(Planned titled: “Toastchee #33: The Inevitable Revenge of Celine Dion”)

But I had technical problems. So the world is spared from that. The world is not spared from this, however, another instance of not-quite-random historical journaling from time in the distant or not-so-distant past, I really cannot divulge…

I came down with one of those old-fashioned depressions tonight. For nearly a month, I’ve been looking forward to […] I thought it would be a great chance to better connect with […]. I even got there an hour early […] to help set up. […] Now, I know it’s doubtful anyone gave my arrival much thought, and they were glad to have some extra help, but I felt like I was crashing something […]

I did speak to a few people, some of whom I had met before and some of whom I hadn’t. But after the event officially began […] and the crowd gradually grew, I felt more and more alone. Then came the point when I realized that I was at a party of happy people, and I seemed to be the alone person alone not enjoying himself. This is a scenario that’s been playing itself out for […] years, albeit not recently. What made this worse than some other similar situations was that I actually wanted to meet the people at this party. But not one cell of my body felt compelled to try to talk to people (or, rather, I needed another billion or so cells to feel compelled). […] asked at one point if I was doing alright. I gave a perfunctory, “Yeah”. I knew very well that I was projecting a brooding and withdrawn image, and I really tried my best to squash this. Years ago, I would have purposely failed to fight this presentation with the unrealistic hope that…someone would come “rescue” me, yada yada yada. Today, I accept that projecting my raw emotions (even silently as I do) only decreases the chances of having any meaningful social interaction. In the past, before I had learned this lesson, my abject disappointment over no one attempting to reach me made me feel even worse. Today, knowing that I have to try to put on an act, and then to still not have any meaningful social interaction, well, that makes me feel worse to.

The point is… (emphasis used, in case you got tired of reading the paragraph and skipped to down here) is that I left […] feeling lousy.

And I felt and still feel lousy despite having [..ensured myself of future social activities…] …trying to pole vault over the normal process of making friends and becoming a part of a community. I wish I could’ve come to the event tonight and said an emphatic “HEY!” as I saw people I knew. I wish I were really part of this gang […]. That takes time, though. I’m in a bit of a hurry. […]

And in addition to the usual social-anxiety-turned-depression, I feel lousy because […] It’s not debatable that a guy who comes to a party by himself and then walks around from point to point without really talking to anyone is kinda creepy.

Toastchee #32: Brief Rumination On Purpose-Seeking

From one of those old journal entries from a long, long time ago…

Subject: I need a purpose

That’s all. A passion. A purpose. Whatever. I like the shirt I’m wearing today. This is just a random comment. I will write stream-of-consciousness while I kill some of the 100 minutes I have left this afternoon. Nifty shirt, really. Long-sleeve, button-down, verticals stripes in several tones of blue, some cream color. I know not how to describe anything. […] I have no idea what my “style” is these days. I used to dress well in high school and early in college, when Mom still bought my clothes. As grueling as those trips to the outlet mall with her were, she did delight in finding good deals on clothes that looked good on me. And she knew colors, which I never have, since I have red-green colorblindness [did I ever mention that]. […] Stupidest lyric ever-Sometimes the snow comes down in June, sometimes the sun goes round the moon

No one will ever read a long ramble if it is not broken down into paragraphs.

Why do I care if anyone reads? Oh, Dave, we’ve been through this before. Well, remind me. Hmmm…it’s nice not to think one’s life is lived in a vacuum. I don’t need feedback. I just feel so desperately alone, and anything I can do to counter that is useful, even an incoherent ramble such as this.

Nothing on tap tonight or for the weekend, other than […] to celebrate […]’s birthday.

Toastie Plays The ‘This Was Written A Long Time Ago So Don’t Get Freaked Out’ Game

As I did a few weeks ago, I’m pasting in an old journal entry, with some stuff censored so as not to reveal sensitive details. I can’t quite articulate why, on Novemer 30, 2008, it is important for me to share this.

If there were, hypothetically, 100 chemical conditions in the human brain that were necessary for one to act on suicidal thoughts, I’ve got most of them. I’ll never have all of them. So no worries. I am not going to kill myself…

That being said, I can so understand why others do. I’m in one of those 10/10 depressions now. There is no way out of it other than time. I will get to sleep eventually tonight, and I’ll probably be down to an 8 or a 6 or a 4 or a 2 when I awake after an extended sleep session sometime around noon or so.

