Prostrate the Beast.

I’ve been grappling with some severe sadness these past few days. I woke up early yesterday. Well. Maybe not early, but definitely earlier. I woke up feeling no desire to do anything. I don’t even understand myself how I can feel so overwhelmed. I don’t think overwhelmed is the right word for it anymore, that feels unfair to people that have heavier workloads. Of course, that doesn’t acknowledge my own mental struggles as valid. That seems to be a common theme with me, feeling like my own feelings aren’t “worth” the situations that wrought them. In doing so, I think it causes some of the feelings of worthlessness and related negative emotions.

Now and then, I think, “Depression? Nah.” But the reoccurrances remind me that this won’t be conquered easily.

At the same time, as I like to put it, thinking about depression is depressing. Focusing on how bad I feel doesn’t lend itself to recovery. Of course, part of the essence of any variation of depression is the difficulty in thinking or feeling positive. That’s why I write down whenever I feel good or positive or like I actually believe in myself. I write it down to remind myself that I can feel like that. I hope that someday I’ll write something that will be like a trump card, something that can inspire me out of the well I tend to find myself in.

(Pun intended.)

I went to class this week. I write this down because I refuse to be one of those people who starts skipping class. It’s never been a problem with understanding material. I have issues finding a rhythm in terms of when I do the outside-of-class material. I feel like this semester’s rhythm will be dramatically different from any other that has passed. I’ve been in college, what, six years now? Every year gets harder than the previous in terms of being motivated. Sad that I was probably most mentally secure and able my first year of Rutgers. I did okay my first year at CCM, but.

No, seriously. My first year at Rutgers, I fucking camped at the library until 1 AM. It was awesome.

I’ve already nearly had an implosion in my speech class. Yes, the one I’m repeating. The material, I don’t give a shit about. What matters are the speeches. In fact, I haven’t been able to read a single page for any of my classes. My eyes wander. I can’t focus. That’s been a problem over the years that has just gotten worse and worse. But. But! I had an inspiration for my first speech. We’re supposed to do something past/present/future. I hate talking about myself to strangers. (Ironic.) I was being really self-depreciating to Jessica Emsley, talking about how I have no idea what I want to do with myself. Suddenly, it clicked. I decided that should be my overriding theme, and to just run with it. My past, present, and future are very much infected by the fact that I don’t know what to do with myself.

I remember when I saw someone at Rutgers regarding time management. I felt so retarded. The result was that I was told that I have the time, it’s there partitioned out. I just need to do it. And setting hard times when I do specific things REALLY STRESSES ME OUT. That’s why I’m not one of those people who has agenda books. It really stresses me out to write things down. It’s retarded, but that’s how I am. Of course, at the same time, the first step towards working on something is thinking about it. Meh, I’m confusing.

(My point in bringing that up is that my experience with asking for help has been feeling humiliated and stupid. My therapist at Rutgers was nice. Oh, she was great. But it’s such a bitch to break in a new therapist, I really don’t want to go through that right now.)

I need to stay positive. I need to stay positive. Thinking about how sad I feel and how I’m fucking up “again” won’t get me anymore. It makes me feel like a drama ho. Which makes me want to put myself down further. Ha ha.

Maybe I’m just lonely. It really is entirely possible. I’ve known I have issues feeling loved, or remembering that people love me. And while it’s not all that intimate, work and gaming club suffice in terms of superficial socialization. It’s meant to be like a distraction.

I don’t like the idea of distracting myself out of a bad mood, only to have it relapse if I’m not constantly vigilant on it. I mean. I guess when I started battling all these demons in me, I hoped I’d someday just be happy and not have to worry about it. Yet when I let up for just a little bit like in the past couple weeks, man, it’s like I’ve made no progress at all. It’s disheartening. “This again?”

Like I’ve realized recently, I can manage to be not-sad, but it’s rare that I’m happy. Related to that, I noticed that the only times I’ve had some facade of happiness has been when I’ve had a female around. I don’t like the idea that I need a female to be happy. Don’t we have to be independently happy? Shouldn’t we? Meh.

I didn’t think I had that much to write out. Guess my mind’s been at war more than I realized.

Hrm. I’m reminded of something. I was pretty lonely at Rutgers. But I remember part of what got me through. Carolyn reminded me that she’s my friend and that she loves me. I remember it becoming somewhat of an internal mantra for me. I should remind her of that when I email her next.

I’m slowly starting to take control of my sleep. As in, how I’ve been sleeping 10 – 12 hours a night. That’s just excessive. What’s bad is I haven’t been waking up rested. I remember that I started sleeping better when I was a bit more active. Fancy that, what’s been missing since I got sick? I’m hoping that once I start lifting regularly again and start pushing myself a bit more during my waking hours, I’ll sleep better.

I find I feel worst first thing in the morning. It is so incredibly hard to get going. I want to start eating again. (As if I’ve stopped eating, I just mean eating “more”, as opposed to when I was sick.) I’ve dropped around seven pounds. Like I’ve said, if anything life-threatening were to happen to me, I’d last a while thanks to all these extra pounds I’ve packed on.

But anyway, first thing in the morning. I have to find some way to make myself feel good first thing in the morning. Or, at the very least, some way to automate my mornings so I can get out the door. I said to someone today how having all my classes after noon is throwing me off. I said to someone else how I wished our 4-hour evening lecture was in the morning. I’m thinking of trying something completely different and utilizing morning hours more. Because if I can accomplish something first thing in the morning, it’ll make me feel better for the rest of the day. Even if it’s something small. That’s why lifting in the morning always makes me feel better, in part because it means I got up. I hate that feeling of it being noon and realizing I haven’t done a goddamned thing.

My sex drive is down. Noooooeeezz.

I’ve decided to stop writing exerbabbles after every single workout. Because.. I .. feel like it? Having numbers to look back upon is mildly redundant for some workouts. I initially started doing it because I wanted to look back at my early workouts and see if I could learn anything. I’m past that point. If anything, I end up annotating what fine asses I saw at the gym. Nobody reads them, so, well, whatever. I think I’m better off annotating weight/rep increases at the end of a cycle. You know, progress. Otherwise, I still have all my carbon copies, and those are pretty easy to look through.

I’ve written in my carbon journal in consecutive days for the first time in ages. My thoughts feel more intimate there. I’ve been journalling for so many years that there’s something sacred about what’s written in pen. It reminds me that I’m focusing on myself. I like writing in there with the knowledge that I will reread it in the future, looking for perspective of the past. As I’ve been writing more online, I have only bits and pieces in there. Of course, as we know, I’m intensely more verbose with a keyboard. :: points at entry ::

Right now, I feel okay. Chin up, Timmy.