so i have dysthymia. always have. it’s basically like this chronic fatigue depression, background sadness noise. normally i am very good at fighting and coming out of it and i think i’m pulling out now. i know i know oh my god shut the fuck up. i cannot believe the reactions i’ve been getting out of some assholes. suck it up and shut up is the general consensus. do you think i am fucking enjoying this? having a ball? the normal things i fill up my life with to distract myself from this just stopped working and i was forced to confront how miserable i am like everyday people. the rose coloured glasses permanently came off. my mid-twenties breakdown came a little late is all. i’ve been operating as a 21 year old for a long time now.
even though everyone thinks she’s a dink for that thing she wrote when that other author died, read elizabeth wurtzel’s depression-account of prozac nation. the entire book essentially is what lying under a very thick elizabethan dark dining hall rug feels like. you just lie down forever in your misery. it’s fucking brutal. a drunk is much like a depressed person. stubborn and stuck and there’s nothing you can do about it you just have to let it wear itself out. not even an intervention can shake it out of them. i have a few people in my life i cannot even tolerate they irritate me so much with their glum but their glum is the stupid and useless kind whereas me, at least i blog and share it with the world. i force myself out of it and produce piles of literary garbage everyday. whereas they just produce garbage. there was a point though where i couldn’t write at all, which is when i was on lithium. if you check my archives it’s all in there. nothing for days then one line about going to a movie and what i thought about one insignificant part of the film and that would be it and i’d stare at the computer for a solid hour and just sigh. mind completely blank and desperate. i lost myself to that medication. lately i felt like i was coming to that being again and that’s why i’ve been wigging out about it. that was the worst time of my fucking life.
this cowl scarf thing what amanda (mailing your tshirt when i get home) made and sent me helped. we had cottage weather in the city two nites ago. last nite too a little bit but not as bad as wednesday nite.
i drank a ton of tequila at reposado and then ron sexsmith showed up and kept me company. i heard that he is a very sad man. i didn’t tell him how sad i was we just sat. before he arrived a crew of suburban ossington freaks in denim arrived. all these lame people discovered ossington not too long ago and it’s turning into their little outsider night’s on the town disneyland i fucking hate it go away!!!! i feel partially responsible for helping that one suburban guy i was banging in on the secret. balls.
ron doesn’t even have a phone. well, he has a landline but no cellphone. i appreciated that as i punched his email into my blackberry. i had his email already in my gmail account but it’s one of those addresses that aren’t the person’s name so there is no way possible to dredge it out of the blackhole what is my contacts in that thing. i felt like the world was a very nice and small place having ron wedged in like a prisoner in the corner pocket of the reposado bar against the wall. a small place where there are no cellphones or contact to any other people and here is this talented famous sad musician being nice to me and no one even knows.
i was sitting with this bloke and i spied ron and i said to the guy do you like ron sexsmith? and he chortles out I LOVE RON SEXSMITH and i say oh hi ron and hug him at that exact moment the guy almost died right there it really was perfect. i told ron i think this guy has fallen in love with me. how terrible for him. you know when someone is falling in love with you and you are telling them how bleak everything is and they are just liking it more and more and you’re like fine if you’re in love with this person then here it is. i can’t control the effect i have on people. sometimes i am electric and lovely and my dark perspective on things, appealing. muse-like. i noticed that some people’s lives take interesting turns upon having ever met me.
i realised that i liked hanging out more with my dad than my own friends sometimes. i was worried we were going to have to discuss how miserable i am. he was good about it. classy and subtle.
i look like hell after work. speaking of, i had to deal with a real crazy straight off the bat first thing yesterday. he made me feel mentally ill. he was a drunk and i made a judgment call (oh yes smartserve passed with flying colours) and cut him off. then another girl had shots of tequila two at a time and forced me to kinda humiliate her on the patio in front of everyone that she had had enough. she was chatting up chris gostling and i was trying to make a face at him like dude watch out crazytown but then i figured he’d make that conclusion on his own so i went back to being slammed and serving people. oh right back to the suburban people at reposado wasting great tequila pounding shots like that. soo dumb! you sip and chase with that spicy tomato juice. better yet are the vodka soda orderers. you DO realise you’re in a tequila bar, yes?
so the crazy guy i had to cut off booze-wise was mostly his conversation i needed to cut off. i said i had to go into work-mode and we had to stop the topic of our conversation because it was exhausting me and i was relating too much. he wa a little manic. i’m pretty vulnerable right now also i enjoy doing roll-ups (cutlery) by myself so i can think about shit which is hard to do when a guy is laying his life history of mental illness out on the line for you. i wondered if it was of my job requirement to listen to this crap. no not really if it’s interfering with my work. then of course he gets all defensive and hurt and wounded and i’m like look buddy i just can’t talk right now. he asks for my blog and i say no and he goes well i thought it was out there in the public and free for all. yeah it is but i’d just like to exercise some boundaries and space between myself and customers. jesus give it a fucking rest. i’m getting angry now about it.
