So, I know this is weird, but I was thinking about how everybody nowadays is mentally ill to one degree or another, and I started to wonder if it's always been like this. Have people always been this depressed? Did they just not talk about it?

Like back in the days of the Great Depression, don't you think people were pretty fucking depressed? It makes me wonder what the suicide rate was back then. Would you wake up one morning, look around your dust bowl and decide to just off yourself?

And farther back than that, even. Back to the ancient times, when life was really tough. Weren't those people depressed? How did the human race even survive, I wonder. How could they bare their own existence?

I said it was weird.

Sassy, Becky, Jess and Alan- thank you for your comments. I can't adequately express (having trouble with that lately) what it means to me, but it means a lot.

I apologize that it's been so long since that last post. I've been trying to catch up on everyone else's blogs. I go to leave a comment but whatever I'm about to type will suddenly sound to me like the stupidest thing in the entire world so I don't comment.

I don't know what's wrong with me.

That's it. That's all I got.

Friday Suck Fest

Last night I dreamed about an old friend who isn't a friend anymore. She hasn't spoken to me in seven years.

But in my dream we were hanging out, or trying to. Trying to escape parents that we never had in real life, so that we could run amok.

I have no hopes, false or otherwise, that this person will ever be my friend again so I wish very much that I would stop dreaming about her.

It's been seven years. That's long enough for hope to die, isn't it?

I feel real fucked up lately. I feel like it doesn't really matter what I do or say because I'm just going to fuck it up.

It feels like, the people who need me, would be better off without me because I'm just going to fuck them up.

I feel like there was one person in this world who wanted me, needed me, protected me and that person is dead now.

And has been dead.

I feel like it must be nice to be in your twenties, or thirties, or forties, or even your fifties and still have one or both of your parents left alive.

That is, if your parents are or were worth a shit.

If they're not worth a shit, does it matter?

Peoples definitions of what a shit is worth varies.

To me, it's not worth much.

I don't have anything, and yet, I have it all.

But I don't deserve it.

I'm the one that's not worth a shit, I know this, I know this.

I don't know what I'm waiting for.