Look, I’m fresh outta fucks to give. No, it’s not you or the thing we’re talking about. It’s just that – well, let me put it like this. I can’t see a future right now. Like,any future, good or bad. I can’t plan anything beyond the next five minutes. So I can’t really take in what you’re saying. Instead I’m just gonna shrug and hope I go back to normal real quick. That’s the plan.
Tag: bipolar disorder
Limerent
What is this feeling, welling up inside of me?
I wonder how much we share, what we have in common, and if that’s enough to start a conversation.
I must know more about you—your wants, your likes, your interests.What you think of me, if you think of me.
My hands shake a bit as I think about that, echoing the slight tremor in my heart as you turn my way.
Is this it? Do I tell you how I feel? And will you do me the sublime honor of reciprocating this glowing, effervescent fixation I have for you?
Also, what’s your name?
This Is A Game Worth Losing
I just lost The Game. And so did you. Oh you don’t know about The Game? To learn about The Game, click here.
Put simply, The Game is impossible to win.
I could view playing The Game as a negative scenario, a reflection of the inevitable futility of the human condition. I mean, in the grand scheme, everything we struggle for means nothing, and in 100 years our names will be as dust.
BUt when winning isn’t an option, the outcome doesn’t matter. And that makes s the games we play matter a hundred times more than the outcome.
So, which games are worth losing?
Today, I choose living. I will lose, eventually . But I’ll play because I enjoy it.
Obvious Fucking Statements
Right, let’s cut the funny business, okay? I know you expect me to be all happy and laughy, or failing that maybe sarcastic and knowing, but I’m fresh out of fucks to give. All I’ve got is bile.
No it’s not depression. No it’s not hypomania. Not it’s not one of the hundred labels people use to cover something fucking uncomfortable.
It’s anger turned sideways—not aimed inwards, not aimed outwards, just spurting steaming syllables at things and events in an attempt to avoid lasting collateral damage.
Yes, I know you’re just trying to help. Try being less obvious.
Staring At The Wall
This isn’t a case of feeling sad. This isn’t sadness at all. Not melancholia, nor despair—it’s an absence of feels.
I get why you’d think that. There’s no smiles or laughing. Interaction is at a minimum. From the outside, it looks like sadness, or perhaps regret. There’s a lot of sighing.
But it’s just blankness. Nothing registers. Not much you can do about it now. Just gotta get through it. Wait for the brain chemicals to come back, wait for things to start functioning again.
But how am I gonna do that? I can’t really talk to people. Not like this. Can’t read. TV is too hard. Even video games are pushing it.
Nope. There’s only one way forward.
I’m gonna sit very still and stare the hell out of some walls, ya’ll.