creme brulee sliders. vanilla dark choc and mango. dad barely helped me what a liar when i was ordering. they were delicious. de-fucking-licious. they’re not called sliders on the menu, that’s just my drive-by white-trashing. paradiso is supposed to have this chintzy high-end sheen to it, it always seemed so elusive to me as a kid. now i don’t give a fuck. don’t let snooty intimidate you. just stroll on in and start making demands. that’s how i do.
caught all the fireworks and beat it out of there before everyone else could get to their cars. ruled. then we came back here for pimm’s and backyard. i think it’s a little warmer out here though can’t know for sure. time to hit the backyard. xoxxo.
oh one more thing, zero tequila hangover. also, zero chambord hangover and i combined the two. tequila is a skinny booze i think too. bonus.
on the way home last nite i asked my dad if he at least had ice made (he does, thanks to me from last week) and i said oh yeah you have that bag of stoner ice. party ice. total stoner ice. i’m hoping to make that term catch on.
Nicky says, “Hi raymi, you probably don’t remember but i used to
email you every so often about 7 years ago, when
i was bored at my terrible call centre job. you even got
back to me a few times..
i just read your article in the NP and thought, gee i
wonder if she is on FB, and here we are ten
seconds later.
it must be nice to have the NP call you a notable
torontonian! kudos!
a friend of mine said they saw you at some awards show
at a table with BTO or something like that, they were
more excited to see you than everybody else at the table!
ha..
anyways, hope you are doing well for yourself and
now we can be FB friends if your up to it..
bye for now!
nicholas
ps – i just got out of jail <--kidding..........".
oh yes, the shirt. some things get rotated more frequently than others and then you are feeling picture-takey-posey then it’s like the only shirt you seem to wear.
my waiter was really hot and i felt like we had a “thing” going on between us but i couldn’t very well go over and be like um i am going to circle around again once we leave and pretend i left something here and slip you my number. should have though. now i’ll have to wait it out for some other time that will not happen and the guy probably won’t work there anymore. we were both wearing the same shade of blue shirt. we were both frauds.
virgin suicides vision. then i went on a crappy date with a guy and his weird shaped face. it was down to two guys, knew i wouldn’t like either of them. one wanted to go to reposado. i couldn’t be bothered to humour that guy anymore cos his hair was thinning too much so i last minute-cancel-swapped. the one i met up with was way too short. i am never meeting anyone else off that stupid fucking website. the free drinks and food isn’t worth it anymore. my time is too valuable, these dinks are just so exhausting. i can’t even muster up enough energy to exploit them here which is half the point of the “meeting”. i just look at them and think, he’s not him, why am i here. i also do not appreciate another round when i go to the bathroom and have already stated i was finished.
as much as i love eating i am sick of eating. and drinking. something that was at first such a joy and still is, is now seen as an, i dunno. there is something more right? it’s travel. all i see before me is night after night after night of dinner and wine and then bed and then rise. i am the worst company ever right now basically.
as if i’ll be able to resist doing this at work. drowning gelato in espresso. except we have just ice cream. so good.
this post was incredibly difficult to get up and i can’t even express why. i just feel weighted down. i regret yesterday’s post because i realize i won’t be able to shake these blues right away and it irritates me quite a bit. i also received a lot of nasty comments yesterday which appalled me. apparently i shine some joy on people (who sometimes need it) via this blog, you’d think the favour would be returned at some point or other and not shitty abuse. OMG YOU WANT ATTENTION YOU LIAR! i was accused of SO TOTALLY ASKING FOR ATTENTION when i said i didn’t want it because i left my comments on. please, if i knew my website nerd’s email off by heart i woulda written in a heartbeat to turn this shit off. i barely had time to even write that post, i just felt like i needed to get it out cos it’s my goddamn given right to express myself freely and this is my outlet. whatever it takes right?
If you knew how much I was actually hanging on by a fucking thread here I don’t think you’d say such (terrible) things.
