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[This first bit of this is my own depression. In the depths of shit it’s nice to read about somebody else’s depths sometimes. If you don’t want to join the pity-party then scroll down to the bold to find Depression-starving ideas.]

don’t kid yourself!

Every moment was proof of my worthlessness. Every thought proof of my guilt. Every interaction a demonstration of the complete ominous nature of life. My future grew darker as I learned through irrational, yet completely convincing, thoughts to hate myself and the world more perfectly.

And then the light bulb went off, the answer loud and clear: kill yourself! Rid yourself of the the world and the shackles of society. One free act and forever my problems fixed.

But then I remembered that I’ll be dead anyway. So why worry about it? Live like you’re dying! Because you are! … Then back into depression.

When I was thrown into this stormy state of being I had just raised half a million dollars to manage in a fund I had just started. I had trade setups sure to bring me unlimited wealth in my life. I also had outlined and was bringing a team together to form SelfMadeU, the first business to provide a complete education on how to survive and thrive in this world without a college education. There would be an accompanying documentary I was sure would take the gold at Sundance. I graduated, took a well-paying job. Then it hit. A fucking critical hit because something snapped. Unable to do anything well – in my mind anyway – I thought the best course of action was to drop everything and fix the mind.

Well, it turns out depression doesn’t get ‘fixed’. I moved in with my divorcing parents and things went downhill quick. Into that sucky dark weighty abyss completely void of hope or trusted happiness (each smile is a ‘lie’). It’s shit and there is no way around that.

Nobody ever told me that becoming a man was more about feeling big boy pain (soul pain!) than killing wolves. Nobody sat me down and said, “Son, one day you are going to be hurt on a level that is unfathomable. One day everything you believe now is going to be shot in the face and you’re going to be left with an existential void that you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to figure out or forgetting.”

if only it were so obvious

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I always feel obligated. There are so many pressures and ‘shoulds’ and promises I made. They stack up so high and some get so subtle that it becomes impossible to do anything that I wasn’t obligated to do. I decided to start killing obligations. Bang boom kapow!

Is this really worth feeling anything?

You aren’t obligated to be on one side or the other. Every little girl feels the obligation to be that girl on Vogue. She hates herself because she’s not that alien with the blue eyes and boobs. Every Dove and mother in the world – fathers have been keeping quiet on this one – are outraged about this shit. It’s outrageous! People pay a lot of money to make you hate yourself enough to pay them to make you better. To close the gap between you and their carefully designed unreachable ideal. They use photoshop! It’s cheating! Bruce Willis’ girlfriend in Pulp Fiction said, “I don’t give a damn what men find attractive. It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.” You’re not obligated to look a specific way. But our two-party system of the fats and the skinnies is destroying any real  constructive body-discourse. The whole world demonizes the too-beautiful magazine people. BUT GOD DAMNIT THEY ARE PEOPLE TOO! Read the rest of this entry »

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