Josh and Depression Vs. The World: Day 86

Sundays give me the free time to worry about Monday morning. I’m contemplating getting another job just so I can vary my anxiety.

I had a profound conversation last night where I received the following advice: purge the trauma that has caused the depression through writing and performing. So I’d better start from the beginning.

Conception – I don’t actually remember any of this, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the sperm that fertilized the egg went through survivor’s guilt.

I have been told that I cried a lot when I was a baby – and that the reason could have been because I was lactose intolerant, and it took everybody some time to realize it. So the root of my depression is my failure to digest ice cream. Hence, there is no cure for depression.

I’m tired of being told that I should be optimistic. I know this is a departure from the theme, but I can’t get this out of my head. I’m reading this article about how people should teach their children to be more optimistic. If somebody is optimistic or pessimistic, doesn’t mean that they are not currently doing anything? If I have time to think about whether or not the glass is half full or half empty, the one thing I am not doing is something constructive, like filling the glass with alcohol.

So instead of being pessimistic or optimistic, do something! That’s the only thing that helps me. I go do something.

Sometimes I ask myself “what would I be doing right now if I were not depressed,” and then I would do that (the answer is sex, so I obviously can’t do that – I have to go with the next best thing, which is sugar and processed white flour).

I’m suddenly feeling fatigue. Which means that I am close to an emotional breakthrough – yes, what was the emotional cause of my depression – where did that begin?

It began when I started to want things. Success, achievement, love from an outside source. Before that, I was perfectly content to play with my M.A.S.K. Toys – including the red car that turned into a plane by simply having gull-wing doors. I was too young to worry about the real-world physics of this vehicle.

Thinking about the past like this irritates me – it’s the past. Whatever it is that I was, I am now what I am, and it is what it is. I have to accept that first, before things change.

I am afraid. Constantly afraid. Of everything and anything. As soon as the fear of one thing lifts, the fear of something else takes it’s place. My fears are like Starbucks promotions – there’s always a new one just around the corner. And I’m dreading whatever fear is represented by the Pumpkin Spice Latte.

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