I cannot even be completely miserable without getting shit on. Ever. Fuck you.
a comment i posted yesterday not sure if it went through.
i’m going to visit the skids in thunder bay next week once and for all.
yesterday was outright awful. i have not been that depressed in a super long time. i couldn’t even write about it, what do you say? i was actually a little scared by how sad i was. i thought this had better go away, will it? i felt adult and scared like no one can hold your hand out of it this time you have to just button down and pull through. sometimes i semi-enjoy being sad, sad and smug. smug because there’s only just a pinch of sad and i can see it lifting before it settles too long. but not this time. there was no enjoyment. i have never whined so much. or felt so embarrassed about it. just explaining my over-all lack of punch here. when i get to feeling this way i try to retreat and remove myself from everyone so they don’t have to witness it. i felt so desperate to get away from this funk though so i forced myself on my friends and dragged them down a little. al said to know that i, someone like me, gets depressed, well, it’s, depressing. exactly like that he said it. i just nodded a ton. i also hate that i am re-reading the bell jar right now cos i already felt sylvia plath sad so i’m thinking hopefully i’m not letting that seep into my psyche and imagining this grief.
summer really depresses me. at first it overjoys me then it kills me because i look around and go oh, i’m still stuck here. fantastic.
when i get this way a quick trip out of town does me wonders but i can’t even escape that way cos i have obligations every day this week so i am forced to confront how shitty i feel. i can’t run from it and i can’t run from me. when i ride my bike it cheers me up a bit. doesn’t last though. today work should be fine, good for me actually. too bad i am consumed by so much fucking stress though and a few loose ends to get to though i can’t because my day is filled and i went retard yesterday. was there something i could have done about that? i wonder if a normal person got sad like that once every ten years could they finish their work? lately i’ve been wondering a lot about sad and not sad people. it’s sad.
sucking it up now. BYE!
ps. i am NOT writing this for any attention whatsoever. just pretend i didn’t write it. it’s a means to get it out of my system so i can move on to being indifferent again. if i’d wanted emo attention i would have written this yesterday and titled it KILL MEEEEEEEEE I WANT TO DIIIIIIIIE and so on.
doctor seuss rainy afternoon. thing one and thing two afternoon. it just occurred to me that i associate rainy grey do nothing saturdays with children’s stories. i am a nostalgic child. terribly sentimental. it runs in the family.
it also occurred to me that i am lucky and borderline hedonistic. selfish and whiney. i have practically zero responsibilities aside from requiring money for rent and therefore working a few days a week, but really i have demanded of myself a life where there is ample room to do pretty much anything i want at the drop of a hat. someone else in my position might just fuck the dog a little harder (um sorry that figure of speech got a little out of hand)(rhonda my garbage truck mouth kills yours) and be a little more, lazy? self-indulgent?
the point is i just had one of those a-ha! moments i’m somewhat forcing upon myself to snap out of this bullshit funk that i am in. oh my god it is so tough sometimes, being resigned. it’s an awful way to be but it’s ok (SEE, being resigned again) bad shit just speed bumps off my head and i get over it quicker, that’s one bonus of being a depressed sort. when shit goes bad you do not wig out cos you’re always expecting it to be bad anyway and it kind of always is. when those lucky sod idiot types who are blessed to not know what depression waves are get dealt some bad luck they just crumple to fucking pieces. i almost love it in a way. well, i feel smug is all. like i could deal with that misery in a heartbeat many times better than you’re handling it you pussy.
and so, i think it’s humourous this life i have. my dad always says i WISH i had your problems kid. maybe i’m just not driven enough. or i am but too lazy to push it a little bit further. i feel like time is endless sometimes. or i’m filling it up with the wrong things. oh man is that ever the truth.
i think i am going to piss away the afternoon. i hear and see helicopters going overhead. it’s kind of interesting in a boring clipped should i be on edge about this manner. also, a little similar to 9/11 for me. yeah yeah we all know i was living in brooklyn at the time and i’m slightly demented now because of it. sorry maybe experiencing fighter jets in an urbane setting, kinda sorta hardcore? top gun off the top of my brownstone rooftop. you can see the wtc in the second photo of this post, i am 18 and i look like a mod dyke.
I’m sorry you’re so blue, and I’m sorry it’s raining. helicopters are an awful overlay to life, the ultimate sound of power and anxiety (the anxiety of power?). rattling disruption. things with this beast fellow sound like a heartbreak hanging fire and that makes me worry about you. that tumblog is wrenching.
She slumps onto the couch; hot, hungry and exhausted from a hard day at work followed by a strenuous cardio session at the gym. Only two kilograms to go…then maybe she can fit into those size six jeans that call her name every time she walks into that iconic fashion store on the main street. Two hours of her day today was consumed by running, cycling and rowing, followed by a simple salad in a lame attempt to satiate her starvation. Let’s call her Madeline. She is thriving to be the image of perfection in a huge proportion of today’s world – slim, gorgeous and wanted.
