2017-06-16 - 9:48 p.m.
Jack Is Never Okay
I am never okay. Not for any mentally stable length of time anyway. Most of the time the highs are just as whimsically unstable as the lows. None of it is fucking real, solid, healthy, sane or normal. Nothing I feel is grounded.
When I was taking Abilify I began feeling like none of my thoughts or emotions were even real. I was just bad brain chemistry. Maybe it's true.
I am never fucking okay.
And I am sick of people asking.
Both the social butt sniffers who don't actually care and the close at a distance ones who just want a happy answer. A happy answer that I don't fucking have.
You know, the ones who have no fucking idea what's really going on and could not handle the truth. They really do love you. Even if they actually don't even know you.
Anymore I fucking hate the question so how are you? How have you been?
You don't want to know.
One of the reasons I hate this question is I hate lying.
If you don't have anything nice to say, but do not have the option of not saying anything at all, what do you do?
Most of the time I answer in short polite cliches, dead end stonewall statements then make it all about you. People love talking about themselves and I am a good listener. I remember everything.
I have my clever little social maneuvers. The thing is can you really keep this up for years? Forever?
People are going to start seriously wondering why they never get a straight answer from me. The more they think about it, the more they will realize they really don't know Jack.
Why am I so secretive and mysterious? It will only make them wonder more and more.
Maybe they will start thinking maybe I don't like them. When really, I don't like myself. And I am ashamed. Of myself. My life. Everything.
Then there are the direct questions you can not escape.
So where are you working these days?
An old friend of mine asked this today online.
I still haven't said anything.
As much as I hate and freak out about not being able to read people's silences, for now I am just kind of ignoring the question. I need to think about it. The answer is not direct and simple like the question. Even keeping it as honest but simple as I can is going to take some work.
This is not black and white. Cut and dry. Yes or no.
What this is, is a polite friendly little knock on the lid of the can of worms that has been my fucked up life for the last two years.
From where I am right now, I completely understand how mental illness leads to isolation.
It's already happening to me.
I am already there.
Just because I am talking, smiling and being friendly even does not mean I am connecting. Connected.
Inside I am cold.
I am alone.
Even when I am with you, I am fucking alone.
When I am not talking, it's even worse.
I tell myself all the time I am meant to be alone. I probably am.
But for being such a loner, even I get lonely. Sometimes the starvation for true connection nearly drives me out of my mind.
There is a difference between solitude and solitary confinement.
I am living something close to self imposed solitary confinement.
I really should leave the house more. Only I never want to. Even when I want to.
I am in this cage to keep both myself and you safe.
It just happens to you.
You just stop talking.
As your truths pile up like lies, there is less and less you can say.
After a while, you just try to avoid conversation except with a very select safe close few. And even those conversations become more and more restricted. The insiders feel like they are being treated like outsiders. The outsiders...well.
One day you feel like you woke up in a bed of lies. You just wake up in it. You had no idea how far in you really are. Even now you can not see the bottom of this.
Have I been lying by smiling and just not saying the truth?
Is my life just this projected two dimensional lie?
Where do you draw the line between privacy and personal truth? Honesty and secrecy? Candid and crossing lines?
Even in this place where I can say anything, I do not say everything.
I am Jack's Untold Stories
I realize that a lot of people would be completely shocked if I commited suicide.
Completely. Totally. Shocked.
Like my friend who asked about the job.
She would never see it coming. I am just weird, silly, endearing old Jacky she's known forever since the first day of high school.
This is for a whole separate entry, but my sister and I talked about the Sordid Expose' a while ago, and this is exactly what scares her to death about me.
She compared the difference between my cats' deaths.
My first cat died of kidney disease. He was old and I caught it early enough to give him one last good year of life. I knew he was terminally ill and while that is its own thing to deal with I was not shocked when he went.
(The second is still alive)
My third cat died of a heart attack suddenly. He was only 7 years old and had a heart defect I was unaware of. That slight murmur that seemed to have gone away was really something silent and a lot more sinister. His death was one of the most traumatic things that ever happened to me. It came out of nowhere. He died his natural, unassisted, unmedicated death in my arms. It was the first time I ever witnessed death. It fucking changes you. Forever. I was completely shocked and traumatized.
Do I really want to do that to everyone?
Smile and lie that I am fine.
Smile and lie by omission.
Then out of nowhere fucking boom!
Just like that.
Right when you weren't expecting it.
People deserve to know I am even sick. That anything is even wrong.
Especially the people who love me the most.
They do deserve better than I have been giving and I probably do too.
But I don't always feel like talking about myself anymore. Not even here. I am never okay. I am some kind of suicidal joke. Something is always fucked up. Wrong. Broken.
I apologized to another friend that I am sorry my life is always an epic downer. All he could say was sorry and to try to get out and have some fun today. I said maybe. I didn't.
When I am honest without details people are probably sorry they asked.
When I am honest with details I scare the shit out of them, but they are probably still sorry they asked and sick of my shit too.
This whole protecting you from me thing, it protects me too.
From you getting sick of me and leaving.
It's easier just to fake nice.
Jack's Depressed Stinky Boozy Ass - 2017-06-29
Jack And His Psycho Shit - 2017-06-26
Jack Lets Down Some Of His Silent Charade (2) - 2017-06-25
Jack Lets Down Some Of His Silent Charade - 2017-06-25