Catharsis, hopefully...

Mother fucking shit fucker bitch cock shit eating fucker dick...

Ok. A little better.

Am I depressed? Are we all? Am I a little over-dramatic sonofabitch? Probably. That's the conclusion I always come to when I really hit bottom. Just a sheltered boy experiencing a little hardship for once. Then I just attribute it to being in a bad mood. What the fuck is depression anyway? Socially-constructed? Yes. Very appealing? For god-damn sure. Oh man, don't we all want to have some label to place on our problems? I am so against that, but it's so fucking appealing. I just want to KNOW what's wrong with me, according to a book based on some arbitrary symptoms. Then I can feel satisfied. "Oh, I have depression. I'll be all better if I just take one of these little pills every day." It seems so much better than having to live with uncertaintly; being faced with the question of whether or not you're just a weak person, or if it's some outside force, like a lack of chemical in your body, is so troubling. Us Americans sure do love certainty. I like to think I'm better than most Americans sometimes. Well, fuck me, I'm just as bad. Americans love certainty- we like units - we like hot dogs - we like processed patties on a bun - we like subs - we like triangles of pizza - we like our numbness packaged in little capsules containing 20 milligrams of godknowswhat. Am I any different? Who knows? Who the fuck cares?

If I went to see someone, maybe they'd tell me I'm fucked up. I've just been really good at pretending I'm happy to myself and those around me. This way of life isn't normal. ISN'T NORMAL. Just swallow this and everything will be ok. Or maybe they'd tell me that it's just a stage. YOU'LL OUTGROW IT. I don't trust their opinion though. What the fuck do they know, placing their subjective judgements on me based on some book that relies on some arbitrary symptoms. "Yes, you have 6 out of the 9 symptoms. You are officially depressed." OR "No, sorry, you only have 5 out of the 9, you're normal." Seems ridiculous. Still I want easy answers.

Am I just good at hiding it? Am I usually happy, and just slip into bad moods? Am I in a fucking dumb senior-in-college phase? I'll never know. Doctors will never know. Counselors will never know. No one really gives a damn, and it doesn't really matter in my existence that is a blink of Time's eye.

I have nothing to believe in. Everything seems so be perpetually "up in the air." Nothing is close enough to me to really grasp. Even my djembe comes in-and-out of my interest. I get little surges of interest in things for a day or a month, and then they quickly fade, when I see through the "facade." How can I expect myself to put any effort into anything, when I can't even find something that I really want to do. I desperately want to be passionate about something; to give anything my all. No matter how ridiculous the cause, I want to believe in something, but I can't hold onto something for more than a day, or a week, or a month. Everything is transient to me; everything is just yesterday's trite bullshit re-hashed. I can't put effort into anything- my schoolwork, my research, my relationship, my friendships, my family. There is just a constant force pushing against any productivity in these areas. When it comes down to a crucial point in which I need to "do or die" in a sense, I push through and get it done. But most of the time, things just seem to far away. And belief is a foreign concept. Maybe is always appealing, because "no" is too harsh. Here's a poem I wrote in class a while ago:

Maybe

Maybe
May
Be.
May
Be.
May
Be.

May.

Be.


I don't know what to do with my life. I don't know what to do with my fucking week. Getting a PhD is such a huge commitment, and I can't do it without really knowing that I want to be a psychologist. It's interesting sometimes, but I have my doubts. Maybe, again.

Apparently, there's one last resort before I ask someone to tell me if I'm chemically-deficient or not: I can go talk to my dean, who may set me on the right track. More easy answers...

Who though of catharsis anyway? Freud? Maybe...