Sarah, what the…? What are you ranting about this time? Well, as a matter of fact, I got sunburnt yesterday. I just couldn’t help it! The outside world was sunny and warm with the slightest breeze, it created the ultimate place to relax and recuperate between all the hard work I was doing… Who could pass the sunshine up?! My arms and face have been a little, well, stung today, which indeed has put a real downer on things. But then I thought “Wow, I really need to get a tan, I can’t possibly let my snow white limbs be seen by the public eye”. It has since occurred to me that there are just so many things wrong with that harmless thought that made its way down the path of my mind in the way that any rational thought would have done. That thought sent a massive proportion of my world into an even tighter downward thought spiral.
I know, it’s true. I have a very fair complexion, and being as ‘white’ as I am is just not seen as fashionable, or dare I say it, sexy, in the world we live in. So I genuinely need a tan. I would like to develop a nice, natural (as opposed to fake) sun-kissed glow. And this frustrates me to no end. As Summer approaches, tiny girls will wander around in little shorts and midriff tops – and this scene will become so abundant you simply stop noticing…but whether you pay attention or not, these tiny girls are still likely to have bleached blonde hair and solarium orange skin. This over-tanned, celebrity wannabe look is sought after by too many of the women that inhabit the generation I belong in. I do not find it attractive or glamorous at all.
But people do. They must! Otherwise WHY would they all continue to pursue this look after more than just one summer, so we can’t simply fob it off as another fashion mistake?
Why does this annoy me so much, I hear you quietly ponder? Well, let me explain to you. I’m annoyed that body image is so important to such a large percentage of the Western society – more important than say, one’s own health. Like our friend Madeline – she is not the only girl that puts herself through that torture. Look around you. Sure, there are as many average people as there are gym goers, or health buffs, if not more. But being ‘average’ does not have the potential to consume you completely. It may be easier to live, but who wants to be just another person when there is the chance out there to rise above ‘average’, to become beauty in human form? How could you possibly be happy with yourself? Beauty envelopes all of us in the forms of things we actively consume – namely TV, music, and movies. There are superstars and models and just simply gorgeous people out there, living the red carpet life, and we all know it is far, far from the glamorous beautiful world they try to make us believe in.
There is a not so fine line between the amount you care about how you look and the lifestyle you live. I respect that everybody is different, but those of you that have overstepped the line just annoy me. It’s the human race in general that I’m at my wits end with. It’s not okay (healthy) to want to be like darling Madeline, and count every individual calorie you intake only to make sure you cycle off twice as many, because you need to lose just two more kilograms. Nor is it okay (healthy) to be 120kg and choose pizza with garlic bread and a can of coke for dinner because you don’t care about the way you look. Mate, seriously, what about your heart and your liver and your cholesterol levels? This is how people die every single day! The problem is, in my eyes, the not-so-fine line exists completely isolated and alone under the world’s bright lights in an over-crowded place, because so many people avoid it and make it invisible. As much as TV, magazines, and other forms of media advertise their beliefs that they are over rake thin women, and that bigger certainly is better, I find an alarming contradiction when I turn the page to see Mischa Barton “looking sexier than ever” – gaunt features, sharp angles and all. How can society be so obsessed with this look? It doesn’t matter as it’s basically the higher power these days.
I believe I have a fairly sound understanding of the way it all works, and of everything that eventuates out of everything else. I appear confident and comfortable enough with my image/weight to live my life with a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. But I’ve fought my own evil demons – that mentality that I’m not pretty enough, or I’m too fat, or my legs aren’t long enough for me to be beautiful since before I can remember. I have, for lack of a better term, ‘come of age’ in the last 4-5 years. In this period I have gained seven kilograms, lost about seventeen, and then gained about nine. If it wasn’t for my loved ones constantly instilling me with self confidence, combined with my almost anal eating habits, those demons would surely be red hot and most likely endeavouring to devour my entire persona. I’m just like everybody else out there that cares about the way they look more than they should. I’ll never stop. And there’s not a whole lot I can do about that and be happy simultaneously. Call it a religion, if you like, or just think of it as teetering on the edge of the not-so-fine line. It’s ultimately my higher power. I have found the balance and realised that to abuse this power by either treating it or tormenting it is going to end badly…it’s all about compromise.
All in all, Somebody needs to flip the coin and have it land sideways, as this discussion has two very clear, very defined sides. And if you aren’t the sideways landed coin, you’re clearly, obviously heads or tails. Nobody wins. Nobody loses, either. Think about it, decide for yourself what side has the better argument. And let me know.
No digging, I have no opinion of you. I don’t know you, so why should I be entitled to?
