RIP This Blog Dood, saving my personal stuff for Skype, Tumblr messages, friend times, and my personal journals.
I don’t think this tumblr has ever really been emotionally healthy for me. It’s time to bye bye.
Always blogging (and more frequently, as a matter of fact) at deadandimmortal.tumblr.
Today is one of those days where I am screaming on the inside.
Never before have I attempted to write, like, three articles in a row.
I guess this is what happens when I forget to take my meds for a couple of days!
I have self-worth issues. I feel like I don’t deserve a lot of things.
I almost started at comedy web series with one of my favorite comedians working today. That fell through.
Today, I was rejected from a position at the a/v club.
Both of these gigs, I felt like I was taking a chance even thinking of doing them. “I’m not ready yet. I’m not deserving.”
I might soon be in talks for one more unreal gig. I still have hope. I realize a lot of my career will be nearly missing great opportunities.
But, tonight? Tonight I drink.
Things I’m Afraid to Tweet.
Hand sex is like a wet high five.
- Got a contact to possibly work on a Major Motion Picture in Chicago this month.
- Landed an interview to possibly be a Person on a Thing that would be in the City and, oh my gosh, I’m being vague because of paranoia, but if I get this, oh my goodness, you guys, I’d be the happiest shit in the whole world.
Work or Something
(TW: Suicide/Suicidal Ideation)
I was talking to a friend last night. They surprised me, because I was expecting a phone call from the doctor’s office who’s calls I’ve unintentionally avoided regarding me paying them. Oh well!
So, this friend and I. We started talking about suicide. They talked about the single thing that comforts them is the fact that, at any moment, at any single moment, it could all be over and nothing would matter. It just ends and that’s it; everything’s for nought.
I am the opposite. As soon as I get any inkling of the idea that what I, personally, am doing, is pointless, that I have nothing to show for how I lived, I begin mentally walking down a path where I go into depressive thoughts about how I am worthless. For me, death is not really comforting, because, in my heart of hearts, I worry that death is all darkness but still a sort of consciousness, and I fear that I’ll spend eternity in darkness thinking “I was worthless. What a waste.”
Which, you know, makes me question why I’m already planning so much work on what will be my “vacation.” I want to do some work on my next script, I’m planning to blog about the films I see, and, while I’m thinking “Ahhhh, vacation!” I’m also thinking “Oh, shit. I’m probably gonna be panicking about not doing shit like I always do.”
I wish I could win against myself, is the point here.
Since Friday, there has been anywhere from 3-9 people in apartment at any given moment. There has been close to zero floorspace. I have been relegated to my bed at all times when I have been in the apartment.
I have been stressed about money and space and sweat and cleaning things.
But, then, in a very small way, I just kind of cracked. I currently don’t care. It’d be nice if I could be this way all the time, but I feel like then I’d never be responsible. It is as if the anxiety keeps me in check.
Something I need to work on.