At the moment, though, what does a 10/10 feel like?

Like I wish I could somehow let the world know that I almost wish I were dead, and that letting the world know would cause someone to be able to do something about it. Thing is, I know no one can do anything. My therapist can’t do anything. I called X earlier tonight, when I had had a fair amount to drink at […] and sat in a parking lot pondering what stupid thing I might do next. I don’t really think I needed to call X to prevent me from doing anything stupid. X had no magic words. And as I tell X when X asks me a question like, “Why is it that you suppose you don’t cry here [in session]?” and I say that I pay X. Even if X cares about me, it’s all based on me paying for the service of having X listen. It’s not much different than paying a prostitute for physical intimacy. You pay a therapist to listen to you. It’s not “real”. I don’t break down and cry in front of my therapist because, ultimately, if I stop paying X, X is not going to be there to listen to me anymore.

Anyway…I have no emailed or called anyone else tonight to vent to..there is no one.

I have stared at my computer, tabbed back and forth between […] and […], trying to figure out some one who’d be able to…I don’t f*cking know…there is no one….

I was going to try to explain what 10/10 depression was like…
– The almost wanting to kill self
– Hating self
– Seeing no hope for meaningful improvement
– Inability to do anything else other than ruminate on the depression
– The weight of every sadness, failure, disappointment…it all seems unbearable

This is my life, much of the time. Very few people understand this. No one can do anything about it.

Absence Of Joy

Here’s the exercise:

I take a personal journal writing written sometime in the past…let’s say the past eight years…and I publish it here. I blur out a few specifics so as to avoid any potential awkwardness. The “fun” in this little exercise is that I get to write something I’d never write publicly, since through the filters of time and blurring, I’m…hypothetically…reducing potential awkwardness.

Who am I kidding? This is awkward stuff. Fun? Not quite.

Again, the intention is to purposefully eliminate all context clues. I don’t intend to reveal when it was written, in what context, and what, if any, relevance it has to me today.

Don’t ever read —– —— again. It makes you want to kill yourself. Violently. Bullet to brain.


You are reminded how next-to-impossible it is that you will ever enjoy life a fraction of the amount that —– has. You will not love and have a soul mate and have tremendous amounts of fun and passion and joy. These are things you may have dreamt of for many years and thought within your grasp, but it is apparent now that these are fantasies that will never be part of your reality.

You have pets who will lay next to you on the couch.

You have friends who will be there for you when you are in dire need of assistance.

You have family who love you even if they do not know how to show it.

But, for the most part, you are alone. Mostly suffering. Absent of joy.

But there is not much else. I am, for the most part, alone. I am, for the most part, suffering. My life, for the most part, is devoid of joy.

The catch-22 of such a predicament is that to attract others to me, I must feign an existence and a persona, which I am unable to do for any extended period. In the absence of putting on airs, I am unredeemably toxic.

People mask their own role in their rejection by citing my need for self-love and self-acceptance as a prerequisite for anyone else giving a damn. I think what they are really saying is, “If you liked yourself more, you wouldn’t be so upset that I don’t”.

LJ WayBackMachine: Laid Off

It’s always a barrel of lemurs to look back at old protected journal entries…

August 31, 2004

All of the anxiety over whether I’d ever get a raise, all of the rants about the noise, all of the frustration over a job I couldn’t stand 80% of the time…it’s all over. It’s all over, because I’ve been laid off. Investment money has not come in. The cash flow situation is dire. I was expendable.

The good news…yes, there is good news, although everything is just a numb, surreal mess in my mind at the moment, is that I will get two weeks of severance pay, so I have two weeks to look for a job while still getting paid (although I’m pretty much broke until next pay check already). And T is going to use his contacts to help me find a Remedy contract gig, as much I can’t conjure much enthusiasm for a Remedy contract gig. Within DAYS or a week or two, I could find myself off in another city for three months or six months or indefinitely, cats in tow, any notions of stability here in NC shattered. And that’s almost a BEST case scenario. Worst case, I find nothing and start working at low-paying jobs to scrape by.

Good times, huh? I’ve got a few thousand more stories to share. I’ll spare the world them for now, although it is closing on the timeframe to restart up the toastie97 site (15th anniversary celebration, after all…)