I want to make posting a habit, but making a post is just so damn hard for me to do. Writing isn't boring, I am just getting a major mental electric fence around the act of doing so, and trying basically melts my brain, giving me the feeling that I should crawl over to the nearest ditch and die. It is impossible to write coherently here and also have a point to say - I can't even bring myself to write an essay plan, because that too is an act which brings my ever-the-comedian brain into a huff, forcing me to sit and stare blankly at the white background of my blog post editor, wondering why I haven't written anything for the past fifteen minutes. You also may notice how my use of language is a lot less fluent. Blame this again! I am in a horrible depression right now, not one that causes me THAT much pain (a little above background estnihil pain), but one that is robbing me of all my humanly functions, reducing me to a mere animal.
Instead I guess I'll have another rambleathon here. Ramble ramble ramble, my life is a shambles. What I was thinking of doing, possibly to give me a break from writing which may actually be the cause of not being able to write at all, is to make an Antinatalist Required Reading List. Essentially just a big list of blog posts I find particularly relevant to antinatalism - which really will take a while, considering how much has been written by the various blogsphere inhabitants over the years. I'd do one on suicide as well, but the only blogger who has really delved into that topic is Sister Y, and I can't write an overview on just one blog - that seems oddly creepy to me, and I don't have a clue when it comes to what's Creepy Old Mildred and what's Sociable Sally, so I am guessing it is actually ultra-creepy to normal people.
I notice a lot of the time that I keep reusing old vocabulary. I can't stop saying really and actually and simply and other words. I can't find good synonyms for them either, which makes me as angry as a yeast cell suffering withdrawal whose wife has left him. Which is, not very angry at all. But it's the thought that counts. My alternative to committing such a travesty upon you all and speaking so predictably (though I don't want to be unpredictable as in "BLARG the cow is the green arthropod sex home") is probably going to require a lot of post rewriting, which is hard given the foggy cloudy windscreen smeared with faeces nature of my current depression.
I had completely forgotten until I read muflax's great* analogy for suicide and one's loved ones the fun of playing around with hypothetical situations. Well, not fun for me, but fun in the teeny tiny insignificant little me that must feel the tingles I get as full-blown emotions (whether or not this exists is up for debate, actually). I might try that again, but then again, SCREEN OF UNPRODUCTIVITY, SCREEN OF UNPRODUCTIVITY. I am blocked from learning programming, I am shut out from learning physics and the door is firmly locked when it comes to acquiring Japanese. Now I am partially banned from blog-posting, except it's just stuff that matters that's ceased. No big deal, hahaha. I really hate you, depression. In any case I envisage this situation as being locked out of the house but I can sort of halfway fit through the cat flap.
Right now the only time I am somewhat alive is when I write. I am officially a zombie when it comes to other things - especially school, and talking to people**. I just sleep, drag my feet across the ground, try not to cry out from the pain during class, go back home, go to sleep, and wait for the next kick in the balls the universe is so obviously planning. I never realised how bad things could be. I used to have sharp evil gashes to my chest whenever something bad happened, which was a lot, but nowadays I simply feel a constant, low-level dull pain that is never ending, except in sleep. But in the former case, I could actually feel some pleasure, and some feelings that weren't painful. I have been robbed.
I don't want things to end on such a depressing note so rainbows.
*There is that goddamn failure of vocabulary again. Can't fix this without also repairing my faulty broken brain. Did you know that I had actually wrote things far more poetic than what I have written for the entirety of last year? I can't do that anymore, because there is zero pleasure but tingles in anything I write now.
**I made a typo here originally as "poople". If I were not so depressed I would have laughed quite loudly at this, because that's what most people are.