worldview that I had always believed; that I was healthy. The mental and metaphysical ramifications of these problems on that worldview have been the single most challenging aspect of this whole ordeal. Even I, as I admit this, realize the frivolity of such a statement. The real challenge, I should objectively realize, is the medical problems themselves, not the "idea" of these problems. But yet, if I am honest, I had previously thought myself reconciled with the reality of my own death (the conclusion toward which these problems point). But as these new metaphysical concerns attest, I still harbor a vague myth of eternal well-being.

As a postscript and an addendum of sorts, I will add that I recently met with my psychiatrist, with whom I discussed my current difficulties, which I realize I have yet to elaborate. They are my current inability to accomplish anything scholastically substantial, a fact which is compounded by my vascillating mood and my sleeping difficulties. We agreed to start Wellbutrin and Atavan, Wellbutrin for the concentration and Atavan for the anxiety surrounding sleep.

I will, in the future elaborate further on the nature and extent of these problems, but for the moment I must retire. I hope that, if there is anyone reading this, that they be understanding in their judgement, and not too harsh in their censure.